The Cunning

67

A few hours after Janine had left, Jase entered. He was in a spiteful mood, cocaine spurring his antagonising behaviour. Madison was lying on the bed.

"You better get used to having men feel you up, princess," he said, taking a sip of his beer.

"Fuck you," Madison huffed, already over his attempt at riling her. He raised his brows, smiling.

"Remember who you're talking to."

She rolled over, lifting her head. "Fuck. You."

Jase offered a dramatic fake pout. "And here I was thinking we had something special. You haven't forgotten all our time together so quickly, have you?" He sat down at the bottom of the bed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You've woken up cuddled into me more times than I can count."

She pulled her face away from his hand, ashamed that she'd allowed herself to be comfortable around him. Jase grabbed her chin, squeezing her cheeks the same way Adam had at her first showing. There was a devilish glint in his eyes, his lips carved into a smirk that would have been swoon-worthy were it not for the psycho it was attached to. He was enjoying tormenting her, making her feel weak.

"I hope now your little facade has fallen apart you realise exactly who you're dealing with. I also hope you're aware you aren't getting out of here no matter what you try. I don't want to kill your Madison, it would be bad for business. But I will. If you piss me off, I'll put you to sleep and won't lose any." Madison glared at him, her fists curled, the blood drained from her knuckles. She was struggling to control her temper.

"Get off of me." Her demand was ground through gritted teeth as she batted his hand away. He didn't bother reaching for her again, watching through his lashes as he took another mouthful of his beer.

"There she is," he cooed as she sat, fuming at his mere existence and utterly helpless to do anything about it. "There's my little fireball."

"I'm not your anything," she spat back, getting to her feet.

"Yes, you are," Jase said, watching her as she opened the bedroom door. "So long as you're under this roof, you're mine to play with." She stopped, all coils in her body tightened. "And I intend on playing, Madison." Any warmth left in her body dropped to her feet like dead weight, trickles of ice shivered down her spine.

The metallic chink of the lock slotting into place echoed through the bathroom. Floral notes from the girls' showers still hung in the air. Madison leaned her back up against the door. There were no tears left to cry. She felt nothing but an intense heaviness in her chest. The weight of losing the game.

Once more, her attention was drawn to the razors.

Before she lost the nerve, she grabbed one, snapping the head off and prying the blade from the plastic as she had done before. Her hands were shaking, jaw clenched so hard it felt as though her teeth would shatter as she pressed the hair thin razor edge into her wrist. In seconds, tiny beads of red surfaced on her snow-pale skin. She pressed harder, more blood and then she caught two brown eyes in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her, mid-frame of their suicide. She was staring into the eyes of Schrodinger's cat, both dead and alive.

Jase would love for her to kill herself, it would solve all of his problems, wrapping them up in a neat little bow. Fuck that.

She resented the idea of making it so easy for him. Anger swelled at the prospect of some type of revenge. The pain in her core sprouted roots, morphing from defeat to resilience. She closed her eyes, pinching together her fingers, considering her brain. The folds, the creases, her frontal lobe and gray matter. Somewhere in there, she would find what she needed to carry on. She would reach into the depths of her internal despair and pull from the ashes whatever was necessary.

And finally, Madison snapped. And not in the way everyone expected. A tsunami of determination crashed over her. She had dealt with her fair share of bullshit growing up. Janine was right, she wasn't done yet, she couldn't be. The games weren't over, they were only just beginning and if Jase intended to play then so did she.

But she had seen the real him now, and she didn't have half the leverage she had to begin with.

The razor was still gripped tightly between her thumb and finger, hovering over the red line. Was she ready to take Jase on with no artillery? A door in the hallway closed, seconds later came the squeaking of a bed and ape-like grunting. If she killed herself, nothing changed. Jase and the others would continue exploiting women against their will, fattening their pockets from the carcasses of anonymous girls. Except they weren't anonymous to Madison, they were all her. They all wanted out, too. And any girl that came after, the one that would replace her if she slit her wrists, the future Madison's, Annabelle's and Janine's, they would want out as well.

She dropped the blade into the sink, blood droplets stark against the white porcelain. Her dad had instilled every survival method in her he could think of, she was raised to eat men like Jase for breakfast. Somewhere along the way, she'd let him have too much power, and she was going to take it back.