JOSI

She has to come up with another lie to tell Bradley. This will be one of the many she's fed him since Idris became a variable. It has brought upon a substantial load of guilt. She can't look him much in the eye any longer. Can't spend much time with him and doesn't miss the sadness in his eyes when she lays out all her excuses.

This time, Josi tells him she's handling an emergency with Mia and Clarissa. She tells him she won't be long and that she'll be back in time for movie night. Bradley makes her promise she won't miss the date, because it's not the first time she has. She smiles and tells him she won't, then kisses him goodbye and heads for the devil that is Idris Verdonni.

That's how the story has developed. It has festered into a life full of lies, a life that has grown out of Josi's own two hands. But she will swallow down the misery, because filing a complaint with Idris will only add more fuel to the flames. He will treat her relationship issues like an episode off a reality TV show and will add more to the script, as it will better the rating on his part.

Josi's destination this time is a strip club. She's been given another such outfit for the outing; a mini dress paired with heels the color of blood. Perfect for the sensual setting. She has practically already become one of his women, though nothing intimate has happened between them. He doesn't look to her for pleasure, which Josi is at least thankful for. But one right does not make up for the list of wrongdoings.

Like the rest of the times Idris has requested her presence, Josi has no clue what's in store for her. She could wind up on stage for all she knows. Or worse, he could order her to strip. He could have her follow some stranger home as a sexual favor. He could drug her up, have her sold to some sick psychopath who divulges in sex trafficking. He could kidnap and lock her up in a cage until she's been lost and left behind in history—

Josi takes a deep breath in. She fights to regain control, but what amount of control does she truly have left over herself?

As soon as the door opens, she's blasted by heat and the rhythmical base of music. Purple lights, fog, strip poles. Lust. It's all about lust. Even the alcohol compiled with cigarettes have been fine tuned to amplify said lust.

True to his character, Idris is by the center stage where most, if not all, of the attention seems to be. That's where the best of the performers are, right there in front of Idris, surrounded by men with desires ready to be fulfilled. Greed must be a prominent partner of his, because he has with him another stripper who dances away on his lap, providing him more entertainment in addition to the one on stage. You can't be ordinary in a world as flashy as his. He's not made for modesty.

And even then, he participates in a conversation with some colleague of his. "If I have to look at Maranzo's face one more time, I swear I'm going to vomit."

The colleague responds with a boisterous laugh, which Josi suspects is a form of sucking up than it is an act of genuinity.

Then Idris catches sight of Josi. He doesn't just look, but inspects her, as though she were an addition to his toy collection—and his collection should all be made to look good. This very toy meets his expectations. He smiles at Josi.

"You look good."

Josi dismisses the remark. It is no compliment, but a patronizing insult. More demeaning than his wounding flattery, however, is the stare his colleague gives her. He even smiles—a thin line on his wrinkles lips that sends chills down her spine. Josi grimaces. She wants no more time spent in his presence. But Idris has differing ideas.

"Sit." He tells her. Except the seat he points to isn't a cushioned chair, but his colleague's lap.

Josi shoots him a crude gaze mixed with pleading, which she's sure he noticed, because all he does is smile. The same mocking smile. The one he gives her to assert his power. To let her know who truly is in charge.

Once again, Idris's colleague smiles, this one as a sort of welcome to Josi. She fights to keep the bile down, afraid that she may accidentally spit on him. Though, it would be no accident at all. She takes a seat at the very edge of his knee, but can still smell—and even feel—the stench of this creep whose smile has only grown wider. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes, and it helps little that he chose to go deodorant-free on this very evening.

Despite Josi's misery, Idris and his colleague deem it necessary to carry on their conversation.

"I want the Toulour family gone soon, Cedric. And I trust you'll be able to assist me?" Idris puffs a smoke in the stripper's face who, Josi can tell, is pleased by the action.

Meanwhile, Cedric can't take his eyes off Josi. He even has enough gall to slip an arm around her waist. "We play it safe for now. Give it another year and we'll have your results soon." Then with the same hand, he brushes past Josi's knee and begins sliding further up her thigh.

No surprise that he's met by a slap to the face. And now a silence caked with suspense hangs in the air, only loud enough for the four present. Even the stripper is astonished.

Cedric's senses finally kick in, and anger charged enough to power an entire city overtakes him. "You fucking bitch!" He sends a hand to return the assault, but is stopped by Idris himself.

"That's enough, Cedric."

Cedric's determination to exact revenge sizzles instantly, because the greater authority has spoken. He lets his hand sit in the air as the anger continues swimming inside him, desperate for an outlet suitable enough. Until finally, he gives up and excuses himself, probably to find somewhere else to take his anger out.

Idris stuffs a wad of cash into the stripper's cleavage and sends her on her way. "Was that called for?"

The question is so moronic, Josi doesn't know if he's really that obtuse or if he's simply choosing to turn a blind eye. "His hands were on me."

"And?"

The latter it is. Josi keeps her anger piled up behind the curtain, as lashing out will only lead to graver consequences. It takes a while to do so, but she buries the frustration deep and even has to topple the hole with a boulder, for fear that it will climb back up to the surface. Meanwhile, Idris leisurely puffs a smoke from his newly lit cigar. Then, with as much mischief, gives Josi another smile.

"Have you ever given anyone a lap dance?"

Josi keeps quiet, bracing herself.

"Get on top of me."

The silence is harsh. It makes Josi's ears bleed. But she fulfills his request. She takes a seat on his lap with legs astride. Only, she doesn't dance. She sits and keeps the silence going.

Idris puffs another smoke. "No dancing?"

"Are you going to threaten me if I don't?"

Idris sighs and puts out his cigar, his interest quelled by Josi's reply. "You're so depressing. I tell you to give me a lap dance and you start talking about threats."

"I am being threatened." Josi tells him. "You sit in your castle and give out orders for the sole purpose of amusement . . . And you find nothing wrong with it."

Idris nods. "Yeah, I don't."

It has already been made clear, but each time he blatantly admits to his crimes, Josi is left with anger the size of a mountain. He truly has no care. He does not see her as a person worthy of respect.

"Do you hate me?" Idris asks.

Hate is not a word suitable enough to describe Josi's feelings towards Idris. There truly may never be a word suitable enough, but what she feels is far deeper than the depth of any ocean. And when she notices the scar on his chin, she wishes there was more to it than just some straight line. It should have ran on further past his jawline

Josi looks Idris in the eye. "With every fiber of my being."

This brings to him a smile, as if he were proud. "Good."

Her frown deepens, which only helps foster his smile. "You're doing this all because I rejected you?"

Idris laughs from the sheer hilarity of Josi's statement. "You give yourself a lot of credit, Cade, but this isn't about that." He says. "I've been wanting to host this game for a while now, but never really had a target suitable enough. You just so happened to be the most qualified candidate. While rejecting me did hurt, I'm not the type to hold grudges, you see."

"You don't hold grudges?" Josi scoffs. "I find that very hard to believe."

Idris rolls his eyes and simply continues. "I chose you because you fit the part well. Someone brazen enough to stand up for themselves. But now it seems you can't do that, can you?"

Right there on top of Idris, inches away from his face, is when Josi realizes she's been made a target simply for him to shrink down in size. He wants to see her completely torn apart, broken down to pieces beyond repair. Well, he's getting his wish, because Josi is on a looney trip towards collapse.

He's probably put in a bet as to how long it will take before she meets insanity. But he divulges none of that information. "By the way, I don't think your boyfriend bought your excuse today."

Josi dislikes his sudden interest in Bradley. "You should know we're very sexually active. So you might want to turn off those bug devices you have planted in my apartment."

"I'm not so cynical to the point I'd tune in to the two of you going at it." Idris tells her with a skeptical raise of his eyebrow, as if out of all the madness that occurred that evening, this is the most mind-boggling of them all. "Although, if I were in his place, I'd probably do a much better job."

Josi frowns. "In your fucking dreams."

This only seems to fuel Idris. "Ooh, scary."

Then they fall into another coma. Only Idris finds joy under this blazing heat. He grabs a bottle of Vodka off the table. "Tell you what. Drink the remainder of this bottle, and I'll let you out early."

Much of the liquor has already been spent. Only about less than half a liter still remains, and with this much, Josi starts to believe she can take on the quest. She's great at holding her alcohol. So she accepts Idris's wager and begins downing the liquor.

An overestimation. Josi drank it all down, but now it has begun taking over. The drink intoxicates and warps her perception of reality. It chases away her senses and brings about the familiar giddiness. This certainly will not end well.

Josi collapses onto Idris's shoulder. "This is all your fucking fault."

______________________________________