"I-it's not like that," he insists, looking between Grayson and his wife. "It's just a job. We're trained to be like that."
"You're trained to make us hurt others for sport?" Amelia's voice is sickly sweet and dark at the same time. "Or do you really believe you can 'teach us' to be better through physical and emotional torture?"
The man begins to tremble under the rogue's hold. The fantasy he'd built for himself, the lies he told himself, crumbling as he watches his wife recoil and cry. He doesn't answer Amelia, and she doesn't press him to either. She merely tightens her grip on him, leaning closer to murmur against his ear, just loud enough for everyone to understand her words.
"You're nothing compared to those you harm. That man with your wife in his arms is a hundred times more than you could ever dream to be. The man you made me hurt is worth a thousand of you. And I?" She chuckles softly. "You could never dream to be half of me."
Tears roll down the man's face as he tries to look over his shoulder at Amelia. Not looking for his pleas for mercy or pittance of excuses, she wraps her free arm about his neck and forces him to look toward the couch again. Her hold on him tightens to take some of his breath, the same way he'd insisted she take Carver's It feels good to give this back, even if she's not going to take it much further.
"Don't look at me," she hisses. "Look at your crimes. Face your shortcomings. You're not allowed to beg for death yet."
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"You're trained to make us hurt others for sport?" Amelia's voice is sickly sweet and dark at the same time. "Or do you really believe you can 'teach us' to be better through physical and emotional torture?"
The man begins to tremble under the rogue's hold. The fantasy he'd built for himself, the lies he told himself, crumbling as he watches his wife recoil and cry. He doesn't answer Amelia, and she doesn't press him to either. She merely tightens her grip on him, leaning closer to murmur against his ear, just loud enough for everyone to understand her words.
"You're nothing compared to those you harm. That man with your wife in his arms is a hundred times more than you could ever dream to be. The man you made me hurt is worth a thousand of you. And I?" She chuckles softly. "You could never dream to be half of me."
Tears roll down the man's face as he tries to look over his shoulder at Amelia. Not looking for his pleas for mercy or pittance of excuses, she wraps her free arm about his neck and forces him to look toward the couch again. Her hold on him tightens to take some of his breath, the same way he'd insisted she take Carver's It feels good to give this back, even if she's not going to take it much further.
"Don't look at me," she hisses. "Look at your crimes. Face your shortcomings. You're not allowed to beg for death yet."