"I, I don't know. But I need this Ms. I'll do anything." While He squeezed his kuckles in frustration, She smiled seductively. Reaching out an arm, She clicked open an ornate ivory box at the edge of her desk. Carved onto it were a tapestry of torture and fire; illustrations of men boiling in cauldrons, demons piercing children, and good men led astray by blind prophets. Far from your average clutter.
In doing this, Her movements were subtle and curvaceous; as eye catching as the black dress She wore so commandingly. Just a glimpse of her figure would have a man distracted for the entire day, if not week. Taking a deliberate age so as to fully entrap Reynolds, She finally produced a single die from the box. Black with white dots and sharp corners, mercilessly unergonomic.
"You strike me as a strong, determined man. Would you care to gamble for what you seek?" The room was hit by an inescapable chill. The box snapped shut, independent of anyone or anything else. Mr Reynolds tore his eyes from it and up to Her. His gaze was pinned down by Her brilliant green eyes, tearing his last line of inner defence to tatters. She held intangible contact with him for what seemed an eternity, entirely motionless until he responded.
"I suppose I am, not that I have a choice. He paused in consideration, but his hands were tied from the start. Yes. What am I betting?"
"Yourself." She was forthright, sadistically enjoying the ease with which she forced him to writhe in discomfort. She was adept at pinching at you from the inside, stirring your instinct until you were a slave to evolution, a crumbling wreck and a drooling child all at once.
"Wha- we spoke about this. I thought that was off limits."
"Your family then?" Her rouged lips pursed in a smirk at this. He was putty. She tore into him with glee.
"Fine." Reynolds said, followed by a sharp intake of breath. She purred, the sound of her satisfaction seemingly penetrating the room from all angles. He was dejected; all other options beyond exhausted. His house would be repossessed within the week; barring the sort of deus ex machina She specialised in. The failure he'd bring his fledgling family would crush him beyond repair. Something had to be done to save them. Even if that meant damnation.
She proceeded to hold the dice between her thumb and forefinger, rotating it playfully in the manner of a little girl and a fly,
"I play fair, despite what the righteous say." Sarcasm laced her beautiful pronunciation "Pick 3 numbers between 1 and 6. A fair split, no? Always." That last word reverberated with a deeper, macabre tone. It didn't seem to be Hers.
"1. 3 and... 5." Reynolds gulped. A mob of butterflies threatened to overcome his stomach. Sweat broke on his brow like Pacific waves. He couldn't rise to the occasion with strength, but he knew that this simple and fleeting moment of life would forever rule his destiny. He was within Her clutches.
Lifting her slender arm, She dropped the dice and watched as it tumbled across the oak desk, bouncing and careening for an age. Every time it seemed to settle, it took energy from some unknown, untapped source and continued its journey across the expanse of the table. Both He and Her watched intensely - Her with a predatory, detached glare, and Him with the glazed eyes of a cornered deer. Eventually, as if in ether, it slowed to a halt. The dots facing up. Menacingly.
She stole his gaze for a moment more, before either could react. An instant of détente. Before the inevitable conclusion reared its ugly head...