Santi glared at Tim.  He didn't know?  Didn't know why he didn't resist?  The bastard hadn't even answered most of her questions, and this was hardly an answer either.  Damn him!<br/><br/>The rage still burned through her.  Hatred... betrayal... she still wanted to turn his face into ground beef.  Still loathed him, wanted him to<span style="font-style: italic">hurt</span>.  But even with teeth missing he was still smiling... still enjoying himself.  Enjoying his punishment.  Enjoying pain... like she did... just to an<span style="font-style: italic">extent</span>she didn't.  Or hoped she wouldn't...<br/><br/>"You sick fuck," she finally whispered, deflating a little.  She dropped the pepper gun; it bounced off her foot and slid under the edge of the bed, barely peeking out.  "You sick fuck..." she wasn't even sure anymore if she was talking about him, or about herself.<br/><br/>She followed his gaze to the window.  Huh, she'd completely forgotten to close the blinds... or Sam had opened them to see what was going on, maybe.  But, what?  Sam was speaking to someone on a phone (or the Velle version of one)... who?  Why?<br/><br/>And then someone else came into view, and Sam seemed to go all quiet.  And then...<br/><br/>Santi had seen enough law enforcement officers to recognize this one.  The outfit wasn't at all the same, but there was little mistaking the swagger and bearing of the man who stepped into view through the window.<br/><br/>Her mind reeled.  Someone had heard her screaming and had complained.  Or centurion-boy had heard it himself and wanted to check it out.  What awful luck.  Now what?  Now what?  She knew Ratio-type cops... she'd dealt with them now and again.  A lot were corrupt enough to be bribed with sex to leave squatters alone --- the job had usually fallen to her, of course --- or were just decent enough people just to take a look around but otherwise leave them be.  Would it be the same over here?  And they weren't squatters... Sam had paid money for this room...<br/><br/>"Whatever happens," Santi growled to Tim, "<span style="font-style: italic">Don't eat him[i]."  She leaned forward.  "Now lean back and close your eyes, and [i]keep your hands to yourself!</span>I'm<span style="font-style: italic">dominating </span>you!"<br/><br/>The words sounded damn wierd coming out of her mouth... but though she meant pretend, she realized the last few minutes had been real.  Tim had been letting her dominate him.<br/><br/>Thus, when she pushed him onto his back on the bed, he let her; when she pushed his hands to the side of his face, he let her.  "Keep them there," she hissed, before scuttling back toward the end of the bed and pushing his knees roughly apart.<br/><br/>By the time Sam led the officer into the room, they would find Santi holding Tim's legs apart by the knees, the bloody brass knuckle still in her hand, and bobbing her head between his legs.<br/><br/>And she wasn't faking.