Page 29 of Capture (Primal #3)

A fter Ronan left to get back down on the floor, since Betty had vanished, I was about to leave Annika, but decided to stay. An internal battle to be the man I used to be, who hired high-class whores, then bolted out the door, satisfied, harboring no obligation to be nice or book them in again.

The pre-prison Mikael walked to the door to leave her there on the bed covered in food, because that’s her problem. But the post-prison Mikael stopped and turned back.

“I have work to do,” I impatiently said as she sat up, picking bits of food off her, as she put a fry in her mouth, most of it sticking out like a cigarette, and her plump lips pursed. She looked fucking hot. Even after fucking her, messing her up, she still looked fucking hot.

She shrugged indifferently. “Okay. I’m not keeping you here.”

I stepped back toward the door, then turned back again to wrap a blanket around her shoulders. “Is the TV working?” Okay, now I was trying to make small talk, which was something I wasn’t good at because I didn't usually need it. Unless you’re a paying member in the club, I could pull on the charm.

She frowned, “Yes,” and answered as if she thought I was weird.

“What?” I asked, helping brush off the food from her gorgeous, dimpled body.

“You’re terrible at this,” she snapped, exhaustedly.

“At what?” I don’t know why I cared, but I did, and it both annoyed and enlightened me at the same time.

“Talking to a girl like a normal person,” she ranted in a tone that she wouldn’t get away with if she were still on staff.

I chuckled because I was enjoying this, and I could still feel her on my cock and a saltiness in my mouth from the fries that was a perfect complement to the taste of her skin and pussy that still lingered.

Her clothes were where I had left them, on the floor, and I picked them up, brushed off the crumbs, and handed them back to her.

“Thanks,” she replied a little coldly.

“I do see you as a girl,” I stated, then realized it sounded stupid. “I mean, I see you more than just three holes.”

She was in the process of pulling her panties up her thighs when I said this and stalled, leaned, and started giggling. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing at me, but her bubbly, contagious giggles lit up her entire body.

“I feel so special,” she said sarcastically under those giggles.

“Good,” I shrugged, bending down to pick up a piece of burger meat and placing it back on the plate. “Because you are special. To us, anyway.”

The giggles stopped abruptly, and I glanced at her pretty face to see why, and she was staring at me with tear-filled eyes, her mouth parted in awe. I swallowed over a lump in my throat, unsure of what she was going to do next.

“Are you okay?” She seemed stunned, stuck in one place; even her mouth seemed frozen open. She’ll get a dry mouth if she keeps it open like that.

Her head dropped down into her hands, and her entire body shook as little whimpers exuded into the air.

What do I do? How do I fix this?

This was a situation I was uncomfortable in, and I had no experience dealing with crying women, especially those I cared about.

I placed my hand on her shoulder to comfort her and felt the shivering of her skin, which prompted me to crouch down and scrutinize her pretty face, seeing that she was genuinely upset.

“Did we hurt you?” I rationalized as I knew some women were emotional after sex, and we took her body to new levels that she hadn’t experienced before, so I knew she was probably quite depleted.

“No. I enjoyed it,” she sniffed, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the foot of her palm.

“Why are you crying?” I needed to be educated on this matter, as it was so foreign to me at the time.

She sniffed and sobbed a little more before she said, “It was a nice thing you said.”

“Oh? You’re crying because I said something nice to you?” I clarified to clear up my confusion.

She nodded as I searched the room for something she could blow her nose on that wasn’t covered in food stains, and the only thing I could think of was toilet paper, so I went into the bathroom, inhaled the scent of her shampoo and soap, pulled a length of paper, and returned offering it to her.

I’d rather provide her with a lace handkerchief or a clean serviette than a wad of toilet paper, but at least the toilet paper was the luxury, soft, and strong brand.

“Thanks,” she sobbed, taking the toilet paper and blowing her snotty nose on it.

“So, ah, every time I say something nice, you’re going to cry?” I carefully questioned.

“No,” she snapped, and I flinched at her reaction.

“Okay,” I was walking on eggshells and wanted to escape out the door, but my feet refused to move.

Her body was shivering, so I helped her get dressed.

Once she was completely covered, she hugged herself as if she were still cold.

The temperature in the room was warm, so I couldn’t understand why she was shivering.

Maybe she was coming down with the flu. I couldn’t leave her like this, and the only thing I could think of to help was to wrap my arms around her in an attempt to warm her up.

Immediately, she melted into my embrace as her soft hair brushed across my cheek, and her small hands latched onto my forearms. At first, my body tensed because it seemed so unnatural to waste time hugging someone, but when she sighed, closed her eyes, and breathing slowed, a growing fondness overcame me.

We were attached in this cocoon as I rocked her body until she fell into a deep sleep. I then gently released her grip on me, pulled back the sheets, and laid her inside. As she slept, I tidied the food mess, all the while my gaze kept traveling upwards at the fly shit on the ceiling.

She was right. This place needed an upgrade.

After picking up every piece of food and returning it to the plate, I removed it to take it back to the kitchen. I then checked her laundry basket to see if any clothes needed to be washed, scanned the room to see if there was anything I could help her with, and finally left the room.

As I turned to lock the door, something inside stopped me. My hand gripped the handle as I patted the key in my pocket with the other hand. It was time to free the sparrow from her cage.

With a heavy heart, I left it open a few inches to show her that I had given back her freedom and she could go wherever she wanted.

I didn’t want to do that as I was fearful that I’d never see her again, but it was cruel to leave her in there. We become used to her always being there, but it wasn’t by choice. We imprisoned her.

I wanted, no, needed her to decide for herself. How much did she really want to work here and be part of the Kaiser family again, or was it a fake story to convince us to trust her and, in the end, let her go?

I guess, there’s only one way to find out.