Page 38 of Ruthless Obsession

“Get up, Sophie.”

“What part of captive didn’t you understand? You are my captive which means if you try to escape there are fucking consequences,” I bite out.

Instead, she lashes out, planting her foot square in my chest. I stumble back, crashing to the floor.

“Fuck,” I grunt, the pain nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“You left me here to rot,” she whispers, voice cracking.

“I got hurt the other day trying to bring down your fucking ex-boyfriend, so excuse me if I wasn’t conscious,” I growl.

A flash of concern mares her features briefly before her masks falls back into place.

I ease up on my knees again and use the wall for support to stand.

“Not going to run?” I ask.

“What good would that do? One of your biker brothers will just drag me back.”

I guide Sophie out of the cell, her steps slow and stiff. She limps—probably from sitting on cold concrete for four fucking days.

I reach for her arm.

She jerks away like I burned her. “Don’t… touch… me.”

We start the slow climb up the stairs.

“I can’t stand you,” she mutters, her voice cracking with rage and exhaustion.

“Yup,” I reply, flat.

In the kitchen, I stop. The scent of simmering herbs from chicken soup fills the air. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I grab two water bottles from the fridge and shove one into her hand.

“Keep moving.”

As we approach the living room, I shoot a warning. “Legos, don’t fucking look this way.”

He raises both hands like he’s surrendering.

Tonya scowls. “Not everyone wants your precious OL’ Lady.”

“I’m not his OL’ Lady,” Sophie snaps.

Sophie’s eyes rise from the floor and meet Tonya’s. “Thanks for trying to feed me and giving me sheets of toilet paper to wipe with while I was locked up.”

“I wanted to give you some dignity. Would’ve done it sooner if you didn’t keep trying to kick me. Even with a gun in hand. You’re a feisty, little thing,” she chuckles.

It’s funny because there about the same height. Sophie is five six. Tonya’s probably an inch taller.

I meet Tonya’s gaze, nodding, letting her know I appreciate her. After all this shit, I’ll have to do something nice for her.

“Up the stairs, Sophie.”

She doesn’t argue. But climbing the stairs is hell—for both of us. My ribs feel like they’re being cracked open with each step. I grunt under my breath, but she doesn’t say shit. She’s probably hoping I drop dead right here.

I step in front of her and turn on the water in the shower adjusting the water.

“I don’t need your help,” she says anger still heavy in her tone.