Page 12 of Ruthless Obsession (Royal Bastards MC Chicago, IL Chapter)

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.

“Remove your bra and panties. Toss them in the trash.”

“I don’t want you in here,” she sneers.

“Too bad.”

“Now I have to get undressed in front of you?”

I peer down at her. “Yes.”

“So what you plan to take what you want?” she asks.

I curl a hand around her throat. “Remove your soiled bra and panties and get in the fucking shower.”

She scowls but obeys. She unhooks her bra, steps out of her panties.

The odor hits me, sharp and sour.

“This is fucking degrading,” she roars.

My gaze shamelessly sweeps over her ample breast, hairy mound, hips, and legs.

“This is what happens when my little captive couldn’t obey. You sat in your own filth for days.”

“Ah!” she screams, like the words snapped something inside her.

She kicks the underwear aside and lunges. Her fists pound against my chest. She wants me to hurt like she does. Doesn’t care I’m already in pain.

I catch her wrists mid-swing and drag her over to the sink. I don’t say a word as I line her toothbrush with toothpaste and hand it to her like we’re back at the clubhouse, that night when everything started between us.

Once she’s done brushing, she tosses back a paper cup of mouthwash and swishes before spitting it in the sink.

Her eyes catch her reflection—filthy, broken, vulnerable—and the tears fall. I take her hand and guide her into the shower.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you here,” she spits.

I close the glass door, pick up a fresh washcloth from the shelf, and pour a generous amount of shower gel on the washcloth.

Sophie stares through me. She’s not here. She’s shut down.

I slide the washcloth down her arm watching how her mahogany skin tone looks shiny and renewed.

“Washing me won’t make me like you again,” she says.

“Noted,” I reply.

“Is Toby dead yet?” she asks bluntly.

“No, I’m working on it.”

“When you caught me leaving, I planned to take him out,” she says.

I lather her face next. “Oh, so you were going to come right back here huh?”

Silence.

“I don’t belong in your world,” she whispers.

“And I don’t wash my face with shower gel,” she mutters flatly.

“You can clean it the way you want when we’re done,” I tell her.

“I want to take a bath after this,” she says.

“You understand you are mine, right?”

Her brows lower. “I want nothing to do with you.”

I lather each of her breasts and pussy.

“I can manage washing my private parts,” she hisses.

“Say my name, Sophie.”

“No. I also don’t want to look at your pretty fucking biker face either.”

I chuckle. “Pretty, huh? What does a biker face look like?”

“Brooding. You look like you want to burn down the world all the time.”

“Right, I want to do just that. Because your ex-boyfriend stole from us. I won’t rest until I squeeze the last bit of air from his lungs,” I snarl.

She shrugs. “Figures you’d take that from me too.”

I grab the shampoo off the shelf and pour a generous amount in my hand. I work the shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp.

She moans.

Did I just pull a moan from her pouty lips?

I continue washing her hair, scrubbing her scalp with my fingertips.

She steps away from the four-shower head jets and massages her scalp.

“Was I doing it wrong?” I ask.

“You’re trying to make me like you again. That won’t happen.”

I shake my head and grab a detachable showerhead and rinse every inch of her body free of soap.

Sophie steps under the spray allowing the water to cascade over her hair. I take that time to eye fuck her. Her curvy body is fucking gorgeous.

When she catches me it’s her turn to shake her head. Sophie picks up the conditioner and pours an ample amount into her hand. “This conditioner’s going to dry out my hair,” she mutters.

“Brisa’s coming tomorrow. Tell her what you need.”

Her eyes fall on the bandage covering my wound for the first time. And her lips part.

“You can take any of the guest rooms. Legos and his OL’ Lady are staying with us while I recover.”

“Yeah, I got it. Don’t try to leave or I’ll return to the chamber.”

I step out of the shower, close the door behind me, and grab a towel off a nearby shelf. I towel off with it. My shorts are drenched. I’ll have to figure out how to pull on another pair.

At the mirror, I wipe away the fog. I notice the bandage is red.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I probably tore something or busted a stitch because I just had to go to the basement, get kicked to the floor by her, and personally clean my woman’s body myself.

I patch myself up with the fresh bandages Dr. Cottingham left behind, then limp back to bed. I toss back two aspirin and don’t bother changing out of the wet shorts. My head hits the pillow, and the last thing I think before I pass out—

Maybe I broke through to her.

Just a little.