Page 26 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Scarlett

A fter my battle to ingest as much chicken soup and bread as I’m physically capable of--which doesn’t turn out to be very much, after all--I fall back into a fitful sleep.

When I wake up again, the clock on the nightstand tells me I’ve only been out for an hour, and my bladder is so uncomfortably full I’m a few minutes away from peeing myself.

Monster didn’t exactly give me a tour of his apartment, but I think it’s safe to say that the cracked door on the left wall is probably the bathroom.

Now, the only problem lies in actually getting there.

My thigh aches and my lungs burn--two constants that I’ll need to get used to living with.

I don’t know if I have the strength to scoot to the side of the bed, let alone get to the bathroom, but I refuse to endure the humiliation of wetting the bed like a five year old.

I start the painstaking process of getting myself to the edge of the bed.

Though it only takes a minute, it feels like hours.

By the time my feet are on the floor, I’m out of breath.

I don’t think I can hold much weight on my right leg, but it should be able to take a little. I push myself to my feet, leaning most of my weight on my left leg, and wait until the black spots disappear from my vision before hobbling my way to the restroom.

It’s simplistic but elegant. There’s a toilet, a two-sink counter, a glass shower, and a porcelain bathtub.

I manage to use the toilet without complications, then use the counter as a crutch as I wash my hands.

My breaths are painful and strained by the time I get myself back to bed, and my eyelids are drooping.

The simple physical activity has exhausted me.

It only takes me a moment to fall right back to sleep.

Pressure on my chest awakens me an indeterminate amount of time later. The pressure is warm and gentle, almost soothing, resting directly over my left breast. I stir, then blink my eyes open when I feel something on my finger.

Through blurry eyes, I see that Monster has returned. What’s more disconcerting is that his hand is wrapped around my breast. I stiffen, panic waking me right up, and try to shift away. Pain in my thigh makes me whimper, and Monster casts me a disapproving glance.

“Easy. I’m just checking your vitals.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re touching my…” I trail off shy of saying boob or breast . It feels too intimate.

Monster glances at the finger-clip attached to my index finger. “I’m just feeling your heart rate. It’s fast because you’re sick, and I need to make sure it doesn’t get too fast—or you have to go to medical and have the doc see to you.”

“You have a device to do that,” I say raggedly. His hand is uncomfortable. I don’t like the fact that he’s touching me, and I dislike how freely he touches me even more. Most of all, I hate how warm and almost pleasant his hand feels. This man is a threat , not a comfort .

“Listen to me.” Monster’s voice has turned stern.

His hand over my breast tightens, and I gasp.

He doesn’t squeeze hard enough for it to be painful, only hard enough to make a point.

“This body? It’s mine now. That means I’ll take very good care of it, but I will also use it however I want.

Now, I’m going to take it easy on you for a while because you’re healing, but that won’t always be the case.

You need to get used to this. I’m going to touch you when I want to touch you.

Soon, I’m going to fuck you when I want to fuck you—in whatever way I want to fuck you.

“Great,” I whisper. “Sex slavery is wonderful. I’m so grateful to be subjected to it.”

Monster’s jaw tenses for a moment, but he doesn’t move his hand. He does, however, remove the pulse oximeter and pull out his phone, typing down my stats. “You’ll learn that it isn’t like that. Not completely. Your body is mine, yes, but I don’t want you miserable.”

A dry laugh bubbles out of my throat. “Don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “No. You’ll see. It’ll take time, but it’ll work out.”

“Your confidence is jarring.”

He pockets his phone and takes a seat on the bed. His hand rises to my forehead, testing the temperature, and his lips thin. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll probably get you sick. You should put me back in the cell and stop touching me.”

A low chuckle escapes him. “Nice try.” His eyes dart to the nightstand, falling on the half-eaten chicken soup and quarter-eaten bread. “You didn’t finish.”

“I think starvation and stress has shrunk my previously-minimal appetite down to almost nothing.”

A long breath escapes him. “We’ll work on that.” He checks the watch on his wrist and shakes his head. “Damnit, I was gone for too long. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure you have a supremely busy schedule,” I say blithely. “Please, don’t stay put on my account.”

He shakes his head again, a smile tugging up his lips. “For the next little while, the priority in my schedule is going to be you. Get used to it.” His smile falls. “About earlier… ”

“Let’s not revisit it,” I interject. My chest pangs with a pain that isn’t physical—rather deeply emotional.

I know that my heritage has stained my soul.

I know that being my father’s daughter probably means I’m unlovable, not to mention unlikeable, which is something I’ve come to accept. It sucks, but it’s reality.

It’s very likely that I’ll spend my short life continuously paying for my father’s sins. I had a nice fantasy of escaping that for a while, and now it’s gone. It is what it is. Even if it hurts, there’s no use in belaboring the issue.

“Scarlett,” Monster says. “Let me finish.” He gazes deeply into my eyes. “That was cruel of me, and for that, I’m sorry.”

I snort. “ Right .”

“I am.” His eyes are darkening with irritation. “I don’t plan to be cruel to you. Like I said, I don’t want you miserable. If you want something, tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Just because you don’t plan to be cruel to me doesn’t mean you won’t be.

Let me ask you this; did you plan to stab me when you did?

Or to choke me? Or any of the extremes you went to every time I ticked you off?

” I don’t give him a moment to answer. “See, I don’t think you did.

I think you acted out of rage. I think you’re impulsive as fuck.

In short, your intentions mean shit to me. ”

Monster’s jaw clenches and his gaze darts away. His cheeks brighten with shame, and his hand on my breast loosens, but he still leaves it there , which only fuels my anger.

“Now, about you saying that you’ll make my wants come true and give me whatever I desire.” A short, sharp puff of laughter escapes me. “Let’s focus on that for a little bit. I think you’re full of shit, because the primary thing I want is my freedom. Tell me, Monster, am I going to get it?”

He doesn’t respond .

“ Right . In the absence of that, I’d ask to go back to school during the day and pursue my career. Will I get that?”

Again, no response aside from a slight tick of his jaw.

“Exactly. So, don’t give me bullshit. I’ve been watching you, and you’re a walking hazard.

Frankly, I’m pretty sure you’ll slip in one of your impulsive fits and accidentally kill me soon enough, so this’ll all be moot.

” I lean my head back against the headboard and shut my eyes.

“All I can hope for is that it’ll be sooner rather than later.

I’m strong, Monster. Stronger than most. But even I can only endure so much before reaching the point of no return. ”

When I hit that point, it’ll be him or me. And if I see an opportunity to walk away from this alive, I’ll take it. Even if that means turning into the thing I swore I’d always avoid; the monster my father tried to shape me into.

“Alright,” Monster says. “You’re stressed.

You’re exhausted and sick. I think it’s time for meds, food, and then bed—for the both of us.

I have a meeting at ten tomorrow, so we’ll do breakfast before then.

” He clears his throat. “I’ll need to check your vitals a few times throughout the night, but I’ll try not to wake you. ”

He’s studiously avoiding addressing what I’ve said by pivoting topics to my health.

Another time, I might point that out, but he’s right that I’m exhausted and sick.

As much as I don’t want to be here and I hate the fact that he’s touching me like he has the god-given right to do so, I need to heal if I’m ever going to get out of here.

And to heal, I need to sleep—regardless of if his hands are on me.

“Okay,” I say quietly, the words resigned.

I carefully wriggle around to get a bit more comfortable.

I draw in a sharp breath when Monster squeezes my breast, but he quickly releases me and leaves the room, taking the soup and bread with him.

He returns a few minutes later carrying a tray containing a bowl of steaming soup, three slices of bread, a large bottle of water, a syringe full of liquid, and a small pile of pills—four in total.

The soup is now steaming, and the bread has been sliced.

Monster takes a seat on the bed, sets the tray next to him, and lifts the syringe. The attached needle glimmers in the dim light of the room. “This is a blood thinner. Doc said it might be unpleasant, but I’ll make it quick.”

I shrink back. Pills are one thing, but an injection? I don’t know what he put in the syringe--it could be poison. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, Monster’s grabbed my arms and rolled up my shirt. I try to jerk my hand away, but he holds fast.

“Wait!” my voice is a squeak of alarm.

“Easy,” he says. “It’ll just take a second.”

I flinch as the needle penetrates my flesh, then squeak at the liquid fire that bursts in my arm as he presses the plunger. Sharp, stinging, turning into a low burn… is my entire life going to be pain now?