Page 30 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Scarlett

M onster doesn’t come back for a while, which gives me time to think things over. I fall in and out of a fitful sleep while trying to imagine what my life from here on out will look like. My experience tells me that it’ll be a pain of circus and misery…

I have to escape . I just don’t know how the hell I’ll go about it. If I successfully manage to get out of here, I can get help from my brother. He’ll give me a new identity and set me up at a new college, far away from here. Then, he’ll probably rain hellfire down on the Nighthawks.

I’m in the process of a laborious trip to the bathroom when I hear the apartment door open with a beep.

I glance over my shoulder, which unfortunately throws me off-balance.

I wobble for several endless moments, trying to regain my center, only to tip over.

I squeeze my eyes and brace for the impact of the unforgiving floor, but instead, strong arms catch me right before I hit the ground.

My eyes open wide, and I gaze at the tattoos on Monster’s fingers. Diamonds, hearts, knives…

“I thought I told you to stay put.” His voice is harsh, coming out angry. “You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.”

“I had to pee. You could furnish me with a pair of crutches so this incident doesn’t repeat itself, and you don’t have to waste time carrying me places like an invalid. ”

“You’re my invalid, and only for a little while.” Monster starts carrying me to the bathroom.

“I’d be more valid if I had crutches.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to carry you.” He says it like taking me places is a reward; as though he likes touching me.

It’s such a drastic change from a few days ago, when he only ever touched me in anger, all the while reminding me what a miserable excuse of a human being I am.

Either he got a personality transplant, or his grief over his brother has made him insane.

“How long has it been since you lost your twin?” I ask.

Monster stiffens. He sets me down on my feet right in front of the toilet and spins me around. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes flash with anger. “Why would you ask me that?”

Great. I’ve made him angry. “Because the personality transplant we discussed yesterday is beginning to confuse me, so I’m trying to find viable explanations for your behavior.

Either you’re playing some sort of sick trick on me and I’ll wake up in a cell tomorrow, or you’re bipolar as fuck, or you had an episode of trauma-induced psychosis. ”

Monster doesn’t lose the frown, but some of the anger seeps from his eyes. “Four months ago. Your father had my brother’s body delivered to me in a box.” He swallows. “Sam’s head was in a separate box that came a day later.”

My chest twists at the visual. I can’t stop myself from imagining Eric or myself experiencing the same thing.

I think if I was delivered to him in boxes, he would never stop raining his anger down on the world at large, and he’d hunt my killer down and torture them for years .

If he was delivered to me, I’d make it my life’s mission to kill whoever ended him.

And Eric’s my older brother that I was estranged from for the better part of a decade.

He escaped our father long before I did, and it took agonizingly long years for him to find a way to get me out .

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” I whisper. A wave of empathy washes over me, temporarily muting my own fury at Monster, at the horrible circumstances he’s forced me into. “I can’t imagine the pain.”

Monster’s frown begins to melt away. He tilts his head to the side as he examines me, appearing momentarily confounded. “How can you possibly apologize for the sins of your father? For something I wrongfully tortured you over?”

“My pain doesn’t void your own. I can feel empathy for you and still despise you and what you did to me. I have a capacity for emotional intelligence.”

Monster is still confused, so much so that he ignores my subtle barb. “I guess you’ll have to teach me some of that, then.” He turns around. “Do what you need to do—I’ll wait outside. Let me know when you’re done.”

This morning, I argued with him about how uncomfortable it is to piss when someone else is two feet away, but I didn’t win the debate then, and I doubt I will now.

After I’ve hopped my way to the sink and washed my hands, Monster carries me back to the bed.

“You have any preferred genres of books?” he asks me. “I’ll put an order online.” He spends a few beats thinking, then shakes his head. “Actually, it’s probably best if you order. I’ll doubtlessly fuck it up.” A self-deprecating smile touches his lips. “Like I have everything else with you.”

I don’t feel sorry for his deprecation. “Probably.”

His brows knit. “So, your empathy doesn’t extend beyond the death of my brother.”

Realization dawns. He was making a self-deprecating comment to see if that would draw my empathy to the surface again. This man is a goddamn minefield. I can’t give any of myself away or he’ll weaponize it and use it against me.

Rage floods my body. I can’t stand being manipulated--who the hell does he think he is? I show him an inch of kindness, and he immediately tries to finagle a mile.

“Fuck you,” I say heatedly. “Remember the talk we just had about emotional intelligence? I have it, and you don’t.

You’re a fucking monster, whereas I’m a human.

You’re a person who will kidnap an innocent girl, torture her until she wants to die, then enslave her.

My empathy will not extend beyond your grief, and I only have that much because—” I cut off abruptly, sealing my lips. He’s getting a rise out of me.

“Because what?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “What would you know of the pain of losing someone?”

So, he doesn’t know everything about my father, after all. He doesn’t know about my mother. He doesn’t know that I watched Dad strangle the life out of Mom, and there’s no way I’m going to tell him.

“Nothing. I’m just the wretched offspring of a despicable man, remember? And yet… between the two of us, I’m the human. Tell me, Monster, what does that say about you?”

I hate being emotionally manipulated. Even the vaguest attempt will set me off, because I experienced so damn much of it in my childhood. It’s a point of trauma for me that makes me angry, and in return, I want to make Monster angry. I want to make him livid .

My ploy works. His eyes darken. Any softness disappears, and he looks at me the way I’m used to; like I’m his enemy number one. His upper lip curls into a snarl.

“If you weren’t knocking on death’s door because of your weakness, I’d stick a gag in that mouth to shut you the fuck up. You’re a little bitch who needs to be taught how to behave, aren’t you? I’ll let you in on a secret; I can’t wait to break you.”

“Put me back in the cell, then.” Despite all my talk about emotional intelligence, I can’t seem to stop myself from taunting him. “Waterboard me some more. Maybe this time you’ll do both of us a favor and kill me. Because if you don’t, you have no idea how fucked you are.”

Even though I’m hesitant to count on it…

I believe Eric will find me, eventually.

It could take him months or years, but he’ll find me, and he’ll find a way to get me out.

Since I don’t want to wait around for him to swoop in, I need to find a way to escape and get to him first. Once I do, he’ll destroy the Nighthawks.

He’ll rig this entire place with specially-made explosives and blow it up, killing everyone inside.

I know my brother loves me, but I’m under no illusions about who he is.

I see his soft side, his kindness, the protector in him that’s only ever existed for me , but I know he’s also a monster.

He’s a fiend. I don’t know details of his business dealings and I don’t ask, but I’ve overheard a few of his conversations on the phone over the years. Enough to know he works in the shadows.

Monster’s eyes sharpen. “What do you mean by that?”

Shit . He senses that there’s more to my words, which means I need to backtrack fast.

“I mean that I am going to kill you the first chance I get. I’m weak right now, yes, but I won’t always be. I’ll find my strength.”

God , I hope my words are a lie. I don’t want to kill anyone, even Monster.

He’s despicable, he’s someone who absolutely deserves to die, but I don’t want to be the one to do it.

I can’t be the one to do it. I’ve spent most of my life living with the fear that I inherited the ugliness that lives in my father’s soul, and I’ve done everything in my power to avoid finding out whether or not I truly am his daughter.

I don’t want to give Monster the satisfaction of turning me rotten .

“You are welcome to try,” Monster says. “You know what? Let’s play a game. If you find a weapon and manage to kill me, you win. If you don’t, I will punish you.”

Adrenaline sparks to life in my heart. When I said I’d kill him, I was partially bluffing. I’d much rather find a way to escape. I didn’t expect him to rise to my taunt like he did, to virtually tell me to have at it. He really is crazy…

I see the symptoms, though. Familiar symptoms. I just about lost my mind when Mom died in front of me.

I was uncontrollable. Dad locked me in the basement, and for once, he had good reason to do so.

I attacked our cook—the one person who’d ever been kind to me.

I held a knife to her throat and threatened her to get me out of there.

Dad broke three of my ribs and left me to contemplate my insanity in a cold, dark cell.