Page 33 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Grey

A fter yesterday’s fight, I promised myself I wouldn’t storm out on Scarlett again, so I don’t.

Instead, I shoot a text to Max, asking him if he’s got time to come over.

He’s dealt with enough of my bullshit recently that I won’t be surprised if he says he’s not available.

Thankfully, he sends a thumbs-up, and less than thirty seconds later, I’m letting him in.

I lead him into my office, opening the door I just had Scarlett up against. If we talk in my living room, she could eavesdrop on us, and I’d rather avoid that.

“I’m fucking everything up,” are the first words out of my mouth once we’ve taken seats on the small couch.

Max grunts. “Uh-huh. Want to be more specific?”

I tell him about the situation. Scarlett’s taunts, me rising to them, then the pathetic game I forced her into playing.

It felt good in the moment. It still feels good.

Having this sort of power over another living, breathing human being is nothing short of intoxicating.

It’s almost too easy to abuse it. To genuinely reduce Scarlett to my little fuck-doll…

But I don’t want that. I like the peeks of her personality I’ve seen.

The wit. The forked tongue. The razor-sharp retorts.

I truly do like them, but on the other hand, when her barbs are aimed at certain things, they wind me up.

Then I get impulsive, and then I send her on a wild goose-chase across the apartment only so I can strip her and feel her up against a wall.

It’s inconsistent, and worse, it’s cruel.

“Yeah, you’re being dumb,” Max says once I’m done with my recount.

“Look… having chosen ones will probably be most likened to a master-slave dynamic, to whichever degree the eligible Nighthawk wants. Scarlett is your captive, yes, and she’s your claimed, yes, but she is also your human being.

You are her caretaker. Her provider. It sounds like you’ve been decent with seeing to her physical needs—in the last twenty-four hours—but you need to give as much impact to her psychological and emotional needs.

She was just tortured, by you. Do you remember what you were like after you got caught on that op two years ago? ”

I was a menace for the following six months. Moodswings, picking fights with other Nighthawks, causing mayhem and stirring shit just because I itched for violence.

“I wasn’t pleasant to be around,” I mutter.

“That’s an understatement. Your brother pulled you back from the edge, helped calm you down. Who’s doing that for Scarlett?”

Sure as shit isn’t me, that much is certainly true.

I’m winding her up even more, because my own mental state is still all over the place after losing Sam.

My mood swings now make my volatility after that failed op look like childsplay.

I’m easy to provoke, easy to wind up--something Scarlett does so damn well .

“You’re a twenty-eight year old hardened killer.

She is a twenty-one year old girl, and by the sounds of it, she’s lived a hard life.

You’re not just her master or owner, you are her protector and provider.

She should be able to rely on you for stability and consistency.

Be strict, have set punishments and rewards, but you need to curb your impulsiveness.

” Max sighs. “You have three or four months to get her prepared for the ritual. To get her ready for whatever sick trials Cain will conjure up for her. You have to train her and break her in without breaking her.” He pauses.

“I suppose you could break her, if you were so inclined—”

“No.” Breaking her would mean watching her lose her spark. I’m not interested in that.

“Then train her to behave.”

“How?” I ask. “I’m pretty limited in what I can do.”

“Taking away her clothes is a good start. Every time she rebels, that should be the first move you make. Beyond that, you had an idea to offer her entertainment and revoke it—also good. You might not be able to do much while waiting for her to heal, but you should prioritize getting her used to your touch. Learning to see it as a good thing rather than a bad.”

“If I touch her, she freaks out. And binding her will only risk hurting her.”

“Then play a game. She’ll have questions.

Incorporate touching her into answering her questions.

It’s in her own interest to play. You have to build trust with her, Grey.

Trust is the cornerstone of loyalty and connection.

In her shoes, I wouldn’t trust you for shit, so you’re working against a lot. You’ve got one advantage.”

“That advantage being?”

“She’s young. She’s traumatized. You mentioned that you suspect she was abused by her father, so that probably hinders her ability to trust male figures of authority, but that makes her vulnerable to you.

Don’t abuse that vulnerability. Stay consistent.

And for fuck’s sake, don’t make a handicapped girl hobble around here on a fruitless treasure-hunt.

That’s not just a mean punishment, it’s cruelty. ”

I sigh. Pull my phone out of my pocket to get a look at Scarlett. She’s curled up on her side, which isn’t a good position for her current condition. She should be resting against the headboard .

“And, Grey?”

There’s more? “Yeah?”

“Leaving her alone after that little chase, after you stripped and touched her? Worst possible thing you can do. There’s a good chance she’s experiencing some form of sub-drop. If she’s unexperienced with men, that sub-drop might be accompanied by humiliation.”

I did see shame in her eyes earlier, when they were open. A lot of it.

“Maybe I should just let her go,” I mutter.

The words taste wrong. They’re defeat when I know I can find victory, a path forward from us.

But it’s been less than two days since I realized Scarlett wasn’t who I thought she was, so of course, this period is going to be rough. For her more so than for me.

“Too late. You told Cain she’s your chosen. Now he expects you to set an example. Your success would also set a good precedent for the rest of us--it’d give us more hope of this tradition working. If you and her were in love… it’d help everyone out.”

Love . That seems like a completely foreign impossibility. I don’t think love is on the table, but maybe contentment and happiness is achievable in the long-term. The very, very long-term, and only if I get my shit together.

“So quit yapping to me and go back to take care of your chosen.”

“Should I give her clothes?” I’m reeling, feeling like every move I make is destined to be the wrong one.

Max thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah. She lost them through a punishment. Giving them back would be inconsistent. But, next time, maybe don’t rise to her taunts?”

“Easier said than done. She knows how to go right for my throat.”

“So she’ll keep you well entertained. Get used to it, learn to love it.”

There’s that word again. Love . It’s almost as preposterous as the current situation—Scarlett trapped in my room, naked, suffering from injuries I inflicted on her, and probably humiliated because I rose to her taunts.

If she taunts and pokes at me too much, there have to be consequences, but the way I went about it earlier… wasn’t right.

It’s hard to see us as a good match right now. She’s coming off of torture, and I’m still trying and failing to cope with Sam’s death. I wonder what he’d say if he were here right now.

He probably wouldn’t agree with Cain’s changes, but he’d go along with them.

He’d find himself an appropriate chosen and put her on a strict yet kind training regiment.

Lots of rewards for being a good girl, strict consequences for being a bad one.

He’d find a way to form a genuine connection with his chosen, and he’d choose carefully.

He’d approach the training period with great tact and consideration, not with impulsivity and occasional hostility.

“If you need any more advice, let me know, but try to stop screwing up every day. Maybe keep it to a fuckup every few days?” Max quips.

I walk him to the door, thanking him again. Once he’s gone, I glance around my office. Take another look at Scarlett through the security camera, then walk to my liquor cabinet. Unlock it. Stare hard at the choices, wishing I could get wasted to numb all the bullshit for a little while.

If Scarlett made her way into my office, she’d probably have smashed one of these bottles and threatened me with a sharp shard of glass. I don’t know if she’d have cared about hurting herself in the process. The thought brings a smile to my lips, as ridiculous as it is.

No, I don’t want to break her. I want to bend her to make sure she stays in line, but breaking her? Out of the question.

I lock the cabinet again, steel myself, and head into the bedroom.

She doesn’t shift at my entrance. She could be asleep, or she could be ignoring me.

I spend an unreasonably long amount of time just staring at her ass.

Round. Heart-shaped. Tight and a little on the smaller side, though she’ll fill out once she has a few weeks of good meals.

I’m definitely looking forward to the day I claim her ass, almost as much as I’m looking forward to fucking her pussy for the first time.

She’ll want me to. In fact, I’m determined to ensure she begs me to, even if I have to use a few underhanded tactics to get there.

Focus .

I round the bed so I can stare at her head-on. Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, then returns to the bedspread.

“You should be sitting up.”

Her gaze shutters.

“Scarlett,” I prompt. “Sit up. Give your lungs room to work. They’re already struggling.”