Page 37 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

“Luther’s not a kind person to anyone. Certainly not his family.

There were expectations of me that I could never quite achieve.

I never went to school—I always got private tutoring for my schooling, and my tutors were instructed to be as demeaning as my father was.

I think he hoped that degradation would push me to excel.

” In reality, it just permanently stained my self-image.

“There was violence. Beatings for my mother and I.” I purposely avoid mentioning my brother, even though he had it the worst out of all of us.

I got regular bruises and occasional broken bones; Eric had to be rushed to the hospitals every few months because Father lost control.

“I thought your mother died in childbirth.”

Is that the story Dad’s spreading? Maybe he doesn’t want people to know that he’s worse than a wife-beater; he’s a wife- killer . “No, she died later.”

“How? When?”

“When I was 15. Health complications as a result of the abuse.” The lie slips from my tongue easily. I might not be good at acting, but a horrible childhood taught me to be spectacular at lying.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Monster says.

“It is what it is. No use bemoaning it now.”

Monster examines me carefully, then nods at the tray. “Eat.”

I have no appetite after going over the details of my childhood, but I suspect that saying as much would only escalate things, so I reach for the food and dig in.

It quickly becomes clear that, right now, even eating is enough to tire me out.

By the time my spoon clinks against the empty bowl, my eyes are drooping, but I force them open. “I need to wash.”

Monster’s already long-since done with his food. He eats like a human vacuum. “I’ll run the bath. If you’re a very good girl for me during it, you can get your clothes back afterward.”

He carries me into the bathroom and perches my bare ass on the sink counter. The surface is cool beneath me, but it almost feels pleasant because I’m constantly hot. Must be the fever .

I watch as he fills up the bathtub, testing the temperature for the water, then rolls up a spare towel and sets it on the edge of the bathtub .

Once the tub is filled, he starts taking off his clothes. Is he planning on joining me? I avert my gaze, feeling my cheeks heat, but I can’t stop my eyes from crawling back to him.

Jesus Christ, he is completely sculpted.

Six-pack abs that you usually only read about in romance books.

Strong, carved chest. And dark, smoky tattoos everywhere .

I hate him, I truly do, but his body… it’s a work of art.

His biceps and forearms, those manly hands, the chest and abs…

god, he’s potent. I couldn’t force myself to look away if I wanted to, and he notices.

Smirks. Holds my gaze as he works the drawstring of his sweats, hooking his thumb over the waistband.

My mouth runs dry as he tugs his pants down, letting them fall to the floor.

He’s not wearing anything beneath, and I catch a glimpse of his dick—veiny, thick, long, and hard— before I force myself to look away.

Now my blush has turned into a feverish scorch, and my mouth has suddenly run dry.

I’ve never seen a man naked in real life—only in porn.

I avert my gaze, staring at my hands. Staring at my thigh. Trying to ignore the strange heat curling through my body like lazy tendrils of smoke. I don’t know where it comes from or what it means, but I have a sneaking suspicion, and I don’t like it.

“You can look, you know,” Monster says, stepping closer to me. He gathers me in his arms, holding me to his chest. I gasp when I feel his… cock tap against my hip. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of it soon enough. Might as well get used to the sight.”

He steps into the bathtub and carefully lowers us in.

He props my bad leg over the rolled-up towel on the edge of the tub, but the rest of me gets submerged in soapy, warm heaven .

I haven’t taken a shower or had a bath in what feels like weeks, and the baby wipes Monster keeps on hand only go so far when it comes to cleaning myself up.

Even though I wish he weren’t in the tub, I soften with a sigh.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against his hard chest.

“Do we have to do this together—”

“Yes,” Monster says. “I’m going to touch you again. You can ask me questions, if you want, or you can just relax. Up to you.”

He reaches for a washcloth and drizzles some soap onto it. I swallow as he places it on my shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. My shoulder is a pretty innocuous place, but I know he’s going to touch me in other places that I’d rather he didn’t.

And I know that, despite myself, I’ll eventually get used to it. Humans are creatures of habit. The more we experience something, the more comfortable we become with it.

When he swipes the cloth over the underside of my breast, I’m desperate for a distraction, so I blurt, “What was your brother like?”

Monster pauses for a second. I feel his chest press firmer against my back as he inhales a deep breath.

“Smart. Cunning. Reserved. Quiet until he got a few drinks in him—then goddamn hilarious. He was analytical to a fault, could be callously cold, but he was also kind. Once he cared about someone, he’d do anything for them. He saved Max’s life a few times, risking his own neck.”

“Who’s Max?” he’s rubbing my nipple now, and I’m trying—and failing—to ignore the tingling heat that the movement ignites.

“Another Nighthawk. You’ll meet him soon. He was actually a physical therapist in training before he turned to a life in the shadows, so he’ll probably work with you to get you functional again.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter. “Wait… is he the guy who brought you the stuff to drown me with?”

We both stiffen at the reminder. I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m sitting in several gallons of water, with Monster behind me.

He could push me under the surface and drown me again at any moment.

While I’m not as vehemently opposed to the idea of dying as I once was, I am opposed to getting drowned.

I’ve already done that in the recent past—it’s not a fun way to go.

Greyson slips the washcloth lower, aiming for right between my legs. I try to shift forward, but he holds me in place, and begins washing my pussy with a thoroughness that leaves me red in the cheeks.

“Yes,” he admits. “He didn’t want to be there. He never advocated for torturing you. Killing you, yes, but not—”

“That makes it so much better—” I cut off with another gasp when he rubs the washcloth in circular motions, right over my clit. A small noise, almost like a whimper escapes my lips, and my toes curl at the sensation.

“Sensitive, are we?” Monster rumbles, sounding pleased. “Good girl. I’m going to have fun playing with that.”

“You’re a psycho,” I mutter, though there isn’t much rancor in the words.

“Maybe,” Monster agrees. “And yet, you’ll come to care for me anyways.”

“If I had a gun earlier, I’d have shot you in the head.”

He pauses again, and I bite my lip, berating myself for the comment. Last time I spoke of killing him, he sent me on a painful wild goose chase and took away my right to wear clothes.

Instead of informing me that I won’t be getting any clothes for a week , Greyson runs the washcloth down my thigh. “I guess that’s fair. I’ll work on it. Now relax; hard part’s over, I’ll be done soon.”

I get my clothes back the following morning.

Well, they’re Monster’s clothes, but they’re better than nothing.

Monster leaves the room to take care of something, and in his place comes Max.

I recognize him from the day I drowned multiple times.

A flash of irritation tightens my chest at his appearance, but I don’t say anything about it.

He introduces himself, then rolls up the leg of my sweats and starts poking at my leg.

After a while, he gives me a set of simple exercises to do so I can avoid complete muscle atrophy while I heal.

He stays with me for about two hours, and at the end of it, I’m able to limp around the room without phenomenal amounts of pain.

The exertion still makes my lungs burn, but I’m feeling a lot better about myself. Maybe I won’t need crutches, after all.

“That’s great,” Max says. “You’re coming along better than most would be in your shoes. Christ, Sam was a fucking menace when he was laid up for a few months—”

He cuts himself on at the mention of Monster’s twin. We stare at each other for a few beats. Then, he awkwardly clears his throat and changes topics.

Neither of us really mention my circumstances or captivity throughout his visit.

I realize that Max is kinda fun to be around—he cracks funny jokes, makes light of bad situations, and helps me find my legs, literall y.

When he leaves, I’m almost sad to see him go, because that means I’ll be stuck with Monster’s volatility again.

The same routine repeats itself for the following few weeks.

Monster leaves in the mornings after we’ve eaten, replaced by Max.

I do physical therapy with him for a while, then he leaves and Monster returns.

We do lunch and dinner together—he works in his office a lot.

He gets bolder with me each day, touching me for longer periods of time.

My lungs heal, my fever disappears, and my heart rate goes back to normal.

With each milestone, I feel myself growing more and more afraid, because I know it means that soon, Monster will be using me in ways he never has before.

And I don’t know if I have the strength to handle it.