Page 6 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Scarlett

I t’s cold. Damp. Heartless. A steady drip-drip-drip sounds through the darkness of the room, telling me that there’s a leaky pipe.

I can’t see anything in the pitch black, but my other senses are intact.

Heightened, even. The moisture in the air alerts me that I’m probably underground, in some basement.

The scents surrounding me are of blood, mold, and desperation.

I know for a fact that I’m not home. This isn’t one of my father’s locations, because leaving someone in the dark isn’t his style. No, he wants people to see the torture tools scattered around them when he decides to nab them. He wants them pissing themselves with fear by the time he gets there.

I sat in on his torture sessions a few times growing up. I didn’t want to, but he didn’t give me a choice. Every time, I’d gag at the gruesome sights, and he’d hit me each time I flinched. When I threw up, the punishment usually included a beating that occasionally fractured bones.

My childhood taught me a lot of things. Many tricks on how to deal with an eventuality like this. I have to dissociate, but not too strongly. I have to focus on what I do know instead of what I don’t. I have to keep my wits about me .

When I escaped my father’s cruel reign, I was certain that Dad would be the one to come for me one day.

He’d capture me, beat me to within an inch of my life, and then have his men do whatever they wanted to me.

I was so sure that he was the biggest threat out there, the thing I most needed to run from.

I never took his enemies into consideration.

The last time I was conscious, I came face to face with the monster I suspect I should’ve feared all along. One who has vivid grey eyes that seethe with rage. But beneath the rage, I thought I saw a glimmer of pain. Maybe the monster was once a man.

Maybe my dad is Doctor Frankenstein, and the demon who came for me is his creation.

I try to remember every little bit of my capture while waiting for whatever comes next.

The events after I got tased for the first time are a bit fuzzy, obscured by adrenaline and fear, but I remember my captor mentioning his brother.

I remember him asking if his brother begged the way I was begging.

I remember him telling me that he’d send me and my father to hell…

I try to piece things together as best as I can with the little information I have.

I was always good at puzzles, and my current predicament is no different than a thousand-piece puzzle.

I strongly suspect that the man who kidnapped me is not working alone—I hear faint echoes, more like vibrations of activity through the walls.

But he’s also not working with my father.

In fact, it seems like he’s an enemy of my father.

Him being an enemy of my father, combined with how he brutally tased me, means he probably thinks I’m part of one of my father’s heinous crimes.

Which means I need to find a way to clear the air, and fast. I need to convince him that I am estranged from my father, even though he was feral with anger earlier .

Possibly because my father killed his brother.

Fuck .

There might not be any reasoning with him, so I need to find a way to escape. There has to be some way, no jail is perfect—

The door opens with a screech. Light spills through it, temporarily blinding me.

I squint against the brightness, wincing, suppressing a low moan.

Somehow, the wash of light makes me feel weaker rather than stronger, making my headache triple in severity.

I inhale deep breaths, trying to remember what my brother told me I should do if I’m ever captured like this.

Breathe, focus on little details, figure out what I can do rather than what I can’t.

A click echoes through my cell and overhead lights switch on, spilling startling fluorescent brightness across the damp space. This time, I can’t contain a low grunt as I cover my eyes, trying to blink my way through the sensory overload.

“Looks like someone’s awake.”

That voice. It’s the same voice that kidnapped me, that tased me to within an inch of my life until I actually blacked out.

That terrible voice is the reason I’m in this hellhole, probably awaiting torture and death.

I force my blurry vision to focus and look blearily at the intruder who decided to scramble my brain with sensory bullshit—as if knocking me out with high voltage electricity wasn’t enough.

“Looks like it,” I manage to croak, looking over the man. He’s standing in the open doorway to my cell, leaning casually against the wall. “Not to be a brat, but any chance you can tell me why the fuck I’m here?”

“We’ll get to that.” The man tilts his head to the side as he examines me, huddled up against a cold wall with my knees drawn to my chest. An undefinable emotion flashes through his eyes, but it’s quickly followed up by rage. “First, we have a few things to talk about. ”

He crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge, trying to intimidate me into blurting out…

something. Maybe he wants information from me?

Rather than give into his amateur tactic, I take the time to look around the room.

That’s when my blood truly runs cold, because I suspect I’m in my own death chamber.

There are blood splatters on the walls. Dark, rusty stains, some of which reach as high as the ceiling.

A single metal table stands in the center of the relatively small cell, with two accompanying chairs.

One of the chairs is outfitted with metal rings that I presume are used to chain someone to it.

Dear god, if I don’t find a way out of here, I’m 90% sure I’m going to die.

“Look, I’m pretty sure this is all a misunderstanding,” I start shakily.

“Rule number one,” the man says. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. If I ask you a question, answer, and you better tell me the goddamn truth—or I will hurt you. Badly. Do you understand?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. This is worse than I thought. I think my captor might actually be a psycho. I nod slowly.

“Good. Rule number two; if I tell you to do something, do it, or the same consequences apply. Got it?”

I nod again, even while subtly trying to glance at the open door behind him, see if I can catalogue anything about this place that might help me escape. All I can spot is a small glimpse of a sterile, lifeless hallway with grey cement walls.

“Wonderful. Follow the rules and we’ll get along just fine.”

“If I follow them well enough, will I get rewarded?” I ask snarkily. “Will you deign to grant me my freedom?”

“Breaking rules already, I see,” the man says. “Do yourself a favor and don’t . I have a deep desire to seriously hurt you, and only your compliance will keep me leashed.” He inhales a deep breath that makes his chest puff out .

Shame he’s so pretty. Usually, monsters are as ugly on the outside as they are on the inside, but this guy seems to be the exception that makes the rule.

“Stand up and walk to the chair nearest to you. Sit down without a fuss.”

I shift in my position, wincing at the full-body aches that the slightest motion causes, and slowly use the wall to help me stand, leaning on it heavily.

My breathing is labored and my entire being screams in protest at the movement, but I don’t let that deter me.

I cast the open door another glance, weighing my odds of success if I try to make a break for it.

Too low, not worth whatever beating I’ll have to endure.

Damnit, I might actually need to rely on my brother to help me escape. I know he’ll come for me; as soon as he realizes I’m missing, he’ll tear the country apart to find me, but that might happen too late. No, I have to find a way myself.

I force myself over to the chair with slow steps and practically fall onto the uncomfortable metal seat, my teeth clinking together. I want to lay my head down on the table and go back to sleep, but I don’t think my captor will give me such courtesy.

“So it can follow orders,” the man— monster— says. I think I’ll nickname him Monster, since I’m not in a position to ask him what his actual name is.

I ignore him referring to me as an it . If he wants to dehumanize me for whatever my perceived crimes are, that’s his prerogative. It’s not like this’ll be the first time I’m treated as less than human. I grew up being treated as less than human.

Monster takes a seat in the chair across from me. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back, raking a hostile gaze over me. I swallow hard, trying not to shift under the weight of his stare.

“You’re the daughter of Luther Sharpe,” Monster says. “Yes or no? ”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I reply.

His gaze hardens with anger. “Don’t play games. Don’t pretend you’re on the outs with daddy dearest.”

“I am on the outs with my father,” I snap back, my blood starting to heat. “I got the hell away from that asshole years ago.”

“ Don’t fucking lie .” Monster’s voice is elevating in pitch. He’s growing agitated. I don’t think that reasoning with him will do me any good, but I have to try.

“I don’t know what you think my relationship with my father is, but if you think I’m on his side, you’re dead wrong,” I say. “Whatever he’s done to you, I guarantee he’s done worse to me. I have no contact with him. I escaped him and never looked back.”

“Is that why you’re living in an apartment he bought you? ” Monster snaps. “Is that why he’s paying your tuition?”

“He’s doing no such thing,” I retort. “You think he ever wasted a dime on me, even before I escaped him?” I grew up wearing my brother and mother’s hand-me-down clothes, for fuck’s sake. I never had anything of my own.

“Then who’s providing your living arrangement and funding your college life?” Monster challenges. I open my mouth to say my brother, but hesitate.