Page 61 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Scarlett

T he minutes trickle by one tick at a time when Monster leaves.

I spend the day sitting at the dining table, staring at the petals of the oleander flower I’ve collected and pocketed.

Enough for a fatal dose, prepped ready to be steeped in tea.

My heart races and anxiety creates a fire in my chest; with each minute that passes, my stress grows.

I do not want to become a murderer. I can not become a murderer. All my life, I’ve done everything I possibly could to differentiate myself from my father, and today might be the day when I truly act like his daughter. When I become the monster, the weapon he unknowingly created.

I’ve gone over my plan again and again. I’ve tried to find another way, one that won’t make me a killer, but there is none.

My only remaining hope is that Monster dies during his mutiny today, but even that thought sends an ache deep into my core.

My conflict is eating me up, and though I know what I have to do… I don’t want to do it.

But I have to. It’s either escape, or spend my life chained to the Monster who’s scarred me in more ways than one.

Night falls as I continue staring at the flowers.

The glimmers of sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains over the windows dissipate, leaving behind darkness.

More and more hours trickle by… until it’s nearly 9 p.m. I start to wonder if Monster’s operation today hasn’t killed him yet when the door gives a beep.

I swivel my head around as it opens, and Monster steps in.

Every inch of visible skin is covered in dry streaks of blood. Three splatters stain his browbone. He looks like the monster I know him to be, like a menace that haunts this world in the darkest hours of the night.

He looks like the man who took my innocence brutally, and made love to me this morning like I’m the most important thing in his life.

He doesn’t just look like a Monster, he looks like my Monster. The monster I’ll most likely have to kill.

“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly, standing from the table.

Monster shakes his head. “No. Just tired; it’s been a long day. I’m going to shower, then I can call up for dinner—”

“I’m too queasy to eat,” I interrupt. It’s the truth; I’ve been vaguely nauseous all day at the prospect of what I’ll have to do. When Monster’s expression darkens, I hurry to add, “I’ve been worried about you.”

His gaze softens. After thinking for a moment, he nods. “Yeah. I guess it’s been a long day for both of us. Let’s just head to bed—we can deal with everything else in the morning.”

“I’ll make the tea while you shower,” I say. Suddenly, the petals and leaves in my pocket feel like they’re burning a hole through my pants. What if he sees their outline? What if he suspects me?

No, he doesn’t. If he knew, he’d already be punishing me.

“No tea for me tonight,” Monster responds, shaking his head. “I just need you, and then I need a good night’s sleep.”

My heart thuds violently against my ribcage. This isn’t a turn of events I anticipated; but maybe I should’ve. Monster told me he’s not much of a tea drinker, and I suspect he’s only doing it as a benefit to me. Maybe as a way to establish a ritual with me, something we can do together.

If he’s alive, then it means he’s had a difficult day filled with violence. Of course, he won’t be thinking about drinking tea with me—he’ll just want to fuck and sleep.

“The guys are out tonight so I get a break before the chaos resumes,” Monster sighs. “I intend to make the most of my last bits of peace. Wait for me on the bed.”

I suck in a sharp breath. If this place is empty tonight, I won’t get any better chance to run. I have to get him to drink poisoned tea. I have to.

“Monster,” I say softly. “It’s been a stressful day for both of us.

I thought… I thought you might not return, and it scared me.

” I’m surprised by how true my words are.

“Could we…” I inhale a deep breath. “Could we maybe have a cup of tea on the couch and watch something? Enjoy each other before going to bed.”

Monster’s face softens even more. My words get to him, even if they’re only partially true. Truer than I’d prefer, but not true enough.

I wish I still hated him. I wish I still despised him and yearned for his death with every waking moment. God , I wish I wanted to eviscerate him, because having to kill someone I don’t hate anymore, someone who thinks they love me…

I don’t know how I’ll live with myself.

“Alright,” Monster agrees, nodding. “You got it, Flower. Whatever you want. Set the kettle, make us tea, and choose something to watch. I think I could use some cuddling, as well.”

I wait until I hear the shower running before turning on the electric kettle and retrieving two large mugs.

My hands shake as I withdraw the flower petals from my pocket and drop them into the bottom of the mug Greyson likes to use.

They tremble so badly when I pour the water, I nearly spill the scalding liquid all over myself.

I watch the petals steep in the tea, turning the hot water into a death sentence.

When the shower shuts off, I fish the flowers out with a fork, dump them down the sink drain, wash the fork, and put it back in the silverware drawer.

I drop two teabags into the mugs and try to steady my hands as I bring them over to the couch.

A haze descends on my mind, blurring the edges of my consciousness with a blessed, blissful numbness.

I think I’m already going into shock, and Monster hasn’t taken a sip of his tea yet.

I set the mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch, pick up the TV remote, and put on a random period drama on Netflix. I try to lean into the haze as much as possible, because I think it might be the only thing that’ll protect me from what I have to do.

Monster joins me moments later, wearing only grey sweatpants. He drops onto the couch next to me and gazes at the TV screen. “Really? You’re going to make me watch a historical romance?”

I give him a shaky smile, trying to keep panic from my expression. The numbness begins to clear, leaving me falling into a swirling storm of fear, anxiety, and self-loathing. I pick up my mug and take a sip, watching as he also picks up his and blows at the steam.

“When I first saw photos of you, I think I’d already started to grow enamored with you.

Fixated, at least,” Monster says, gazing at me with softness in his eyes.

My chest clenches and twists, as if he’s pierced it with a dagger.

I nearly lose my breath. “But I thought you handed my brother over to your father for torture and death,” Monster goes on.

“So I did unforgivable things. I know you’ll probably never forgive me for them, and honestly, I won’t forgive myself either.

But I want to build a life with you, Flower. I want us to be happy together. ”

I force myself to ignore the sweet sentiments in my words and focus in on unforgivable things .

I take myself back to the cell where I woke up.

I remember the fear. The knowledge that I’d die.

The flickers of hope that I’d escape; then, that hope being doused when Monster drove a knife into my thigh.

I remember when he waterboarded me. When he called my father and put an eternal target on my back, sentencing me to live in a constant state of warranted fear. When he wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed until I thought I’d die.

An action he repeated just this morning.

Something in my chest hardens into steel. The softness, the doubt, the worry all dim, leaving behind a stark, cold clarity.

It doesn’t matter what Monster has done since letting me out of the cell.

It only matters what he’s proved himself capable of doing.

A man who hits a woman once will never stop doing that—I learned that from my father.

Just because Monster hasn’t hurt me in a few weeks doesn’t mean he won't. It doesn’t mean that I’m safe with him, that I’ll ever be safe or content with him.

It means that it’s him or me, and in a deathmatch, I will always choose myself.

Monster downs his tea in several gulps, as he always does.

It’ll take just a few minutes for him to start feeling the effects of the poison, and if he doesn’t take the antidote, he’ll be unconscious in fifteen minutes, and dead in less than two hours.

I gave him a dose that would kill a man of his size two times over.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I murmur, standing.

“Hurry back,” Monster replies. “I want to hold you while we watch this romantic bullshit.”

You’ll never hold me again .

I’m in a faint daze of cold mist as I go to the bathroom. I flush the toilet to make it sound like I used it and run the water as I retrieve the pouch with the syringes. My hands don’t shake anymore. I have a complete clarity of what has to be done; no uncertainty remains.

I know my next steps, even if my actions will turn me into a true Sharpe. Even if they morph me into something I never wanted to become.

I pocket the pouch, not caring that the end of it sticks out of my pocket. I hear a few coughs from the living room, telling me it’s time. The poison is starting to affect Monster.

My steps are slow as I walk back to him. I don’t take a seat on the couch; instead, I hover near it. Weakness will be the second stage of the poison, while shortness of breath and coughing is the first.

“Fuck—” Monster cuts off with several more coughs.

He tries to inhale a steady breath. Fails.

Looks at me. “Flower, get me a glass of—” he can’t finish the sentence before he runs out of breath.

His brows draw together and his eyes turn hazy with confusion.

He presses a hand to his chest and glances around the room, panting.

Trying to come up with an explanation of what’s happening to him.