Caged (Savage Men 1)

I guess this is the time where we finally have a sit-down and actually talk. Like real grown-up people.

But still, it’s quiet. Too quiet. Neither of us knows what to say.

I’m too occupied with all the possible scenarios that could currently happen to Syrena, and he’s conflicted about telling me the truth.

“I’m … sorry,” he suddenly says, licking his lips as he looks up at me. “About Syrena.”

I frown, wiping away a tear, not knowing how to respond.

“I don’t want …”

“I know,” I say, smiling a little bit.

It’s not entirely his fault. He could’ve stopped Graham, yes, but ultimately, I was the one who didn’t do what Graham wanted. I rejected Cage, and by doing so, I set certain events into motion I couldn’t have anticipated. And it sucks. I wish I would’ve known how much of a cruel man he truly was.

I wrap my arms around my legs close to my body, clutching myself for warmth and comfort.

“It’s not your fault,” Cage says.

“It is …” I mutter. I know he’s talking about Syrena.

“It’s his.”

With a look of dismay, I gaze at him. “But he’s your father.”

“Syrena deserves better,” he growls, making a fist with his hand.

“She does,” I agree. “But there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

He briefly glances at me again. “I could.”

“But as you said, he’s your father. You love him.”

He doesn’t respond anymore. Instead, he just stares at my body, up and down, again and again. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s still contemplating what happened back in that room behind the black door. Or if he’s thinking about something else entirely, like feeling sorry for what happened. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Hell, I don’t even know what to do with me, and Graham isn’t even my father. It only makes things more complicated.

More complicated than being able to talk to a stranger after so many years of silence? I don’t know. I’m still flabbergasted I can use my voice in front of Cage.

I don’t understand why I can suddenly talk to strangers again. Maybe it’s because of my horrible situation. Being stuck in this prison makes one feel exceptionally appreciative of the little things. Like contact. And smiles. Like the one he’s giving me now.

“I like your voice,” he mutters.

It makes me smile too. And I blush.

Maybe I’m actually getting used to him.

But it’s not right. I can’t sit here and smile while Graham does unspeakable things to Syrena. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. But when I look around my cell, I come face to face with just how impossible our situation is. And how powerless I really am.

I need a distraction from my thoughts. Anything to occupy my mind so I don’t think about what he’s doing to Syrena.

“Tell me about yourself,” I mutter.

He cocks his head and points at himself, so I nod.

“This cage …” He glances around and above him. “It’s all I know.”

“But why? Why does he keep you here?”

“Fighting. And … sex.”

When he says that word, I find it hard not to zoom in on his lips. I have to stop myself from thinking about anything that involves him and sex … and me.

“Was I the first girl in here?”

He shakes his head.

So the girls in the pictures I saw in Graham’s office were really here. He wasn’t lying. They might’ve all been in this very cage, living this trapped life I’m living right now. Being offered up to … him.

I swallow away the lump in my throat, thinking about the way he came for me.

“Did you …?”

“No. They died.”

“Before you could …?”

“Yes.”

I nod a few times, looking away. It’s hard, coming to terms with the fact that Graham might’ve killed them or that they might’ve killed themselves just to get away.

The way Cage talks about it seems so distant. As if he doesn’t really know what happened. Or maybe he just wants to forget.

I can imagine it’s tough seeing girls die or disappear when all you want is to have them close. It must’ve been very lonely for him.

“Were all the girls prizes?” I ask.

He nods, which makes me shiver.

“So your dad gives you girls instead of freedom?” I feel weird just saying it out loud.

“Freedom?”

“Yeah … like a real home,” I explain.

“This is home.”

I frown. “But you’re not free.”

“I don’t need freedom,” he replies.

I grimace. “Everybody needs freedom.”

He shrugs and looks away, annoyed.

“Don’t you want to go … you know … outside?”

When he finally looks at me again, his narrowed gaze is full of confusion, eyes blazing with curiosity. “Outside?” He takes a deep breath. “Tell me more.”

My lips part, but nothing comes out.

I don’t know how to respond.

In shock, I ask, “You’ve never seen it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Chapter Thirteen

Accompanying Song: “Summa For Strings” by Arvo Pärt