Chased (Savage Men 3)

The one to keep me in check.

A smile slowly spreads across my lips.

Yes.

She will make me a better man.

Chapter Five

Accompanying Song: “The Dog Is Black” by UNKLE (Dial: Molotov Remix)

Syrena

Hours pass before I hear another sound.

He must be awake.

I yawn and rub my face against my shoulder, forcing myself to wake up.

I barely closed my eyes last night. Even though the bed was comfy, I couldn’t sleep, preferring to sit on the floor. It made me feel grounded. Safe.

But it hasn’t done my brain any good. I’m so goddamn sleepy that my eyes are droopy, and it’s hard to stay awake … but I have to be alert when he comes in to the room.

When the door creaks again, my muscles go rigid.

I wait.

In he steps.

He closes the door behind him and makes his way toward me. I can smell milk and something else … something sweet.

“I brought you some cereal and a bagel,” he says with a soft voice that almost sounds kind.

I swallow back the saliva as he brings it up to my nose, and the scents drift into my nostrils.

“Go on … take a bite,” he says.

And I do. God, I’d fucking do whatever he wants me to if I could have it all. I haven’t had good food in such a long time; it makes me moan a little.

He snorts.

Shit.

I chew slower and try not to make a sound while swallowing. I’m embarrassed, though it was definitely worth it just to taste that bagel.

When it’s gone, he pushes a spoonful of milk and cereal against my mouth, and I gleefully take a bite.

“Like that?” he asks.

I nod slowly as I chew.

“Good. I wasn’t sure what kind of foods you’d like or if you had any allergies, so I just went with the regular stuff. But if you have a preference, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I swallow it down. “Why?” The question slips out of my mouth.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Why does he even care so much?

What happened to the man who chased me, and who is this?

Does he have two personalities?

“I don’t understand,” I mutter.

“I want you to be happy, I suppose,” he replies, shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

Is that why he’s feeding me?

But it makes no sense. He’s keeping me locked up in a room. That’s not making someone happy. I’m a prisoner in his home.

When he tries to push another spoon in, I pull away and frown. “You tried to kill me … didn’t you?”

He sighs, and I hear the spoon fall into the bowl.

“I can’t deny that.”

I suck in a breath.

“But I’m a changed man now.”

“Why? What did I ever do to you?” I ask.

“Nothing. That’s the exact reason I chose you.”

I don’t understand any of it.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll understand … someday,” he mumbles as if he’s overthinking things when it should be easy.

Suddenly, a hand grabs my knee. I stiffen while he caresses me softly. Not sexually … just … nice. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to be afraid of me anymore. I promise.”

“How can I trust you?” I ask.

“I’m feeding you now. Isn’t that a sign of good faith?” he says, and his hand lifts from my knee. The spoon moves again.

“But …”

The spoon rests against my lips again. “Eat.”

Even though I hate it, I do because I’m hungry. I need the food to sustain myself.

Still, it doesn’t mean I can suddenly trust him.

It’ll take much more than that from a man who pushed a knife into my skin.

When the bowl is empty, he places it somewhere. Then he grabs my chin and turns my head toward him. “You have … beautiful eyes.”

“Th-thank you.” I don’t even know why I say thank you. Part of me wants to spit in his face right now, but that’ll put my well-being in jeopardy. I have to be smart.

That … and his voice when he said it made me blush.

“Do you want to go home?”

What?

The sudden question makes my heart skip a beat.

“I …” I don’t even know what I want. “Home … isn’t a place I know. I don’t have one.”

It takes him a few seconds to respond. “You don’t have a home to return to?”

I shake my head.

“Where did you sleep before Graham got to you?”

“Above Roy’s Strip Club.”

“Strip club?” His jaw clenches. I can hear it when he speaks.

“I worked there as a server and cleaned up after hours in exchange for a place to stay.”

“Oh.” It sounds as though he’s drifted off into his thoughts. “Was the owner … good to you?”

I shake my head and bite my lip. “He … put his hands on me sometimes.” I run my fingers over a scar on my shoulder. “I got this after he pushed me, and I fell into a glass table. Had to clean it up afterward too,” I say. “Sometimes, he’d make me dance in front of a crowd just so he could earn a bit more cash. Said I needed to earn my stay because I was useless.”