Cruel Intoxication (Underground Kings 4)

She nods, still not speaking to me.

“I’ll give you a little—”

A horrible fucking sadness takes over her face, and her eyes swim with tears.

I lift my hands once more and calm her. “Not because you aren’t welcome to it. You are. It looks like you haven’t eaten in a while. If you eat too much too fast, your stomach will go into a shock, and you’ll get sick. Just go slow, okay?” I ask, slicing one piece of meat off and then scoop the ladle from the skillet and pour a bit of gravy on top.

She nods and pushes to her knees, stretching her neck to look over to see the food on the plate. I chuckle and hand it to her, and she greedily snatches it from me. She tilts the plate up and pushes the food into her mouth, and I clear my throat, warning her to slow down.

My strange guest pauses and nods, dropping the plate to her lap. She tries to pace herself and chews slower, but I don’t think it’s working. Poor girl is starving. “You hold that down, I’ll be glad to give you some more. Okay? In the meantime, have some water.” I take a blue mug and pour some water from my thermos. She reaches for it, and I take it back, lifting my brows as I remind her, “Slow, remember?”

She nods again, tilting her pointed chin to her chest and her trembling hands wait for me to place the mug in her palms. She’s chewing slowly, and once she swallows, I hand her the mug. She slurps the water, and her eyes close in appreciation. A cute half smile forms on her lips, and then she takes another drink.

Maybe everything will alright after all.

Four

Jolie

He’s kind, that much I notice. He’s giving me space. He's letting me trust him instead of forcing me to trust. I have a choice. I never have choices. I glance down at my clothes and see I’m in a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are tied on the side of my hip because they are so big. I look at the man who saved me and realize that they are hanging on me because they’re his clothes.

The man who kidnapped me is a big man too, but he isn’t kind. Never once did he show me kindness. I stop chewing on the food when the memories of what he did to me flash in my mind. My stomach turns, and the delicious food turns with it. I stare at the plate, doing my best to calm down, but the anxiety is a slinky, tumbling inside me down a never-ending set of stairs.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong?” the man asks.

I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about it.

“Okay, I understand. I won’t push. I know what it’s like to have your secrets.”

I reach for the mug of water again, and the man’s palm lands on my elbow. I yank my arm away from the unwanted touch and cradle my arm to my chest.

“Woah, hey, I’m curious why you have all these bruises. What happened to you? Who did this? Are you running?” His stormy blue eyes narrow, and his jaw tics when he evaluates me and my body. I feel naked with how hard he’s staring. I’m afraid to say anything. What if he’s a partner with the man who kidnapped me?

Trust no one.

Only trust yourself.

I stay silent, and the plate starts to shake from the nerves and fear racking across my heart.

“Listen to me…” The stranger reaches across and holds out his hands, palms up. I glance at them then his face with watery eyes. “It’s okay,” he sooths.

Hesitantly, I stretch my hands out, and they tremble uncontrollably. A tear drips down my cheek, but I’m too afraid to touch him. Touch has never been kind. His fingers curl, and I rip my hand away.

“I’ll let you come to me. You’re in control here,” he says, looking at me through patient eyes. “I won’t hurt you. If I ever do, you can kill me yourself; how about that?”

I gasp and shake my head. I could never do something like that to someone. With a deep breath, I reach out and slide my hands through his. Immediately, I notice the callouses that scratch against my hand, and I’m so used to feeling hands like this in anger, that I’ve never took the time to appreciate how good they feel.

Well, they have never felt good before.

But right now they do.

“There you go. Thank you for trusting me enough for this,” he tells me gently. “My name is Owen Carter. I live around here with a few other guys and their wives. One is pregnant with twins; there is a housekeeper named Julia. Heaven, one of the other guys, he’s a little weird, but if you want, you don’t have to stay out here. You c

an come back with me. You can have your own room, your own space. Food, shelter, clothing. I’ll help you get back on your feet. We are good guys.” His thumbs swipe along my knuckles. “You’re safe with us, and I know that doesn’t mean much, but I want to throw it out there.”

I take my hands away, wondering if this is a way for him to get me alone with others.

He sighs and pulls out a silver flask, guzzling it so much his throat bobs three times. Owen hands the flask to me, and I shake my head. “That’s fair. Whiskey is fucking gross anyway.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and screws the cap on the flask. He watches the fire.