Chased (Savage Men 3)

“Really?” I raise a brow.

“Feel better?” Brandon asks, completely ignoring what he just did.

I nod.

“Good.” He gets up and brings the mug to the kitchen, passing me by as if it means nothing.

But we both know that isn’t true.

He knows exactly what it meant to me … what it does to us.

We’re both chained to the same desires.

The same sin.

He’s right. I feel much better. Like the calm after the storm.

But I can tell it only worsened his mood.

“Couldn’t you have waited?” he asks.

“No, and you know damn well why.”

“By helping you out, I was under the impression that’d be the end of things.”

“I only wanted to know the real me,” I say. “And you know damn well that was the only reason.”

“But she’s still alive,” he says. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“Yes. I fucking know that.”

“And now what? What are you gonna do with her?”

“I’m not done yet. I need to know how far I can take this. How far I can go.”

His face darkens. “I’m not okay with you doing this. You know that.”

“Oh yeah, I know.” I shake my head and rub my forehead.

“Right.” He scoffs. “I’m off.”

I swallow back the annoyance. “Home or …?”

“You know.”

His crabby response is enough. He’s right. I know damn well how it feels.

We’re both at the end of our wits today.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

I thought I knew what I’d want, what I’d do … once I knew the truth.

But I don’t.

I know less than before I even started this.

“See ya,” Brandon says with a mellow voice, and he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And her.

I take a sip of water from the faucet before drying my mouth with my hand.

It’s time … It’s time to face her.

Accompanying Song: “The Rocket Builder” by Johann Johannson

Syrena

When the door creaks open, I inch back until I’m against the wall again and clench my legs together.

I don’t know who it is or why he’s here, but making myself tiny makes me feel safer.

Hours have passed, and in that time, I’ve regained a little of my strength and my voice.

I don’t want to be afraid anymore. But I also don’t want to give him a reason to hurt me.

I don’t know what these men are capable of … yet.

All I know is that one of them tried to kill me. I have to keep that in mind, always.

The door closes, and a light switch is flipped. Not that I can see, but I can hear.

Some people view me as weak when they find out I’m blind. But the sensitivity of all my other senses has increased to compensate for my lack of sight. My ears work better than anyone else’s, just like my nose. I can tell people apart just by sniffing them. And I can tell a person and if they’re mad or happy just by his or her footsteps.

And judging from the sound he makes … it’s definitely Chase.

My tongue dips out to wet my lips.

Why did he come into this room?

He’s getting closer and closer.

Then … a small breath on my cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says.

He’s right in front of me and on my level.

His thumb brushes along my chin, making me look up. He wants to see me. But why? Why does he care how I look if all he wants is to use me and keep me like some pet?

Is that what this is?

His finger brushes along my lips, and my teeth lurch out to bite him instinctively. I don’t think about it. I just do it.

He flinches, leans back, hisses. Sucks his finger. I can hear his tongue wrap around it. It’s a delicate sound. Shiver-inducing.

But what I did will surely piss him off. I brace for impact, expecting a smack to the face anytime now.

However, nothing happens.

But he’s still there. I can feel it in the air.

And he sighs.

“You won’t … hurt me?” I ask, curious as to why he would suddenly be so apprehensive, when he’d attacked me before.

“No,” he says, swallowing. “I promise.”

His voice sounds less dark than before. Much more … relaxed.

Like some kind of load was lifted off his shoulders.

But the longer he stays, the more the questions seep back into my mind. And now that I’m sure he’s no longer trying to kill me … I feel safer to ask them.

“Why did you buy me?”

It takes him a while to answer. He sucks in a deep breath first. “Actually … I don’t know anymore.”

What kind of answer is that?

“But I want to find out.”

It doesn’t make any sense. He seemed so clear about his reasons before. So commanding and in control. And now? His voice is erratic, uncertain. As if he’s not even sure about himself anymore.

What does it mean?

“Here,” he mumbles. After a few seconds, a hot spoon presses against my lips. “I brought you some vegetable soup. Thought you might be hungry.”