Chased (Savage Men 3)

Except I don’t know the fucking answer.

I sigh and walk to the kitchen too, pouring myself a glass of water, gulping it down in one go. “I’ll figure it out.”

I place it down on the countertop and grab my coat again.

“So what now? You’re just gonna leave her in there?”

“Yep,” I say, putting on my coat.

“Where are you going?”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you really have to ask?”

He puts down his cup. “Really? You’re gonna do that now?”

“Yes. I need to blow off some steam.”

“I thought you said you were done,” he says, following me to the door.

“No, I said I knew the truth now. I never said anything about being done forever.”

“What do you want me to do now?”

“Look after her,” I reply.

“What? No. You brought her back here. She’s your responsibility.”

I glance over my shoulder and growl, “I’m asking you politely, Brandon … do this for me.”

He swallows and takes a deep breath. “Fine. But don’t think I’m gonna clean up after you.”

Before he can say another word, I close the door behind me.

Accompanying Song: “Highway Snow” by Jeff Russo

Syrena

Staring in the direction of the door, I sit and wait. With my hands bound, I can’t attempt to escape until my captor frees me. While I wait, all I can do is stand up and sit down. All while touching that … thing around my neck.

The metal feels cold but not too tight.

But I know what it is.

A collar.

I can feel the chain attached to it, and I already followed it all the way back to the origin. The ring at the foot of the bed. I’ve jerked it and twisted it with my mouth, but nothing I did could break it. So I directed my attention to another problem I need to solve.

Breaking out of here.

I’ve already tried using my teeth to open the windows and doors, but no luck. They’re tightly locked, and I presume they can’t be opened from the inside.

Which makes me wonder … is it on purpose? Did he always intend to keep someone here?

It must be … why else would he have this collar on hand?

Unless he was expecting me.

Or is this all just a coincidence?

Not that there’s any use thinking about things you can’t change.

I’m here; he’s out there. End of story.

I still wonder who he is, though, and what he wants from me. Why he chained me up and put zip ties around my wrists.

If there’s anything I know … there’s one thing men want most of all. And if that’s the case, will I be prepared for that, just so I can escape? Will he let me go if I give him what he wants?

Or do I have to fight?

Then again, the world out there is a cruel one, and the longer I think about it, the less I actually want to go back. No one would call the place I used to live in a proper home.

No, I promised myself back when I was still imprisoned in a cage by Graham that I would start a new life once I got out of there. One where I don’t have to service men and do their dirty work. One where I can just be … at peace.

I sigh and sit back down on the floor in the middle of the room again.

Right as I do, the door unlocks and then creaks. I suck in a breath and wait until the footsteps are audible. Then I slowly slide backward until my back hits the wall.

“Don’t be afraid …”

It’s a different voice. Not him.

Must be that Brandon guy.

It’s quiet for some time before he speaks up again. “The collar? Okay …”

He sounds surprised.

Strange.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Nothing. I just came to check on you,” he says. His voice is much less commanding than Chase’s. “I brought you something to drink.”

I lean back as he approaches me, and I’m hesitant to even acknowledge his existence at this point. It could put me in more danger, and I don’t know what their end goal is. Why they’re keeping me.

All I know is that Chase … tried to kill me.

And then he didn’t.

Why?

It doesn’t make any sense.

He cried, and then he just hugged me.

He went from a calm and collected murderer to an erratic caregiver in a split second. What does it mean?

If only I could ask him myself. Then again, I might not get an answer I like.

But he did say he was sorry. I wonder why he felt the need to say it. It made me feel a little less … hunted.

“Here,” Brandon says, breaking my train of thought.

I don’t know what he’s trying to give to me, and I’m not sure I want to know.

“It’s tea,” he adds.

I still don’t reply.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Right. He tied your hands.” He clears his throat. “Well, I can put it against your lips and then you can drink.”