Ella

We’re carted back to our cells, but I don’t even care. All I can focus on is Cage, whose lifeless body is hanging by a thread. The men who put us back in our cells don’t even seem to care. They release me from the chair, cutting the ropes, and place me on my bed. I can’t do anything; my body is still numb from the drugs.

None of the guys seem to care about our well-being. They’re henchmen of the men Graham was entertaining, so they’re quickly whistled back when the men start to leave. Graham sends them off with an amicable goodbye as if he enjoyed their time together. Meanwhile, his son is practically dying in the cell beside me.

When the drugs circling through my system begin to wane, I lift my head and call out for Cage. He doesn’t respond. He just lies there on the cold, harsh floor, completely still, covered in blood. So I turn my head toward Graham who’s about to leave the room. “W-why won’t you d-do something?”

He cocks his head and squints as he gazes at me. “He has to learn his lesson.”

“He’ll die,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat. “If you don’t h-help him.”

He smiles briefly. “Hmm … care about him that much, do you?”

I don’t answer; I don’t want him to know my feelings for Cage. He has no right to them or me or him.

He nods. “Fine. I’ll bring some bandages and a first-aid kit.” Then he turns around and leaves, closing the door behind him.

It’s eerily silent when he’s gone, and I’m left with a Cage I no longer recognize. His body is completely torn with gashes and bruises everywhere. Blood stains the floor, and he still hasn’t moved.

I’m beyond worried right now, tears welling up in my eyes.

Why did this have to happen?

We should’ve never tried to escape. It’s all my fault. I put the idea into his head.

“Cage … don’t give up,” I mumble, tears running down my cheeks. “Please.”

I hope his soul can hear me because I’m begging for him to survive.

The time it takes for Graham to come back is excruciatingly long, and when he does, I jump up from the bed and cling to the glass. “P-please, let me s-see him.”

I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen; I’ll do anything he wants me to.

Just as long as I get to see him. I have to see if he’s still alive.

“I’ll help you,” he says, taking something from his pocket. My heart swells, but then I notice the item in his hand. “If you pee on this stick.”

It’s a pregnancy stick, but I’m flabbergasted he cares more about that than his own son.

“Well? Tick, tock. He’s dying, remember?”

“Okay, f-fine,” I say.

He raises a brow, pushing me to the brink of despair.

“P-please,” I beg as Graham comes closer to my cell.

“Good girl,” he muses, tucking the stick into the box and pushing it my way. “Pee on it. Then I’ll give you the first-aid kit.”

I nod and snatch it out of the box, marching to my toilet. I don’t even give a crap that he’s watching; I just want this to be over quickly.

When I’ve done my business, I hold it up to show him. “D-done.”

I watch as he tucks the first-aid kit and bandages into my box and shoves it my way. “You know … begging suits you well,” he muses, and then he turns and leaves.

“W-wait!” I call. I still can’t get to Cage.

He shoves his hands in his pocket before opening the door.

Suddenly, I hear a clicking sound right behind me, and I know the room is open.

Brushing my tears away, I quickly grasp the items from the box and run through the black doors to Cage’s cell. I slide down on the floor next to him, throwing everything I’m carrying beside me. While Graham exits the room, I focus my attention on Cage. I place two fingers on his neck and feel a very faint heartbeat. I lean over to hear a soft breath. It’s there … but barely.

I pull him toward me, laying his body on my lap. I throw open the first-aid kit and dump the contents out in front of me. I’m struggling to find what I need. I’m not a nurse, but there must be something I can do.

When I look at him from up close, the slashes in his skin draw my attention. They’re thick and deep … blood seeping out. Especially the knife wound is deep. Gashes on his face and mouth are bleeding the most, so I dab them with a wet piece of cloth to make it stop.

I grasp a few pieces of cotton and dab them into a bottle of alcohol to sanitize the wounds. Then I wrap the dressings around them, tying it up. It’s not great, but it’s something.

Some of his wounds are too deep, though, so I grab a needle and thread to suture it up, trying to finish as quickly as possible before he can feel it. I don’t want to hurt him even more. When it’s done, I grab the cloth and hold it under the faucet until it’s soaked. I wipe him off to get rid of the blood and then wrap more bandages around him.

I’m struggling to contain the tears, but I fight through them as I patch him up as best as I can. I lift him off me and softly place him on the floor before getting up to grab a cup of water. He needs to hydrate quickly, so I sit down beside him again and try to wake him up.

“Cage?” I whisper. “Please …”

I hold the cup to his lips but no success.

Another tear rolls down. I can’t believe I’m crying right now. Maybe I really do care more about him than I could ever imagine. Him dying is the worst possible thing I could imagine right now. Worse than being stuck in this cell forever.

“Please … don’t leave me here alone,” I whisper.

A soft groan comes out, but the sound elates me, electrical currents shooting through me when I hear him. He’s alive … for now.

I pull him into my arms and hug him tight. “You fought so hard …” I whisper into his ear. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

When I pull away again, his eyes slowly open into little slits, his frown showing his pain. He coughs, and more blood comes out. I dab another piece of cloth against his lips.

“Don’t push yourself,” I say. “Take it slow.”

He licks his lips and squints again, groaning. He tries to move, but I hold him down.

“You’re hurt badly. Take it easy,” I say. “No need to move. Just let your body heal.”

He turns in my arms. Even though he’s already bleeding through his bandages, he doesn’t care. His hand reaches up for my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“Ella …” he grumbles from deep down his throat.

My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them away as I place my hand on top of his. “I’m here.”

“My Ella …” he says, barely keeping his eyes open.

“It’s okay. We’re together,” I say. “You won.”

He groans, but I swear I can almost see a hint of a smile right after. “Of course.”

I grin at his arrogance. I kind of love him for it.

Yes … Yes, I realize it now. I do love him. I love how he is. So beastly yet so innocent and pure. And he’s got a heart of gold.

I press a small kiss to his forehead. “I love you …”

I don’t fear saying the word. Not anymore.

He made me forget about the guilt that ate away at my heart. He made me love the power of my own words again, and for that, I’m not just grateful … I’m in love.

He coughs but then smiles again, leaning into my touch. “Love …” he repeats. “I like that.”

I can’t stop smiling, but I’m worried if he moves too much he might make the wounds worse.

“But I can only love you if you keep living,” I say. “So stay still and rest.”

“Hmm …” He rubs his lips together.

“Water?” I ask, holding the cup close.

He sips eagerly, choking on half but swallowing the rest. “Easy, easy,” I say.

“Thank you …” he says. I’ve not heard him say those words before. It sounds nice when he says it. I could get used to it.

I put the cup back down again, but he keeps looking at me like I have something on my face. Not that he should be concerned about that. He needs to heal, not focus on me.

“What?” I ask.

He grins. “I love you.”

I pause. Did he just say he loves me?

He coughs again, and I dab the cloth against his mouth to remove the blood.

“I love you,” he says again, his eyes focusing on mine. No matter where I look, he follows my eyes.

“I love you,” he repeats. He keeps saying it until I laugh.

“Okay, I get it,” I say. “You love me.”

“Yes,” he says. “Forever.”

He leans up, groaning, but when I try to push him down, he refuses. He persists until he reaches me and grabs my face … and then he kisses me hard.

And it feels so damn good … I kiss him back just as hard.

Because at this moment, I realize I could’ve lost the chance to ever kiss him again.

When our lips unlock, he murmurs, “Mine.”

There’s that word again. That word that creates butterflies in my stomach.

I finally understand it now. It’s his way of saying ‘I love you.’ His pledge to me.

“I’m yours,” I say, leaning my forehead against his.

“Safe … you need to be safe …” he mumbles, and he places a hand on my belly. “For the baby.”

I don’t know why he thinks I’m pregnant. Maybe he’s just hoping I am because it’s the only thing that keeps him going. I won’t take away that belief, even if neither of us truly knows. But that still doesn’t change anything about our situation inside this cell.

“I’ll never be safe in here,” I say.

“Escape,” he says.

“We tried that already, and it didn’t work,” I reply.

“Try again.” He looks up into my eyes. “Don’t give up.”

I can’t believe he’s using my words against me. He’s getting smart on me.

Still, even if I did try to escape, I couldn’t bear to leave him here. “But what about you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Leave me.”

“No,” I say, making a face. “I can’t and don’t you bring that up again.”

“You,” he says, clutching my head. “Be safe … so the baby is safe.”

“Baby? You keep saying baby. Why?” I ask.

He points at the stick lying on the floor. I forgot I even brought it with me when I rushed into his cell.

However, when I pick it up to look, my jaw drops, my whole body shaking.

I’m … pregnant.