Syrena

Later that night, he comes into my room with more food.

It smells delicious. Something with meat and veggies.

“Brought you a stew.”

“It smells good,” I say.

I know I shouldn’t be nice to him but playing along might be the better thing for me to do if I want to survive.

He sits down in front of me and feeds me once again, just like before. Now that he’s done it a couple of times, I’m more aware of when he’s going to push a spoon or a fork into my mouth, and I actually start to anticipate it.

The meal tastes delicious, and I can’t help but chow down eagerly, awaiting the next bite.

Him feeding me like this … it reminds me of a drug addiction.

You hate it, but you don’t want it to stop.

That’s how I feel right now.

“All gone,” he says, smiling right after. “You sure were hungry.”

“Sorry,” I say, shrugging. “I just like food a lot.”

He laughs. “I can tell.”

I lick my lips to get the last bit of juicy sauce off, but then his finger circles around my collar, pulling me closer.

I hold my breath as his face is inches away from mine. I can tell from his breath scattering on my skin.

“If I take this off … will you stay?”

I don’t know how to respond. All I can do is nod.

“Promise me.”

Why does he care so much?

“But you … wanted to kill me,” I mutter.

“I don’t want you dead,” he says. “Please, believe me when I say I never wanted you dead.”

“Then why did you attack me?” I ask.

He sighs, and I can hear the strain in his voice. “Because … it’s who I am.” His finger releases the band around my neck, but he grabs the chain instead, holding me close. “Please. Just … promise me you won’t escape.”

Is it a threat?

Will he hurt me if I try?

Possibly.

But taking off this collar and being freed from this single room is better than being chained up. If it means I’ll have to promise him something, then so be it.

“Okay,” I reply.

He places both hands on my cheeks, and I can sense his closeness. For some reason … his touch makes my face tingle.

Shit.

“Thank you,” he says.

Soon after, the collar around my neck clicks and releases. Then he takes off the zip ties from my wrists.

I’m free.

My hands instantly go to my neck. Touching myself to make sure I’m still okay. I don’t feel pain. There are no wounds.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Now, if you behave, I’ll let you roam free in my house. Understood?”

I nod.

I don’t know why I’m so complacent. I normally never am. This isn’t me.

But something about his voice just makes me … weak.

Fuck.

He gets up and then grabs my hand, pulling me up too. But because I’ve been sitting for so long, I feel dizzy, and I collapse … right into his arms.

“Easy,” he mumbles, his voice much sweeter than before.

What is this? Why is he so nice all of the sudden?

I don’t understand this man, yet he’s petting me as if I’m a kid he needs to take care of.

I push myself away from him and say, “I’m not weak.”

“I never said you were,” he says, and he snorts.

I take a deep breath and listen to the sounds around me, waiting for him to say what he wants me to do. There must be some reason he’s keeping me here.

Still, if I’m going to be cooped up in a man’s house like some pet, I’d like to know who he is. What he looks like. Or at least … get familiar with him so I don’t have to be scared anymore.

He grabs my hand again, but when I don’t follow him, he says, “You can trust me.”

I frown. He says it like it’s the truth, but how would I know? All I know is the man keeping me locked up in a room after attempting to take my life in the desert. Trust isn’t exactly the easiest follow-up.

But if he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it already. Right?

That must mean something.

“Come,” he says, trying to pull me along again, but I hesitate.

“Wait.”

He stops.

“I …” God, why is this so hard to ask? “Can I … feel your face?”

“Why?”

“So I know what you look like,” I answer.

Slowly but gently, he lifts my hand and brings it to his face, where he lets it go. I suck in a breath and start feeling around. Running my thumbs along his nose, his ears, his sharp jaw and pronounced chin, the stubble all around his mouth, his pronounced but thin lips, and the thick brows lining his eyes. His hair runs back along his head, slick and gelled all the way down his neck.

And for some reason, my hands don’t stop there.

They go down his neck and along his shoulders to his chest … and I feel every inch of thick muscle underneath the button-up shirt he’s wearing. His nipples peak. I swallow as heat spreads across my cheeks.

“Felt enough?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Fuck. What am I even doing?

I immediately take my hands off him.

That was awkward.

“Yeah … thanks,” I reply.

He immediately grabs my hand again and pulls me along. “Come. I’ll show you around.”

My feet traipse behind him, while I carefully count the number of steps inside this room. When the door opens, I’ve counted six. It’s five more to the table.

“Oh, watch out,” he says. “Sharp corners.”

“It would be easier if you let me do this on my own,” I say.

It takes him a while to release my hand.

Maybe he’s scared …

Of me trying to hurt him?

Or of me hurting myself?

I’m not sure, which is why I move away from him before I do anything stupid.

I touch the chairs and shuffle across the floor until I come across the wall, which I follow all the way to a door.

“That’s where your room is,” he says.

“Okay.”

I follow along the wall to a television, and just behind it is a small coffee table and a couch.

To the left feels like windows, and in the far corner is the kitchen, because I can open all the cabinets and drawers. Would this be where he keeps the knives?

One of them won’t open, though. It’s locked.

“You won’t find any knives, if you’re looking,” he says.

Shit.

Guess he saw right through me.

Am I that easy to read? Or do we just think alike?

“I’ve put away anything dangerous.” There’s a smug sound to his voice that makes me narrow my eyes.

“How thoughtful,” I reply cynically.

When I find the sink, I turn on the faucet and let the warm water run along my hands. God, it feels so good. I find the soap bottle and squirt some onto my hands, washing them until they’re soft. They haven’t felt this nice in ages, and I can’t stop touching them after they’ve dried.

“Feels good?”

I jolt from the sudden closeness of his voice.

I never actually heard him walk toward me. Was I so focused on what I was doing? Or is he able to make himself unheard?

Just the thought of not being able to hear where he is makes goose bumps scatter on my skin.

“Want to take a shower?” he says.

I nod. Dying. I’m dying for a shower. But I won’t admit that to him.

“Thought so. C’mon.” He grabs my hand again, but this time, it feels less forceful and much more as though he’s trying to guide me around his apartment. If that’s what this is, because I’m not sure if there’s more. But it is really, really huge. Penthouse huge. Which isn’t strange, considering he spent money on an actual human being.

I know he bought me. I just don’t know how much he paid for me. I couldn’t hear anything when I was in that small cage during the auction, unlike the bigger glass prison where I lived before with Ella and Cage. But when I was taken away and put there … it felt like I was put on display for all to see.

It made me feel filthy.

Like I needed to wash something off.

“Here we are,” Chase says, stopping in his tracks and releasing my hand. He flips a switch and says, “Towels are in the cabinet in the corner, next to the shower. Sink is right beside you. Shower is in the back. And there’s a tub to your left. That’s about it.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I’m dying to get rid of these panties and this bra Graham made me wear when he imprisoned me. But Chase is still here, and I’m very much aware of his presence.

Of course, he won’t leave.

I might try to escape … or worse, harm him.

Or maybe he thinks I might harm myself.

None of that is true. I just want to take a shower. And right now, I don’t care if he watches me or not.

* * *

Chase

“Go ahead. I won’t look,” I say.

She shrugs and hooks her fingers underneath the band of her bra to unclip it. “I don’t mind. I’m blind, so I won’t know anyway,” she replies.

A smirk spreads across my lips. I like her already.

I almost can’t believe she said that. Then again, Graham already said she was the sassiest of all three. I’m going to have my hands full with her.

Both figuratively … and literally.

Because fuck me … I can’t stop myself from peeking as her bra drops to the floor, and two magnificent tits fall out. Plump and juicy … ready to be sucked until her nipples peak.

Fuck.

Why am I even thinking this?

I shake my head and force myself to forget that image.

However, when I open my eyes again, she’s turned her head toward me, almost as if she can sense I did something … or thought something dirty.

Guess we’re more in tune than I thought.

Her fingers curl around her panties, and she pulls them down, just like that. Not giving a shit that I’m here. Watching.

As she said, she can’t see, so how would she know?

Still, I feel like a goddamn pervert, so I avert my eyes as she steps underneath the showerhead and turns on the water. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get that perfect round butt out of my mind. Or how badly I want to bite it.

Fuck.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I can’t think these things. Not with her.

It’s wrong. It’s sinful. And it makes me the fucking devil.

So I immediately turn around and close the door behind me, breathing in and out to calm down. I’d intended to stay and watch, in case she decided to grab something like a razor or smash the mirror to use it as a weapon, but I can’t do it.

I just can’t.

I was this close. This close … to just grabbing her body and fucking her right then and there.

So I slap myself.

Right in the face.

Pain is the punishment I deserve for wanting something so forbidden.

I bought her.

She’s mine.

And I have to take care of what’s mine.

So I walk away from the door and tell myself not to return until she calls my name.