Chapter Six
SAIGE
Iwake up with the sun’s rays shining through the curtains.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am, but I’m reminded real quick when I can’t move my arms, which have fallen asleep past the point of tingling.
I groan out my irritation. The spot on the bed next to me is empty, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or not.
I need to find a way out of here, and that’s not going to happen with me cuffed to a damn bedpost.
Last night took a wild turn after Camden woke up in the middle of the night screaming.
I know a night terror when I see one because they mirror my own.
Nights have always been the worst since my family died.
When everything slows down, and the silence presses against me like a second skin, the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock, every creak of the floorboards starts to bring comfort in my empty house.
The one that used to be so filled with laughter, voices, and music.
The first few years were the hardest. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, my body drenched and sticky, my voice hoarse, my cheeks damp from tears, and I’d draw my knees to my chest, wrapping myself in my mom’s favorite blanket that had long lost the delicate, sweet scent of her perfume.
If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could imagine being swept away in her tight hugs.
But when I opened them, I was still desolate, alone, and cold.
Sleep became dangerous and something I dreaded; it’s where all the terror I pushed away in the light came out with a vengeance.
I wasn’t there when my family lost their lives, but their deaths haunt me all the same.
Screeching tires, metal crunching like paper, screams from both my mother and sister.
The worst parts are seeing their faces, the momentary shock, the terror, my father’s horror.
Sometimes my sister calls out my name, and the guilt that lashes at me hits deeper than bone.
I was her protector, and I failed to protect her from this. From Camden.
I wasn’t there, but even all these years later, I still wonder if it would’ve been easier if I had been in the car, right along with them.
At least then I wouldn’t have to live with this kind of guilt, this aching, soul-crushing, desperate loneliness.
While I was binging TV and falling asleep on the couch, my family was being pulled from a crumpled frame of a car on the side of the highway.
My first year alone, I was checked on by aunts and uncles, but once everyone got busy in their own lives, those check-ins became few and far between.
Once I met Sebastian, things got a little less lonely, but as much as he’s been there for me, he still doesn’t understand it, can’t relate to it, or feel it.
No one has ever understood the shape of my pain.
Grief carries with you, stretching and shrinking depending on the day.
I could be walking through a store perfectly fine and pass by a stranger in the aisle, their familiar scent grabbing hold of me by the throat and dropping me back in time.
Memories become a cruel comfort, and as the years pass, they become more and more diluted, fading away just like the bodies in their graves.
I read once that night terrors are your brain’s way of trying to make sense of something it doesn’t understand—or couldn’t witness. I wasn’t at the accident, and my mind has worked overtime to fill in the blanks like a horror movie.
The bedroom door opens as I’m shuffling to sit up in the bed, my hands hanging limp and heavy in the cuffs.
Camden enters the room with a cup of coffee and a bowl of something that smells like heaven.
He’s wearing faded denim jeans and a plain black T-shirt, his MC cut over it.
Brown shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a bun, the sides of his head shaved close to his skin.
His jaw is chiseled, like an expert artist carved him personally, dusted with the lightest layer of scruffy facial hair.
Tattoos cover his arms, a mix of black, grey, and muted colors.
They wind up his biceps, tucking under the sleeves of his shirt, and stretch down to his thick fingers.
My heart flutters in my chest at the sight of him.
I clench my thighs together, a natural response to a gorgeous, sexy man standing in front of me.
Even if he is a cold-blooded killer. I have to actively remind myself that I’m stronger than my innate, biological desire to want to climb this male specimen like a tree.
I look away quickly, but not before I catch Camden smirking, a knowing look that says he enjoyed my obvious perusal of his body.
“Glad you’re up, I brought you some coffee. Wasn’t sure how you take it.”
“And how am I supposed to drink it, oh kind captor?” I quip, rattling my new metal accessories against the bedpost.
“You have a choice to make. I can let you out, and we can sit here and talk, or I can keep you locked up and hand-feed you. Neither of those options are a hardship for me, vixen.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because you’re seductive, even though you aren’t trying to be. Everything about you is alluring to me.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Typical man. Only caring about a woman’s physical attributes.”
“Oh, baby, don’t get it twisted,” he says as he walks over to my side of the bed.
“You may be drop-dead fucking gorgeous, but I’m talking about your attitude, your fight, your strength.
That calls to me on a molecular level. That’s what I’m attracted to the most.” Well, shit.
I don’t have a comeback for that one. That’s a first. “Now, do you want to be uncuffed or want me to feed you? I’d love nothing more than to show you how you should be treated. ”
Asshole.
“Uncuff me, Camden. My hands have fallen asleep past the point of no return.”
“Promise you aren’t going to try to fight me?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Camden nods his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he sets the bowl of food and mug of coffee down on the bedside table. “Fair enough, I’d expect nothing less from you. Let’s get you fed and cleaned up. We need to talk.”
“I didn’t agree to talking.”
“Too fucking bad,” he snaps, but there’s no bite behind his words.
I roll my eyes again as Camden leans forward, pulling the key from the chain around his neck and unlocking the first cuff.
The smell of grease and egg wafts to my nose, my stomach growling in response.
Camden pauses, looking down at my body and then meeting my eyes in concern.
“I should have offered you food last night; it won’t happen again. ”
Who the fuck is this man?
“I’m fine. I’m not your concern.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Saige.”
“You just met me, fuck off with that.”
“It doesn’t matter to me if I’ve known you for mere minutes or a lifetime. You are my concern.”
Camden frees my wrists, grabbing each one delicately in his large palms and rubbing tenderly over my skin, massaging into the tendons and muscles, working blood flow back into them. It’s . . . kind. And I don’t hate it; an odd sensation rolling through me that makes me almost want to cry.
I quickly pull my hands away, dropping them into my lap as his chin falls down to his chest, an audible sigh releasing from his lips as if he was reveling in the moment and then instantly disappointed with my rejection.
“One of our men is a decent cook; he makes a mean breakfast hash. It’s got potatoes, onions, peppers, eggs, bacon, and cheese.” Before I can respond, my stomach speaks for me, rumbling so loud there’s no denying how hungry I actually am. “Here, eat.”
The warm bowl is filled more than halfway, loaded with comfort food that has my mouth watering.
“You aren’t poisoning me?”
“Baby, I wouldn’t think of it. No one here would.” He says the words with such conviction that I almost believe him. Almost. But I’m smarter than that, and I know how people like him are.
Camden stands from his haunches, instead taking a seat at the foot of the bed in front of me, the mattress sinking down with his weight. The first bite of food hits my tongue, an explosion of flavors—salty, savory, cheesy goodness—that has me moaning around the tines of my fork.
“Well, that’s a sound I want to hear more of.”
“Keep giving me food that tastes this good, and you will. Holy shit.” Camden chuckles, his hand moving over the coarse hair of his short beard.
I continue to eat, enjoying every single bite and the fact that someone besides me prepared a good meal.
Camden and I sit in silence, his eyes roaming over me, watching me eat.
It’s an odd sensation, but I’m hungry and need to relax in front of him.
Fighting my way out of this is clearly not going to get me very far, so maybe playing nice will.
When I’m finished, I set the bowl to the side and pick up the cup of steaming coffee, bringing it to my lips and blowing over the top. The first sip goes down rough, my face scrunching. It’s bitter and darker than I’d prefer, but it’s caffeine and will do the job it needs to.
“Will you tell me how you take your coffee so I can get it right?”
“I won’t be here long enough for you to need to know.”
“Why did you try to cuff me, Saige?”
“Because I wanted to take you somewhere.”
“Who hired you to do that?”
An uncontrollable scoff releases from my lips.
The absolute audacity of this man. Of society.
To think I couldn’t possibly have come up with the plan on my own, sought him out, and murdered him without some big dog at the top telling me what to do?
Nope. I was going to kill Camden all on my own.
I am going to kill Camden all on my own.
“Okay. We’ll skip that one then. Where were you planning on taking me?”
I think for a moment, wondering how much to give him. I need him to trust me at least a little bit if I want to make it out of here with my head intact.