8. Chapter 8 #3
“Through and through,” I say, mostly to myself. “That’s good. Means we don’t have to dig anything out.”
“How reassuring,” Suha says dryly, but his voice is strained.
I look up at the guards. “I need towels, water, antiseptic if you have it. And bandages. A lot of bandages.”
Haesung looks at Suha for confirmation. When Suha nods, he disappears into what I assume is the bathroom, returning with an armful of supplies. I spread everything out on the bed, trying to remember everything Wooil taught me about treating wounds after that time I got stabbed in a bar fight.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn, pressing a clean towel against the wound to slow the bleeding.
Suha’s hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, his grip crushing. “Just do it.”
I apply pressure, watching his face for any sign that I’m making it worse.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, just stares at the wall with that same furious expression.
His pheromones are still spiking, filling the room with the scent of an alpha in pain, and I feel the bond pulling at something in my chest, urging me to comfort him, to submit, to make the hurt stop.
I ignore it and keep working.
The bleeding slows after a few minutes of steady pressure.
I clean around the wound as carefully as I can, using the antiseptic that makes Suha’s jaw clench even tighter.
The entry wound isn’t too bad, but the exit wound is ragged, torn flesh that’s going to need stitches if he doesn’t want it to scar worse than it already will.
“You should go to a hospital,” I say, knowing even as the words leave my mouth that he won’t.
“Can’t,” he says shortly. “Too many questions. Too many opportunities for whoever shot me to try again.”
“So you’re just going to bleed out in your bedroom instead?”
His eyes cut to me, sharp and dangerous. “I have a doctor on call. He’ll be here within the hour. Until then, you’re going to keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you.”
I press a fresh bandage against the wound, wrapping it around his torso to hold it in place. My hands brush against his skin, warm and slick with blood, and I feel him tense under my touch. Not from pain this time.
When I finish, I sit back on my heels and look up at him.
“You know,” I say, keeping my voice casual even though my heart is still pounding from the adrenaline of the last twenty minutes, “I’m actually pretty good at finding people.”
Suha’s eyes flick to me, sharp despite the pain he must be in. “What?”
“Finding people. Tracking them down.” I sit back on my heels, meeting his gaze. “I could help you locate your uncle. Kyungho, right? If he’s the one who ordered the hit, then—”
“No.”
The word comes out flat and final, cutting me off before I can finish the thought. Suha shifts on the bed, wincing as the movement pulls at his wound, and reaches for a clean shirt that Seokjin hands him.
“I don’t need a pet playing detective,” he continues, his voice taking on that dismissive edge I’ve come to recognize. “Your job is to warm my cock and look pretty while you do it. Nothing more.”
The words are like a slap. I feel my jaw clench, anger sparking hot in my chest. I’ve been naked and collared for over a week now, treated like furniture, fucked whenever he feels like it, kept in a cage like an animal.
And now he’s dismissing me like I’m actually useless, like I don’t have any value beyond being a convenient hole.
“I’m not useless,” I snap, standing up despite the guards tensing at the movement. “I tracked you down, didn’t I? Found your schedule, your locations, your whole operation. I got into your hotel room without anyone noticing until it was too late.”
Suha’s expression darkens. “Yes, and look how well that turned out for you. You’re collared and caged. Congratulations on your detective skills.”
“Better than getting shot,” I fire back, my temper flaring. “At least I didn’t walk into an ambush like an idiot.”
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees. Haesung and Seokjin both reach for their weapons, and I realize maybe insulting a wounded mob boss isn’t my smartest move. But I’m too angry to care, too frustrated from being dismissed and degraded for days on end.
Suha stands slowly, his hand pressed against his bandaged side. Even injured and bleeding, he’s imposing, his pheromones spiking with fury. He takes a step toward me and I hold my ground, refusing to back down.
“You think you’re clever?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. “You think because you stalked me for a few weeks that you understand how this world works? You’re a street rat who got in over his head. You don’t know anything about running a syndicate or dealing with threats like Kyungho.”
“I know more than you think,” I shoot back. “I’m not stupid, and I’m not useless.”
Suha’s eyes narrow. For a second I think he’s going to hit me, or worse. But then he just shakes his head, dismissive.
“Knowing things doesn’t make you valuable. It makes you a liability.” He turns away from me, addressing his guards. “Put him in the cage. I have a business dinner to attend and I don’t have time for this.”
“You’re going to a dinner?” I ask incredulously. “You were just shot!”
“Which is exactly why I need to show my face,” Suha says, already moving toward the bathroom. “If I hide, it looks like weakness. I need to prove I’m still in control.”
“You’re bleeding through your bandages!”
“The doctor will be here in thirty minutes. He’ll patch me up properly before I leave.” Suha pauses at the bathroom door, looking back at me with cold eyes. “And you’ll be in your cage where you belong, waiting for me to come back and use you however I want. Because that’s all you’re good for.”
The words sting more than they should. I know he’s lashing out because he’s in pain and angry about being shot, but it doesn’t make them hurt less.
I’ve spent over a week being treated like property, and some stupid part of me thought maybe I’d earned at least a shred of respect.
That maybe he saw me as more than just a warm body to fuck.
Apparently not.
Haesung and Seokjin move toward me, and I don’t resist as they grab my arms. What’s the point? I’m naked, collared, and outnumbered.
They drag me toward the cage, and I go willingly, seething silently.
The door clangs shut behind me, the lock clicking into place with a finality that makes my teeth grind.
I sink down onto the cushioned floor of the cage, pulling my knees up to my chest, and glare at the bathroom door where Suha disappeared.
I wait in the cage, listening to the sounds of Suha preparing to leave.
The doctor arrives exactly when promised, a nervous beta in an expensive suit who keeps his eyes down and his mouth shut as he works.
I can hear the murmur of voices from the bedroom, Suha’s short responses to whatever medical advice he’s being given.
Then, footsteps. Heavy boots on marble floors. The guards assembling in the hallway outside.
Suha appears in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a fresh suit. The bandages are hidden beneath his shirt, and if I didn’t know he’d been shot less than an hour ago, I’d never guess from looking at him. He’s put himself back together perfectly, every hair in place, his expression cold and controlled.
He doesn’t even glance at the cage as he adjusts his cufflinks.
“I’ll be back in three hours,” he says to someone in the hallway. Probably Haesung or Seokjin. “Make sure the perimeter is secure. No one gets in or out.”
“Yes, boss.”
The bedroom door closes. I hear the lock click from the outside.
I wait, counting my heartbeats. One minute. Two. Five. The house settles into silence around me, that particular quiet of a large space with most of its occupants gone. I can hear distant sounds from other parts of the mansion but nothing nearby. Nothing on this floor.
I reach into my mouth and work the thin piece of wire free from where I’ve had it tucked against my cheek for the past three days.
I snagged it from a clothes hanger in Suha’s closet, carefully bending it until one end broke off.
Then I hid it the only place I knew his guards wouldn’t search when they bound my wrists or clipped my leash each morning.
The wire is slick with spit as I straighten it between my fingers.
I could have left anytime. That’s the funny part.
The cage lock is good quality, but it’s not designed to keep in someone who actually knows what they’re doing.
I’ve picked better locks with worse tools, usually when some landlord decided to change the locks before I could grab my stuff after missing rent.
But I didn’t leave. Not when Suha first locked me in here. Not during the long hours he spent at his desk while I knelt at his feet. Not even when he left for meetings and I had the bedroom to myself for an hour or two.
I stayed because some fucked-up part of me wanted to.
Because the sex was incredible and the bond felt right in a way nothing else ever has.
Because being owned by someone strong enough to actually dominate me scratched an itch I’ve had since I was sixteen years old and figured out I was wired wrong.
But calling me useless? Dismissing me like I’m actually just a warm hole with nothing else to offer?
Fuck that. And fuck him.
The lock is a standard pin tumbler, five pins from what I can feel. I insert the wire and apply gentle tension, feeling for the binding pin. My hands are steady despite the adrenaline starting to pump through my system.
The first pin sets with a quiet click. Then the second. The third one sticks and I have to back off and try again, adjusting the angle. Fourth pin. Fifth pin.
The lock opens with a soft snick.