Chapter 2
2
MERI
T he first thing Meri registered was stillness. No distant screams. No guttural orders in the dark. No metallic clang of chains against concrete. Just silence.
Her body tensed before her mind fully caught up. Where was she?
She forced her eyes open, pulse pounding. The dim lighting and excessive warmth of the room contrasted with the damp chill of her months-long captivity. The mattress beneath her was soft, the sheets crisp and unfamiliar. Not silk. Not satin. Just cotton. Normal.
That should have comforted her. It didn’t. She bolted upright, breath locking in her throat. A shadow shifted across the room.
Bear. He sat in a chair near the door, one booted foot resting casually on his opposite knee. His posture was loose, but everything about him radiated control. Like a beast watching from the dark, waiting for something.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry and tight.
"You're awake," he said, voice steady, deep.
Her stomach clenched. The last time she'd woken to a man watching her, it had meant pain, degradation, a reminder that she wasn’t a person anymore—just property.
Meri scrambled back, pressing against the headboard, her heart hammering. The sudden movement sent a spike of pain through her muscles—too weak, too underfed, too drained—but she forced herself not to show it.
Bear didn't move. He didn't shift forward, didn't reach for her. Just watched. Measured.
"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse.
"A warehouse we’ve set up as a temporary safehouse."
Her fingers dug into the blanket pooled around her hips. Safe. She wanted to believe him. But men had lied before.
Meri's gaze darted toward the door. It was closed. No visible locks, but that meant nothing.
Her voice was flat when she spoke. "And if I wanted to leave?"
Bear studied her for a moment, unreadable. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "You want to walk out that door?" He nodded toward it. "Go ahead."
Her breath caught, her mind trying to process the lack of resistance. No threat. No demand. Just… a choice.
Her body, traitorous and unsure, didn't move.
Bear didn't push. He just sat there, waiting, his gaze steady.
"If you're gonna run," he said, voice softer now, "do it when you've got the strength."
She glared at him. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not." His tone was firm, unshaken. "Just stating facts. You think you can make it out there alone, in the shape you’re in?" His eyes swept over her, taking in the too-thin frame, the bruises, the exhaustion hanging off her like a second skin. "You can’t, but you're free to try."
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Freedom. The word should have meant something. Felt like something. But after months of captivity, of being owned and used, she didn't even know what it meant anymore.
Bear sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. But I didn’t pull you out of that hell just to lock you in another one."
Meri lifted her chin. "Didn’t you? Then why?"
His jaw flexed. "Because I don’t leave people behind. We couldn’t get to you the last time we located you. It wasn’t going to happen again."
Something in his voice made her pause. A truth she wasn’t ready to accept.
Meri licked her lips, still dry, still cracked. "You bought me." The words felt like acid in her throat.
Bear’s expression darkened. "I bid on you to keep the others away from you so I could get you the hell out of there. That’s not the same thing."
She wanted to believe that. She really did, but trust wasn’t something she could just give.
Bear pushed to his feet, moving with measured strength, like a man who was always ready for a fight but never wasted energy. He crossed the room and picked up a glass of water from the nightstand, then held it out to her.
Meri hesitated.
"It’s just water," he said. "Drink it. You need it. You’re dehydrated."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the glass. The moment the cool liquid hit her throat, she realized just how thirsty she was. She drained half of it in one go, then forced herself to stop, glaring up at him.
"I don’t need you taking care of me."
Bear tilted his head. "Think not?"
She clenched her jaw. "I can take care of myself."
He let that hang between them for a beat, then gestured toward her shaking hands, the bruises, the hollowness in her cheeks. "I’m glad you think so. I disagree."
Her gut twisted. She hated him then, hated him for being right. Hated herself more for caring.
Bear stepped back, his hands at his sides, but there was something about the way he held himself—still dominant, still in control.
"You’re safe," he said again, like he knew she needed to hear it. "No one here is going to touch you. No one is going to use you. And no one is ever gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m breathing."
Meri’s throat went tight. She wanted to believe him, but she’d believed before, and look where it had gotten her. She set the water down; her gaze locked on his, searching for deception, for cruelty, for any sign that he was just another man making empty promises. All she found was steel and certainty.
Meri inhaled slowly, centering herself. She told herself she wasn’t broken, wasn’t weak, and would never be owned again. Never. Bear seemed to read her thoughts because his mouth ticked up slightly at the corner, almost like a challenge.
"You want to fight me on this, go ahead," he said. "But eventually, you’ll see I don’t lie, Meri."
She swallowed hard, ignoring the way his voice curled around her name, the way something deep inside her responded to it.
"Get some rest," he said. "You need it."
Her body betrayed her again, sagging slightly under exhaustion.
Bear stepped toward the door, then paused, glancing back. "I’ll be right outside if you need me."
The door closed behind him. Meri stared after him, her mind a war zone, her body too tired to keep up. She lay back slowly, gripping the sheets like an anchor, eyes locked on the door. She wasn’t sure she trusted Bear, but she wasn’t sure she feared him, either.
That could be dangerous. Because if she let herself believe she was safe, and it turned out to be a lie… she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.
Meri closed her eyes, but sleep was impossible. She lay stiffly on the bed, staring at the ceiling, muscles locked as though expecting a door to fly open, for hands to grab her, for the nightmare to start again. It always started again.
The quiet of the room unnerved her. No muffled screams from unseen prisoners. No slurred voices bartering over flesh. No sickly sweet cologne marking a predator’s approach. Just silence.
Bear was outside. She knew that. Felt it. He hadn’t locked her in. Hadn’t given her orders. Hadn’t forced her to kneel at his feet like the others had.
He’d walked away. Left her to decide. That should have meant something, but it didn’t. Because men like him always wanted something. The thought made her pulse beat like a crazed metronome. She needed to move—to do something.
Meri shoved back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet met cold concrete. That was familiar. The only familiar thing about this place. She inhaled deeply, forcing the oxygen into her lungs, forcing the rising unease back where it belonged.
She would not be a victim. Moving cautiously, she padded toward the door, ears straining for sound. The warehouse had an emptiness to it, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were alone. Bear had a team. There would be others… and she couldn’t trust any of them.
She curled her fingers around the doorknob, hesitating just long enough to hate herself for hesitating, then twisted. The heavy door swung open smoothly.
Bear was there—seated against the opposite wall, arms crossed, one boot planted against the floor, the other bent with his forearm resting casually over his knee. His eyes lifted to her the moment she stepped into the dim light of the hallway. He didn’t look surprised.
Meri braced, expecting him to stand, to move, to demand she go back inside. To control her. He did none of those things.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked instead, voice even.
She clenched her jaw. “Not tired.”
Bear studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Suit yourself.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t ask her what she wanted. Just watched. Waiting. It infuriated her. She’d spent months living under the rule of men who didn’t wait. Who took. Who controlled. Who stripped choice away from her and called it privilege.
Bear was something else, and she couldn’t figure out if that was better or worse.
Her nails bit into her palms. He was screwing with her—he had to be. He toyed with her, acting as if none of this mattered, as if they hadn’t sold her on a stage only hours before. Like she wasn’t one wrong move away from shattering into something she couldn’t put back together.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” she snapped, shoving down the rising unease. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Bear’s gaze remained steady. “Not babysitting.”
“No?” She folded her arms, biting back the urge to pace, to burn off the overwhelming rage and confusion churning beneath her skin. “Then what would you call this?”
Bear stood slowly, methodically stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders. “I’d call it making sure you don’t do something reckless.”
Meri’s pulse spiked. “Like what?”
His gaze flicked to her hands, still clenched at her sides. “Like whatever’s running through that head of yours.”
Her breath came faster, too shallow, her body betraying her. She hated that he saw it. Hated that he read her so damn easily.
She turned away, needing space. Meri pressed her palms against the cool concrete wall. The world felt too big, too uncertain, too much. Someone had trapped her before. She didn’t notice that much had changed—only that uncertainty, not steel, now formed the bars of her cage.
Bear followed, his steps measured, unhurried. “Talk to me.”
She barked out a laugh. “Why? So you can twist my words? Tell me what’s best for me?”
Bear came closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she felt him. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
She let out a sharp breath, turning to face him head-on. “I think men like you always have a plan. And I think you want something from me.”
His gaze darkened, something dangerous and unreadable flickering beneath the surface. “The only thing I want from you is to see you walk out of this as whole as you can be.”
Her stomach clenched, her fingers twitching at her sides. Meri turned away again, trying to breathe past the suffocating pressure in her chest. Too much. Too much.
She didn’t register moving until Bear was there, his hands catching her wrists, stopping her. She whirled, trying to jerk free. Not again. Not again.
But Bear didn’t let go. Didn’t hurt. Didn’t crush. Didn’t demand. His grip was unyielding, a tether instead of a shackle.
“Stop,” he ordered, voice steady. “Look at me.”
She fought him—not physically, not really—but she fought. Her breathing was too fast. Her thoughts were too loud. Bear held her there, kept her from drowning in her own mind.
The moment stretched, an eternity wrapped in the space between survival and surrender.
Meri hated him for grounding her. Hated the way her pulse slowed beneath his grip. Hated that she needed it.
His fingers flexed slightly, just enough to remind her he was there. “You done?”
Her throat burned, her nails pressing into her palms. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
His voice was too calm, too controlled, and that was what finally snapped her back. She went still. Not broken. Not beaten. Just… still.
Bear let one more beat pass before he loosened his grip and released her. Meri staggered back, inhaling sharply, blinking against the reality of the moment. She had expected pain, expected force, expected the world to spin into the nightmare she’d lived for too long.
Instead, all she found was him. Watching. Waiting… and somehow, that was worse.
Bear stepped back, giving her space, giving her time. “Get some rest.”
Meri didn’t answer. Instead, she moved back into her room and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her shoulders rigid, her heartbeat too loud in her ears. The moment Bear had let her go, she’d expected him to storm off, leave her to unravel in the suffocating quiet. Instead, she saw him standing at the small kitchenette in the corner of the warehouse, making her a plate of food like this was just another night, like this was normal.
She hated that. Hated how unaffected he seemed. Hated that he hadn’t punished her for snapping, for pushing, for trying to claw back a sense of control she no longer understood.
"You’re eating," Bear said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Meri’s hands curled into fists on the blanket. “I’m not hungry.”
Bear turned, broad and steady, plate in hand, dark gaze pinning her in place. “You need food.”
She lifted her chin. “I said I’m not hungry.”
He crossed the room in three easy strides and placed the plate on the nightstand beside her. “Eat anyway.”
The command in his voice sent something sharp and electric down her spine.
Her pulse kicked against her throat as she looked at the plate—steak, eggs, toast, all things she used to love. Her stomach coiled. The scent should have made her hungry. Instead, it made her nauseous. For months, food had been a weapon. A tool for control. Earned, taken away, used to break her. Her throat closed up, her body refusing to move.
Bear crouched beside the bed, his presence a heavy force of authority and patience, an impossible contradiction. "You eat," he said, voice softer now but still unyielding, "because your body needs it. Because starving yourself gives those bastards another victory, and I don’t lose to men like that."
Meri swallowed hard, nails digging into her thighs. "That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t there."
Bear’s eyes flickered with something dangerous, something dark and knowing. "No," he agreed. "I wasn’t. But I’ve pulled enough people out of hell to know that if you let it, it will follow you and never let you go. I don’t intend to let that happen."
Her breath came too fast, too uneven. She wanted to fight him. To tell him he didn’t know her, didn’t understand what she’d been through, didn’t have the right to tell her what she needed.
But the worst part—the part she wasn’t ready to face—she knew he wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t made it out of that hell. Not really. Not yet. She was still there, still trapped, still owned by the ghosts of men who had dragged her into hell.
Meri’s hand twitched toward the plate, but she yanked it back at the last second, anger warring with need.
Bear’s voice was too damn steady. "Take a bite."
She clenched her jaw. "You gonna force-feed me if I don’t?"
Something dark and unreadable passed through his expression. "No. But if I have to put you over my knee to get the message through that I make the rules now, I will."
Heat rushed through her, sharp and overwhelming, leaving her breathless. She hated that. Hated the way her body reacted to his dominance when it should have made her want to run. But she wasn’t afraid of him.
She had been afraid of those who had abducted and held her captive—even though she tried to hide that from them. They had never spanked her. She knew from talking to other subs that spankings could be stress relieving, grounding and even a form of loving discipline in the right circumstances. The men who had used her had never used spankings, their forms of punishment were far more painful, creative, humiliating and cruel.
"You wouldn’t," she challenged, because she wasn’t that girl anymore. The one who craved the kind of control that came from submission, who willingly gave herself over to a man strong enough to hold her together.
Bear’s mouth pulled into something dangerous. “Don’t test me, little one.”
Meri snatched the fork and stabbed a piece of steak, shoving it into her mouth without breaking eye contact. She chewed. Swallowed.
Bear gave her a single nod, satisfied. “Good girl.”
A shiver ran through her, completely involuntarily, and she hated herself for it. Bear knew, though. She could see it in his gaze, in the way her reaction didn’t surprise him. It should have infuriated her. Instead, it made something deep inside her begin to unravel.
The fork shook in her grip, her throat too tight. She shoved another bite into her mouth, determined to get this over with, to prove that he didn’t own her, but the second the food hit her stomach, the memories came.
She gagged. Dropped the fork. Shoved the plate away like it had burned her. Her chest heaved, her mind closing in around her, pulling her back to that place, to the months of control, of force, of all the things she shoved into the darkest corners of her mind.
"Look at me." Bear’s sharp, commanding tone yanked her back, the authority in his voice slicing through the panic like a blade.
Meri’s eyes snapped to his. Steady. Controlled. Unyielding.
"You're here," he said. "Not there. Here."
Her body shook as she dragged in a breath, then another, the panic slipping away, slowly, carefully.
Bear didn’t move. Didn’t crowd her, didn’t push. He just waited until finally she could breathe again. Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, something too heavy to name.
Meri wet her lips, throat hoarse. “I hate you.”
Bear’s expression didn’t change. “That’s fine.”
She glared. “I mean it.”
"I know."
His calm infuriated her.
Meri shoved back against the pillows, turning away, eyes locked on the door. “You want me to sleep next?” she asked bitterly. “Want to tuck me in, Daddy?”
Bear’s dark chuckle sent heat curling low in her stomach, the sound too damn sure of itself.
"You can fight it all you want," he murmured, "but we both know exactly what you need."
She gritted her teeth. "And what’s that?"
Bear stood, his presence taking up the whole damn room, the sheer command in his body stealing the breath from her lungs.
"Structure," he said simply, "discipline and control from someone who cares about you and with whom you feel safe can prove beneficial. The key is for that someone to be strong enough and to care enough about you to give it to you without any degradation or cruelty."
Meri’s pulse pounded, her body betraying her.
Bear leaned in just enough that she felt the heat of him, the power in his presence, the way he could take her apart without laying a single hand on her.
"You might not be ready to admit it," he murmured, "but you don’t have to. I already know."
Meri’s fingers curled into the blanket, her breath shallow and uneven. He was right, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Bear stepped back, satisfied. “Go to sleep, little one.”
She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared at the door long after he left. Because for the first time in months, it wasn’t fear keeping her awake… it was him.