Chapter 4
4
MERI
M eri had never been good at waiting, and now that waiting had become the only thing she could do, it was unbearable. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the heavy door, knowing Bear was on the other side. His presence wasn’t a question. It was a certainty, the way the sun set at night and rose the next morning. Bear was there because he didn’t leave, didn’t waver, didn’t second-guess his decisions.
She hated him for that. She hated he had all the control, that he was making choices for her, structuring every second of her existence to make her fight him tooth and nail. And yet, here she was… still waiting… waiting… still not running.
She fisted the bedclothes and let out a slow breath, pushing to her feet. Every muscle ached. Her body was a roadmap of exhaustion and starvation, her limbs weaker than they should be, her reflexes slower than she remembered. The months in captivity had taken their toll, breaking her down in ways she refused to name, but that didn’t mean she would let him—or anyone else—ever win again.
She moved to the door, fingers hesitating only for a second before she opened it. The hallway was dim, the glow of a single overhead light casting everything in shadow. Bear was exactly where she expected him to be—leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching her like he had all the patience in the world.
His gaze traveled over her, assessing, searching, before settling on her eyes. "Didn’t think you’d stay in there forever," he said.
"I wasn’t hiding," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I never said you were." He pushed off the wall, his presence a solid force of dominance and unshakable certainty. "Come sit."
Meri’s jaw clenched. "I’m not some prisoner you can order around."
"Not a prisoner," he agreed. "But you are under my care, and that means you follow my rules."
She took a step back, her body instinctively coiling at the word. Rules. Rules had governed her life for too long; others dictated her actions, specifying what was permissible and forbidden. She wouldn’t go back to that.
Bear seemed to read her thoughts, his expression steady, unreadable. "I’m not them, Meri. This isn’t about control for control’s sake. It’s about keeping you from running yourself into the ground because you don’t know how to stop fighting."
She hated how much his words landed, how much they went straight to the heart of what she wasn’t ready to admit. "I’m fine," she said.
Bear’s eyes flickered with something dangerous. "You’re not fine. You haven’t eaten enough. You haven’t slept. Your body is still running on adrenaline and trauma, and I will not stand here and let you self-destruct just because you think it proves something."
Meri’s nails bit into her palms. "I don’t need…"
"A babysitter. I know," Bear agreed, stepping forward until the air between them crackled. "But you need structure. You need stability. You need to stop pretending you don’t crave control just as much as you hate it."
Her pulse spiked, her body betraying her with the sharp awareness of him standing too close.
She wasn’t stupid. She had spent enough time in this world to know exactly the kind of man Bear was. The kind who commanded without shouting, who dominated without taking. The kind who wouldn’t let her crumble—not because he wanted to save her, but to give her time to save herself.
That scared her more than anything.
She lifted her chin, defiant even as her body trembled with exhaustion. "And what if I refuse?"
Bear’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening slightly before his voice dropped into something that sent a dangerous shiver through her. "Then I’ll decide for you."
She expected anger. Expected fear. Expected herself to lash out, to fight, to push him away. Instead, something in her went quiet. Bear held her gaze, watching, waiting, letting her fight through the instinct to run.
Then he turned toward the small table in the room's corner, where a plate of food sat untouched. "You’re going to eat."
Meri’s stomach twisted. "I’m not hungry."
"You’re still going to eat," Bear said.
She glared at him. "You can’t force me."
Bear didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled out the chair and sat down, watching her with the same steady patience that had already started to unnerve her. "You’re wrong. I can, but I won’t force feed you. But I can make sure you don’t leave this room until you’ve finished at least half of what’s on this plate."
Meri’s pulse kicked against her ribs. "You’re a jerk."
Bear raised an eyebrow. "No. I’m in charge."
She bristled, the words chipping away at something fragile inside her. She wanted to fight him. She wanted to throw the plate against the wall and scream at him to stop treating her like some broken thing in need of fixing, but she was so damn tired.
She had spent months resisting, months clawing for survival, months fighting just to prove she was still alive. Bear wasn’t demanding she surrender. He was demanding she accept that she no longer needed to fight… that she was safe.
Meri dropped her gaze to the food, her stomach rebelling against the idea of putting anything in it. She could already feel the nausea rising, already hear the echo of cruel voices in the back of her mind, but Bear was still watching, still waiting, still expecting her to choose for herself.
Wasn’t that what she had wanted all along? With a sharp breath, she grabbed the fork and stabbed at the food, shoving a bite into her mouth before she could think too hard about it.
Bear didn’t praise her. Didn’t react. Just waited. She forced herself to swallow, then took another bite. Then another.
Bear nodded once. "Good girl."
Meri’s stomach clenched, heat curling through her like a live wire, the two words slicing through layers of exhaustion, anger, and something else… She forced herself to keep eating, even as her chest tightened, even as her body screamed against the simple act of accepting care.
Because, deep down, she knew Bear was right. She couldn’t do this alone, and for the first time since she’d been taken, she wasn’t sure she had to.
BEAR
Bear sat at the small table, watching as Meri forced herself through the meal. He didn’t miss the way she hesitated before every bite, her body rigid, her throat working too hard to swallow. She was fighting herself just as much as she was fighting him.
That was fine. He had infinite patience for people who needed it. But he also had zero tolerance for self-destruction.
Meri had been through hell. He knew that. Understood it in a way most men never could. But survival wasn’t just about escaping. It wasn’t just about getting out alive. It was about learning how to live again, and she hadn’t figured that out yet.
She dropped her fork after a few more bites and shoved the plate away, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “Satisfied?”
Bear didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough for her to squirm, long enough for her to realize she didn’t dictate how this worked.
“Better,” he said finally. “You’ll eat more tomorrow.”
Her fingers curled against the edge of the table. “You think you can just schedule my meals like I’m some recruit who needs conditioning?”
His jaw tensed slightly at that, his voice even when he responded. “I think you’ve been through something most people wouldn’t survive, and you’re acting like it didn’t change you.”
Meri’s entire body locked up at that. She hated he could see through her, hated that she couldn’t make him back off and leave her the hell alone.
She stood abruptly, shoving her chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor. “I don’t need you to fix me, Bear.”
Bear pushed to his feet, moving slow, deliberate, making sure she saw he wasn’t reacting to her anger the way she wanted. She was picking a fight because fighting was easier than accepting what she needed.
“I don’t fix people,” he said. “I make sure they don’t tear themselves apart.”
She swallowed hard, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “I don’t need you to save me.”
“No,” Bear agreed, stepping closer, watching the way her pulse kicked at her throat. “You need to save yourself. I can help because you need something I can provide, but the only person who can truly save you is you.”
Her breathing went shallow, her shoulders rising slightly before she caught herself. “You don’t know what I need.”
Bear tilted his head, studying her, letting the silence stretch between them again before he answered. “I do. I know you’re afraid to stop fighting because you don’t know what’s left if you do.”
She flinched like he’d struck her. He could have pushed. Could have demanded that she admit what they both knew. But that wasn’t how this worked.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he said, voice steady. “But you will eat. You will sleep. You will take care of yourself, because I’m not letting you do anything else.”
Meri’s throat worked as she processed his words, something flickering in her gaze—anger, defiance, and something closer to panic. She spun on her heel, heading for the bedroom, her bare feet silent against the cold floor.
Bear let her go. For now.
She needed space, but not too much. He followed, stopping at the doorway just as she climbed onto the bed, curling up on her side with her back to him.
“Meri.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
Bear leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “This is the part where you argue about the schedule I’m setting for you, so get it out of your system.”
She tensed, but still didn’t turn around. “You can’t just control every part of my day.”
“Not every part,” Bear said. “Just the ones that keep you alive.”
Her fingers tightened in the blankets, but she didn’t fight him as hard as she might have. That was a start.
Bear wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep when he woke to the quiet shuffle of footsteps. His body tensed instinctively, reaching for the gun under his pillow, his mind snapping into combat mode before his vision cleared.
Meri stood at the edge of his bed, barefoot, silent, watching. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Bear’s voice was low when he finally broke the silence. “What are you doing, little one?”
Her lips parted slightly, like she had no idea how to answer. She held herself, her fingers digging into her skin, breathing shallowly.
She was afraid. Not of him, but of herself.
Bear didn’t push. Didn’t make it harder than it already was. Instead, he flipped back the blanket on the empty side of the bed. Meri hesitated, but only for a second before she crawled in, keeping herself small, her body stiff with uncertainty.
Bear let her settle, let her find her space, before he reached out and pulled her against his chest. She went rigid at first, her breath catching, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t force. Didn’t demand. He just held.
Her pulse thrummed against his wrist where it rested lightly against her belly, her body slowly losing its fight as her muscles started to unlock. Bear pressed his lips against the top of her head. A quiet reassurance, a promise without words—she was safe, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Meri’s breath finally slowed, her body curling deeper into him, her fingers loosening their grip on her own skin. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Bear knew, and for now, that was enough.
Bear held Meri against his chest, feeling the slow, uneven rise and fall of her breathing as she settled into him. Her body was still stiff, but exhaustion was winning. He didn’t move, didn’t push, just kept his arm firm around her waist, letting her decide how much she could take.
She didn’t know how to ask for comfort, but she wanted it. That much was clear.
His fingers traced slow circles against her back, grounding her. This wasn’t a game, not some club scene where people freely submit and others purposefully take advantage. Meri was learning to trust someone again, to exist without the weight of what others had done to her pressing into her ribs like a steel cage.
She shifted slightly, barely a breath of movement, but it was enough to make his grip tighten, just to let her know she wasn’t going anywhere. Her breathing stuttered for a second, like she expected him to take something from her. He didn’t. He just held.
A few minutes passed, the silence between them stretching, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bear knew what this was—her body and mind learning what safety felt like again. What it meant to be touched without expectation.
Her fingers curled into his t-shirt, just barely, like she was testing the feel. He didn’t move, didn’t react, just let her take what she needed in her own time.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair, the words barely more than a rumble of approval.
She shivered slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Bear knew the significance of those two words to a woman like Meri, and their meaning before her abduction. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t about control. It was about acknowledgment, reassurance, acceptance.
She let out a slow breath, her body finally losing the last of its fight. Bear closed his eyes, keeping his grip firm but careful, listening to the sound of her breathing as it evened out. She was finally asleep.
He stayed awake, not because of her, but because he knew danger still threatened them.
DeLUCA
Across the city, in the darkened back room of a high-end club, a man leaned back in a leather chair, his fingers tapping against the polished wood of his desk. A laptop sat open in front of him, the screen casting a cold glow over the sharp angles of his face.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.
The man standing across from him swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. She’s with them. It was their team took her from the auction.”
The man in the chair let out a slow breath, but there was no sign of frustration. Only calculation.
“This complicates things,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied the screen. Meri Vaughn had been a message, a weapon, a way to dig into the cracks of the people hunting them, and now she was something else entirely.
His fingers stilled against the desk. “She’s a valuable asset now,” he said, his voice calm. “We need her back.”
The man standing across from him shifted uncomfortably. “Bear Cole is watching her.”
The name didn’t bother him. “We’ve removed worse obstacles before,” he said, his gaze never leaving the screen. “Find them.”
He closed the laptop with a quiet snap and stood, buttoning his suit jacket with methodical precision. He normally bought and sold his merchandise—but Meri had been different. He’d been able to rent her out at a considerable profit while bedeviling Cerberus. He had lost nothing yet, and neither had his ultimate buyer.