Chapter 23 #2
I drew in another breath, steadying myself before dragging the next part out.
“He wanted me to translate him a lot of money. Didn’t want to listen to reason, didn’t believe the bubble would kill me if I did.
But the worst part…” I cleared my throat.
“I wasn’t alone in that cellar. There was another girl, Amy, who’d been there for weeks.
He tried to force me to make her fall in love with him. ”
Caden went completely still.
His jaw flexed once before he asked, “What happened?”
A flicker of pride slipped through the heaviness. “Amy and I teamed up and fought back. We caught him off guard, knocked him out, and ran. Drove his truck until we almost reached the national border.”
“He’s still alive?” The words were more statement than question, stripped to something dark and dangerous.
I looked up at the man I’d fallen apart in front of and gave a single nod.
His expression didn’t change, but the air around him did. It dropped a few degrees, and when he finally spoke, his tone was glacial. “Not for long.”
Caden rose slowly, then lowered himself beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
His body heat bled through the space between us, his warmth a quiet contradiction to the violence in his voice.
“Amy’s the reason I made it out of the bubble alive,” I continued quietly. “She drove me to the border. She gave me the supplies I needed to make the crossing. And she gave me something to fight for, when…”
The words snagged.
“When you didn’t feel like there was a reason to,” Caden finished, low but certain.
I nodded once.
Silence folded around us, the kind that hummed with everything unspoken.
Then…
“While you were down there, held captive, did you call out for me?”
The words sounded rough, and for the first time, I saw it, an edge of rawness flickering beneath all that control.
I blinked, frowning. “What? How could you possibly—”
“You talked during your attack just now,” he cut in quietly, almost disbelieving. “You said, ‘Caden will come.’”
My stomach dropped.
Jesus. Could this get any more humiliating?
I closed my lids and tried to push past the embarrassment.
“In that cellar,” I whispered, “I didn’t get to sleep much. A few hours, maybe. When I did…” The memory twisted its claws deep. “I kept having these dreams where you’d come barreling down the stairs. At some point, I must’ve said your name out loud, because Amy… She asked me who you were.”
I swallowed hard. “Guessing that’s what you heard.”
Caden moved before I could take another breath. His hand shot out, catching the back of my neck, dragging me closer until his forehead crashed against mine. The contact was fierce, searing. His breath came hot and uneven between us, his whole body drawn tight and barely contained.
I could feel the tremor in him, rage and anguish coiled together, threatening to break. His eyes burned into mine from inches away, pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling against my knees with every ragged breath.
“You have no idea,” he rasped, voice splintering under the weight of it, “how much it kills me to know you were held against your will—reaching for me—and I didn’t come for you.”
Regret and fury tangled so tight in his words, they were indistinguishable. His thumb brushed my jaw, trembling once before it steadied again, as if sheer force of will was the only thing keeping him from tearing the world apart.
I gave him the smallest smile, then lifted my shaking hands to press against his chest, steadying both of us. “You didn’t know, Caden.”
He shook his head once. “Never again.”
His forehead still rested against mine, grounding me as much as himself. The air between us throbbed with everything he wasn’t saying, the promise, the rage, the self-hatred.
“What do you need?”
I took in a steadying breath. “I need to not be screwed up about it. Honestly… With everything that happened with my parents, I haven’t even thought about it.
I need this not to become another entry on my endless list of traumata.
I need it not to turn into a trigger. And I need,” my voice cracked, “to not be afraid of the fucking dark.”
Caden’s hand tightened against the back of my neck, enough to make me feel his pulse hammering through his fingers. When he spoke, it came out like a vow dragged from the depths of him, raw and deadly sincere.
“I’ll never let anyone touch you again,” he said, each word clipped. “Not a hand. Not a threat. I swear on my fucking life, Emma, no one hurts you and walks away breathing.”
I grabbed his hand and turned it over, opening his palm. Then I pressed my lips to the center of it. “I believe you,” I whispered, my heartbeat finally slowing.
For a moment, everything stilled. He simply stared at me, like the act itself had unraveled something inside him. The fury didn’t fade, but it shifted, condensed into something quieter, colder.
Purpose.
His expression hardened again; steel slid back into place as he snapped back into cold command. “Name.”
I shook my head. “Caden…”
“I said, name.”
“Caden, he’s not worth—”
“I respectfully disagree. Name.”
“Colt,” I began, but he moved faster. His hand came around, fingers wrapping around my throat, not squeezing, only holding me. The pressure was measured as his gaze locked on mine.
I should’ve been scared. Maybe even angry that he’d dare to handle me like that. But fear never came, only a rush of something familiar. My pulse thundered against his palm, every beat a reminder that he could break me…but never would.
His jacket creaked as he leaned closer, the scent of leather and smoke wrapping around me. He looked carved from the same darkness he carried inside.
“Give. Me. His. Name.”
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but the look on his face stopped me cold.
His jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack a tooth. His left hand was balled into a tight fist at his side, knuckles white, chest rising like he was trying to breathe through his emotions.
And for the first time since I told him, I saw it for what it was.
Caden Colt wasn’t just angry.
He was furious.
And the only thing more dangerous than an angry Caden Colt?
A determined one.
My shoulders folded inward, shrinking under the torment I saw so clearly. So, I gave him what he so desperately wanted. “Amy called him Dave.”
Caden’s stare didn’t waver. “Last name.”
I swallowed, then shook my head. “She never said. Only that he used to work at her gym. I don’t know anything else.”
“Address.”
“I was drugged when I got there, and it was dark when we left. I only know it was somewhere in New Hampshire.”
He stared at me for a long, taut second, then the tension in his jaw eased, slow and reluctant, as if letting go of his rage required physical effort.
Almost without ceremony, he exhaled and released me. “Thank you,” he said scraped raw, sounding almost relieved.
I barely had time to nod before he caught my wrist. His grip wasn’t rough, but there was a kind of desperation in it, a quiet need for contact. He guided me toward the head of the bed, moving carefully, as if every motion was a question.
When he sat back against the wall, he pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me until I could feel every line of his body, solid and tense beneath the calm. My cheek rested over his heart, its beat heavy and uneven against my skin.
For a long moment, neither of us breathed. Then his chest rose under me—once, twice—until his rhythm became mine.
The last thing I felt before sleep dragged me under was the slow sweep of his fingers through my hair, the faint press of his lips against the crown of my head, a silent, unbreakable promise.
When I woke, the space beside me was cold.
I didn’t see him again for the next three days.