Chapter 4
Zane
Myles won't be awake for another hour.
Should I check on her?
Last night she looked like something hunted. Trembling, curled up in the far corner of the cell, on the cot with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Small and wrecked and... trying so hard not to be.
I tried to move slowly, to not scare her. But Myles had done a number on her. She vibrated with fear.
More like a rabbit than a doe… but I can see that doe-like resemblance that Myles seems to love so much.
She didn't speak, barely even moved, as if she was frozen in fear. Like a rabbit waiting for the trap to spring.
She’ll be hungry this morning, and I still don't trust Myles to feed her without asking for something in return. He won't be happy when he finds out that I snuck in to see his little pet.
But I just stood there while he dragged her in. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop him. I even helped him at one point. Just like before—back when I saw women in cages every day, stacked three-high, begging as I kept walking.
My stomach knots. I try reminding myself there was nothing I could’ve done. If I tried, I’d be dead. But I’m still breathing… and they’re not.
I used to believe that survival was enough. But living through it doesn’t mean you deserved to. Twenty-six years of life and all I have to show for it are scars—both physical and mental.
Carrying a precariously balanced plate of stale biscuits, bowl of warm water and mug of steaming tea, I make my way down the hallway.
When I reach the door to the holding room, I take a deep breath as a strange sense of excitement flutters in my chest. Then, I slowly open the door.
The sun has warmed the room nicely after the chill of the night. But it’ll be an oven by midday.
I'll have to come back to open a window after Myles undoubtedly terrorises her again.
Her eyes flick to me immediately. Suspicious, fearful. Something squeezes in my chest seeing her like that. But she has every right to be scared.
I’d be scared of me too.
Doesn’t matter how soft I speak or what I bring her to eat. I helped put her in here. I’m a monster in her eyes. And maybe in my own eyes too.
Stepping in, I close the door quietly behind me and move as carefully as I can towards her.
Still, she scrambles to curl herself into the same protective position, only now with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders as if it’s the only shield she’s got.
I’ve seen that look before. Same posture. Same terror. Back in that dumpster-fire of a camp I survived all those years ago.
In the light, she looks even more beautiful—even with the dirt smeared on her pale skin and caked in her pretty hair. Way better condition than the girls in the cages of my old camp.
That gives me a sliver of hope for her. But a beast rages in me, screaming about how beautiful she’d look pinned under me.
Shutting that thought down, I choke it out. That part of me doesn’t get a say anymore.
“You hungry, little—” I cut myself off before I use that predatory nickname for her. I hate that it nearly slipped out. As if she’s mine to name.
I’ve seen what happens when men start believing that. I swore I’d never be one of them.
She doesn't respond, but I didn't expect her to. She just watches me slowly approach, moving nothing but her eyes. Her gorgeous, deep blue eyes. Like pools of emotion that whisper everything she refuses to say.
I won’t force her to speak if she doesn’t want to. Right now, her silence is hers. One last thing she can hold on to.
Crouching slowly by the bars, I set the items down. No sudden movements. After pushing them through the gap, I back up a bit to give her some space.
Myles will kill me if I leave any kind of weapon for her.
So I sit myself on the floor and wait. Knees bent up, just far enough away that she knows I won’t lunge for her.
I could lie and say it’s for her comfort, that it’s not more than that. But the truth is… I don’t trust myself to get closer. Not with all the shit I’ve done. I’m not here to redeem myself or pretend there aren’t dark instincts clawing at my insides right now.
I just want to ease her pain a little.
She doesn’t move toward them, but her eyes flicker between them and me like she’s weighing up the risk.
“I don't want anything from you,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Just... eat, if you want. Wash. Or don't. It's your choice.”
Myles might have kidnapped and imprisoned her, but I don't want her to feel trapped. I don't want her to look at me with real fear in her eyes. I want her to feel safe with me.
But trust doesn’t come cheap. Especially not these days. And not when you look like the enemy.
She needs proof that not everyone who looks at her sees a possession and plans to use her like one.
Making a point of not looking in her direction, I stare off to the side, arms resting loosely on my knees.
It takes a few beats of silence until I finally hear the faintest shuffle. Then the creak of the cot bed as she shifts toward the things I brought her. Then the gentle tink of a biscuit being taken from the plate.
Fighting a smile, I do my best to show no reaction. But warmth and pride bloom in my chest as she accepts my offerings.
After a while of listening to the faint sounds of her eating, drinking, and washing the mud and dirt from her pale skin, I hear the creak of the cot bed once more.
Sneaking a sideways glance in her direction I see she’s returned to her position on the bed.
“Ivy,” she whispers.
Chills roll over my body at the sound of her voice and admission of her name. She didn't have to give me anything, but she chose to give me the greatest thing I could ever ask for.
A sliver of her identity.
I turn my head to see her better, our eyes meet and for a brief moment there’s a glimmer of something besides fear. Something that makes my ego grow ten feet.
Then she looks away, breaking the connection and retreating back into herself. But I'll take that victory. I don't want to push her any further today.
Right now, she needs space. A moment to breathe. And I can give her that.
Because soon, Myles will wake up. And there’ll be no space.
No peace.
Just him. And whatever he decides she’s ready for.