Chapter 12
Ivy
Sitting on the edge of the bed in my cell, I pull the blanket over my bare legs.
The unopened book rests in my hands. I just keep running my fingers over the cracked spine, again and again.
I’ve been here over a week now and fears of Bennett’s men finding me are fading. But guilt weighs on my mind knowing that I wasn’t able to meet Jade like we agreed. I pray that she got out, and is moving on with the plan to get as far as possible.
Zane brings me a bowl of warm water to wash with and food every morning and night. Myles sometimes forgets to bring food. The other one, Phoenix, still hasn’t come in at all. I get the feeling he doesn’t want me here.
The hoodie Zane brought me hangs loose over my frame. It smells like woodsmoke and faint leather, like him. Safe. Quiet. And too big, swallowing my body like a cocoon. I love it.
The drawstring pants are soft and warm at night, but unbearably hot in this sauna during the day.
Myles hasn’t come in yet today. His visits have become more sporadic, perhaps still embarrassed by his actions four days ago. Although, that might be giving him too much credit.
Myles. It’s unfair that he looks as good as he does. Even with his fingers bruising my arms and tearing at my clothes, I got little flutters, low in my belly. As if I was excited that he was touching me again.
I think there's something wrong with me.
I didn’t scream.
Didn't fight.
Sure, I've learnt not to. Freezing is a better option. Because I never learnt how to run fast enough or scream loud enough. To be anything other than what men expect me to be—something to take from. Something to use. And God help you if you try to fight them.
I know what he wants, what I'll have to give eventually.
But at least Myles is attractive.
I want to ignore that thought but it makes a good point. Compared to Bennett and his men, these guys are like angels walking amongst us. Am I shallow for favouring these captors when my situation isn’t any different?
And Zane… he seems different to anything I’ve encountered. He never forces his way. Never touches me.
Even that morning, he simply sat down outside the bars without saying much. He just… stayed with me. As if that was enough. Like the silence was something sacred.
It shouldn't have made me feel safe. But it did. I didn't know how much I needed silence until someone gave it to me without strings attached.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
I know it's him before I see him. I recognise those measured footsteps.
Zane.
He walks like he belongs in the silence. As if he doesn't want to disturb it, simply borrow the space for a while.
Feeling a strange sense of eagerness, I shift where I sit.
Then he comes into view. Dark hair hanging lazily over his forehead, green eyes sparkling with something unreadable.
He’s shirtless again today, skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat sharpening the cut of every muscle like he's been working outside in the sun.
My pulse quickens, gaze lingering over the hard lines of his bulging muscles, unable to look away.
He moves like someone who doesn't want to startle me, each step careful as he approaches the cell.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Did you get any rest today?”
I nod, eyes finally meet his. A lie. But I want to please him… want him to keep coming back.
The corners of his lips pull up in a soft smile, clearly pleased. It’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine smile on his face. Even if it’s only a fraction, it makes me want to smile too.
He pauses, then lowers to his haunches, arms draped over his knees.
Zane doesn't watch me like Myles does, the way men usually do. There's no hunger in his stare... only care. It's softer. Like he's trying to read something on my skin without touching it.
“I brought you some more food and water,” he says, as he pulls out a bottle and a canvas bag. “Jerky I made. You can hide it under your pillow.”
He's letting me keep it this time?
Suspicion grows in me. That's considerate... more than usual generosity. Kindness has never come without a cost.
Something practical flickers in me.
I'm locked in a cell. Clearly not getting out anytime soon. There are three men that I know of. Only two of them visit me. Two men who could do whatever they want... and one of them already got close.
Maybe if I keep Zane on my side—if I'm useful—he could stop things from getting worse.
He could protect me from Myles… if I gave him a reason to.
Violent men only escalate. But with Zane on my side, I might not have to survive another ordeal like that.
My pulse climbs higher as I think.
For a moment, my mind wanders to what it might feel like if he touched me. If it’d feel good. If it didn’t hurt.
Shifting a little on the cot, I adjust the hoodie, so it pulls tighter across my chest, drawing the fabric closer to the curves of my body. Pretending it's casual.
He sees. But not in the way I need him to. He’s not taking the bait. Brow furrowing like he’s trying to work out a riddle.
“Zane,” I say softly as I shift my posture, pulling the blanket back to reveal more of my bare legs beneath the oversized hoodie. “I want to thank you. You've been nice to me.”
His body stiffens as his eyes flash down to my legs for a brief moment before averting his gaze.
“I want you to feel safe,” he says, tense.
Is he seriously still not getting it?
“And you have,” I say, spreading my legs just a little to catch his attention again. “Let me… thank you.”
His eyes flicker back to my legs, body staying frozen. But I see the flare in his nostrils like he's fighting with himself.
“Ivy,” he murmurs, my name falling from his lips like a prayer he didn't mean to speak. “What are you...”
“I don't have anything else to give you. Please. Let me repay you,” I beg sweetly, using the tone that men like.
He jolts as if I knocked the wind out of him. Silence stretches between us.
“Ivy. Stop,” he says rougher, making me flinch. “Shit. I didn't mean—I'm sorry,” he stumbles over his words, hanging his head and running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to rewind the last few seconds.
I've never got a reaction like this. I don't understand.
“I don't need you to repay me for anything,” he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I'm just doing what’s right… trying to treat you right.”
Oh… he must be that type. The gentleman who tries to deny his own urges in a vain attempt to be noble.
He just needs more of a push.
Heat climbs up my neck as I stand, letting the blanket fall away from my bare legs. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he watches me from the corner of his eye.
Gathering my courage, I step towards the bars and kneel in front of him.
“Ivy,” he breathes like he's trying to hold his breath. His muscles are taut as if he’s holding back what he really wants to do.
Trembling slightly, I reach between the bars and rest my hand on his arm. It's hard and warm, veins climbing over the muscles, making my hand look small in comparison.
Zane looks away again, throat bobbing as he swallows hard.
I tug at his arm a little and he lets me guide it between the bars to rest on my thigh.
“You don't have to be nice for nothing,” I whisper.
The warmth of his palm feels more comforting than I was expecting. His fingers flutter against my skin as if he wants to grip me harder. I can’t deny I want him to.
Pulling his hand, I guide it higher up my thigh. His hand is warm and calloused, and goosebumps tickle my flesh in their wake. Our breathing has picked up and time seems to stretch as electricity teases the air between us.
When his fingers brush the hem of the hoodie, so close to dipping underneath, his eyes go wide, and he snatches his hand back as if I burned him.
Leaning forward, closer to my face, Zane’s voice is soaked in disgust. “Is this what you think you have to do to stay safe?”
His eyes burn into mine, searching for something. A drop of pain finds its way into his expression when he doesn’t find whatever he was looking for. “You’ve been taught the wrong lessons. You don't have to earn your place, Ivy. Not with me. I'm not here to take anything from you.”
My eyes search his face while my brain tries to make sense of what he’s saying.
I don’t understand what game this is. Shaking his head gently, his face softens into pity.
Please. Just take it. Take this offer. Take something. Don’t leave me with this feeling. But I don’t want to beg him, to appear desperate.
He practically runs out of the room, without looking back. Leaving me kneeling on the cold floor feeling confused and exposed, my offer still hanging in the air like a balloon someone let go.
Pressing my hand to my thigh, where his hand was, I feel a pang of something unfamiliar.
I don't understand.
It looked like he wanted to take it.
Most guys would have.
What’s so wrong with me… that even when I offer everything, it’s still not enough?