Chapter 22
The Bride
W aking up the next morning, I immediately feel alert. Something is wrong. Like, really, really wrong.
“Jack?” I call out, but no one answers.
Yawning, I stretch, wincing as my thighs pull tight and a dull ache reminds me of last night. My ass still feels tender, my cunt raw from being used until I broke. I reach out for the metal bars caging me in. But… they’re not there.
My eyes fly open, and when I look around, I realize I’m no longer in the cage. Instead, I’m in Jack’s bed.
“What the hell?” I mutter, wiping sleep from my eyes.
This makes no sense. I fell asleep on his naked chest, covered in blood and sweat, his cum still dripping out of my sore pussy. My skin stings where his studs dragged me raw, my chest still marked by my own scratches against him. It was filthy and perfect.
For the first time, I felt like there was more to him. And to our arrangement—or whatever to call this fucked up situation he’s forced me into.
“Jack?” I shout, my voice louder this time. But there’s still no answer.
With a huff, I get out of bed, taking the sheet wit h me. My bare feet pad across the hardwood, but a sharp scraping sound makes me freeze. I look down and can’t help laughing hysterically at what I see.
There’s a fucking shackle around my ankle. One that’s tethered to a chain coiling from a bolt in the wall.
“You sly bastard.” I might not be in the cage anymore, but I’m still fucking trapped.
I tug against it, testing, rattling links loud enough to echo through the empty house. No response. No Jack. With a curse, I hitch the sheet higher and march into the bathroom. I half expect the chain to tighten, but it doesn’t. There’s plenty of slack left.
As soon as I’m inside, I slam the door shut, shoving the chain under the gap so it won’t catch. The sheet slips from my body, pooling at my feet, and I step straight into the shower.
Hot water needles my skin, making me hiss when it runs over bruises I didn’t notice until now. Between my legs, the sting is sharper, a reminder of being stretched open again and again.
It doesn’t take long before the spray beats against my shoulders, washing away what can only be described as insanity. Yep, that has to be the reason I did… what I did last night.
With each day that passes being trapped here, I feel my mind getting duller. I’m sleeping more and moving less. Neither is good for my mental health.
I don’t even know when Jack left or where he is. All I know is that when I went to sleep, we were in the cage; I was on his chest, and his cock was still inside me.
But when I woke up, I was in his bed instead of in the cage. And instead of having his body pressed against me, I now have a fucking chain around my ankle. A. Fucking. Chain that’s bolted to the wall.
I guess this is one of those times where I really am a fucking fool. Why did I let my guard down? And more importantly, what did I think would happen? Jack Knight can’t be trusted.
Since my only company is my thoughts, I guess I can admit that he might be… okay, not might —he definitely is a good fuck. But that’s it. As a human, he’s pretty fucking shitty.
That disturbing train of thought is further proof I need to move, need to… do something. As quickly as possible, I finish my shower and dry off before brushing my teeth.
With nothing else to wear, I grab one of Jack’s oversized t-shirts from the stack he left in here and pull it over my head. The fabric smells like him, clinging to my skin in a way that makes me restless.
When I’m done, I feel more like myself, and that makes my mood better. It also helps me focus, something I’ve failed at. So far, my attempts at getting away from Jack have been half-assed at best.
Sure, I tried to seduce him. But he turned that around on me, and it was… no. I need to keep my mind on the task ahead. I can’t keep letting him distract me with mind-blowing orgasms and his chiseled, perfect body.
Maybe being alone is for the best. Now I have time to come up with a new and better plan. One that won’t be ruined by hormones and a way too active libido.
Shaking my head, I braid my long hair, something that helps me think. I force my mind to run through my mental profile on my captor.
“No matter what your circumstances are, there’ll always only be one person responsible. You. You’re responsible for all your choices. Stop making stupid decisions, and life will be easier.” My dad’s words skitter around in my head, unbidden but true.
Leaving the bathroom, I hear the cold metal slide across the hardwood floor as I test the illusion of being free. With a small thrill of discovery, I realize I can reach the kitchen. Victory. I desperately need a cup of coffee.
Feeling excited, I pull open drawers, but they’re… empty. Well, most of them are. There’s no cutlery at all, and the knife block on the counter stands like a monument to absence, each slot vacant.
I scan the kitchen with methodical precision, noting the locked cabinets, the empty paper towel holder, the absence of anything glass or ceramic. He’s thought of everything obvious. So much for making myself some coffee.
Just as I’m debating whether to drink water from my cupped hand like some feral thing, I hear the front door open.
I freeze.
Keys jingle. A soft voice murmurs s omething unintelligible.
“Hello?” I call out, confused by the footsteps that are most definitely not Jack’s.
I look back toward the bedroom, wondering if I should hide. But before I can make a decision, Carolina steps into view. She’s carrying a bag in one hand and has a baby perched on her hip like a designer accessory.
“Hi,” she says casually, as if walking into a house where a woman is literally chained isn’t the strangest part of her day.
“Uh… hi?”
She sweeps past me without comment, shoes clacking softly, and heads to the kitchen island like she owns the place—which, considering her last name and Jack’s absence, maybe she does.
The baby babbles as Carolina sets a canvas tote on the counter and unpacks a collection of neat containers, none of which appear to have been opened.
“I brought enough for two meals,” she says, pulling out cutlery from her coat pocket like some Mafia Mary Poppins. “I don’t cook, but I know people.”
I open my mouth. Then close it. Then try again. “Jack sent you?”
She glances over her shoulder with an arched brow. “Did you think the food fairy broke in?”
Fair point.
She moves like she doesn’t give a single fuck that I’m shackled. Like this situation is nothing more than an errand she agreed to on her way to Pilates.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Carolina shrugs, expression unreadable. “Out.”
Helpful.
“Is that your baby?” It’s a stupid question given the similar facial features, but I’m desperate for some conversation.
“She is.” The love in her tone confirms it more than the words themselves.
“She’s cute,” I offer. I instinctively lift my hand and take a step closer, but when she looks at me, I stop myself in my tracks.
Her gaze isn’t sharp or cruel. But it’s enough to tell me that if Jack is dangerous, Carolina is… deliberate and calculated.
“Why did you bring her here? I mean, you don’t know me.”
“She’s not scared of monsters,” she replies smoothly. “Willow was born in a house full of them.” The baby coos like she’s in agreement with her mother’s statement.
When she’s finished unpacking the food, she nudges her foot against another tote I didn’t notice until now. She smiles as her gaze lands on my bare legs.
“Would you like some clothes?” she grins. “Or are you fine like that?”
“God, yes,” I rush out.
From the tote, she pulls out a neat pile of folded clothes. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my clothes. My bras, socks, even one of my favorite cardigans. She sets them on the counter like it’s no big deal.
“Those are… mine,” I blurt, staring at the familiar fabric. “You went to my place?”
“Jack asked me to,” Carolina replies smoothly, not bothering to look at me. “He didn’t think you’d want to live in his shirts forever.”
Not caring about the present company, I reach for one of the knitted sweater dresses, and in no time at all, I replace Jack’s tee with my own comfortable clothes.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling on a matching pair of knitted socks and wiggling my toes. I don’t know why, but wearing my own stuff makes me feel ten times better, and suddenly I’m glad to have company. Even if it’s Carolina Knight.
“Want to eat with me?” I ask, surprising both of us.
She arches a brow at the invitation. “Why not.” She looks around as though she’s searching for something. “You know, I’ve never been here before.”
“This is my first time out of the cage without being taken to and from either the bathroom or the Sanctuary,” I inform her, my tone hardening slightly. “So I don’t know where the good silverware or China is.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Let’s eat in there.” She points to the adjoining room, and as I peek around the corner, I nod .
“If my chain will let me in there,” I deadpan, picking up some of the food she brought.
Together, we quickly make two plates and then head into what turns out to be the living room. It’s nicer than I would have thought. Dark furniture and a fireplace that’s begging to be used.
Carolina sits down on the couch, placing Willow in her lap. The baby babbles happily while her mom shoves food into her mouth and chews it so fast I’m wondering if we’re in a race.
We eat in silence at first, but it’s not sharp or hostile. Just… comfortable. Willow smears something on her mother’s sleeve, and Carolina doesn’t even flinch, just wipes it away with a practiced hand. For some reason, the simplicity of the gesture softens the knot in my chest.
“You went to my apartment,” I say eventually, needing to fill the quiet. “Did you… look around?”
“Of course I did,” she replies smoothly, not even pretending otherwise. “That skull on your mantle? Interesting choice of décor. Jack was right, you’re not boring.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “You saw that?”