Chapter 10 Cade
Cade
Acommotion erupts outside the bathroom door, with crashing and begging before the screaming begins.
I haven’t heard those noises coming from this room in almost half a year.
There was no need when Clara was so obedient.
This new girl, Bunny, seems to be different.
Even from where I’m sitting, in the bathroom’s solitude, I can feel the life in her.
I smile when I hear her screams—when I listen to the hard time she gives the guards. Something like nerves bubbles inside me when she fights back. But then there’s a scream, one unlike the others, and when the room door shuts, that’s when the quiet, mewling tears begin.
Fire begins to burn at the base of my heart, singeing open my chest as those cries grow louder. “Just leave it,” I mutter beneath my breath, avoiding my eyes as I dry in front of the mirror. Just leave it. It’s none of my business. She’s none of my business. She’s— “Fuck.”
Throwing open the bathroom door, I walk heavy-footed toward her, capturing her attention immediately.
The towel sits low on my waist, threatening to fall, but I pay it no mind as I approach.
That terrified look enters her eyes again, but all I focus on is the awkward angle at which her arm dangles beside her soft, curved side.
God. Fuck.
Any ability to speak leaves me the second I’m near.
I don’t even remember what words are when she glares at me in terror.
So silently, like a fucking caveman, I lower myself, hoping she can see that I’m just trying to help.
Carefully, I wrap my arms around her, doing everything I can to avoid causing her more harm.
Despite my efforts, I can’t avoid pressing her against me.
The feeling of her sternum in my arms, her spine pinned to my wet chest—fuck me, my fucking God.
Breathing through my rapidly growing boner, I gently take hold of her wounded arm and lift it over her head. She hasn’t done a thing yet, but hyperventilate—terrified, and panicked, exhales, but as I situate her in position, she begins to fight and flee.
“No. No. No. No. NO,” she repeats in rapid succession, fumbling to get out of my grasp.
All I can do is warn her, “This is going to hurt,” before quickly jolting her arm in and down, resetting her bone with less-than-expertise.
The pop is audible, but the relief on her face is almost instantaneous.
Slowly setting her arm back down, I listen as her breathing becomes less labored.
The color has returned to her skin, fresh cream beneath welts and bruises.
I’ve let her go, but I remain in place, savoring the feeling of her against me. I’m so caught up in how she breathes that I miss her twitching fingers until they’re on me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, angling her head to gaze at me with big blue doe eyes.
The feeling of her soft, delicate fingers on me actually hurts, so I pull away, creating enough space for me to breathe. It’s too late, though. All the blood has rushed away from my head. The lack of oxygen is suffocating, and my dick—fuck.
To collect myself so I don’t feed into the darkness they’ve been pouring into me and ravage her on the ground, I walk off and disappear into the bathroom. The air is heavy and damp, a pressure on my chest that I can blame instead of the heaviness in my gut.
“Fuck,” I mumble for the thousandth time since she entered my mind, “Alright.” Get it together.
Pushing away from the door, I drop the towel, letting it fall like a wet slap on the tile while I slip into the worn and ruined sweats they’ve provided me with.
They’ve been washed countless times, but no amount of bleach or detergent can clean away the rust-stained marks.
For the first time, I feel slight embarrassment.
Fuck. Whatever. Before I can give it another thought, I emerge from the bathroom, finding her still on the dirty, scratchy carpet, watching me.
The weight of her stare sits heavily on my back as I stroll toward the table.
God, I need a fucking drink. Thankfully, I was finally rewarded with some and a full five-course meal of peanuts.
I’ve both craved for her to speak and prayed for her not to since the first moment her soft voice rang out. Only when the cup is in my hand do I hear it again, and I’m just as affected as I was before.
“What’s your name?”
It’s a simple question. One I’ve been asked countless times before.
And yet, the question coming out of her mouth changes it entirely.
Instead of responding, I pick at the ice, deflecting.
“Where’s Clara? She’s usually the one they throw at me.
” This is the first time her name’s come out of my mouth in ages, and I’m ashamed to say, this is the first time I’ve even thought about her since laying my eyes on Bunny.
Huffing out a laugh, she glances around the room, looking as lost as she does nervous. “I’m the lucky prize tonight.”
Unable to hold back a smile, I respond while pouring myself an ample amount of vodka, “Oh, yeah? We’ll see.”
I’ve given up on forcing my boner away. With her mouth and the fire behind her eyes, what’s the point? I was lost to her the first moment I saw her on her knees before me.
I don’t miss the way she watches me or glances at the bulge bouncing in my sweats.
If anything, her slightly agape mouth only makes me harder.
Dense and heavy tension ties us, so I sit across from her on a wooden chair, hoping it grows thick enough to break her before I do.
I’m unable to take my eyes off her as I down half the drink.
“Well?” I ask finally. “What are you waiting for?”
I feel like a dick, but I’m pretty sure she’s here to service me. I haven’t given in to those conditions since that first night with Clara. I’ve been a proper gentleman and never even requested another girl, but now? Fuck, do I want her.
She doesn’t move from her place on the floor, but the rise and fall of her chest deepens, and I swear, even in the dim lighting, her blue eyes flare before they darken.
For a solid minute, her mouth opens and then slams closed again.
She’s at a loss for words as I’m at a loss for breath.
Good. At least I’ve stolen something from her, too.
For a moment, I think she might give in and crawl to me the way my cock is begging her to. Instead, she does something better.
“I’m not touching you.”
Heart jumping in my chest, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees to get even closer. I don’t fight it this time. I don’t even try. I let the smile curl my lips, so curious about this little one. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She stays firm despite the fear strangling her throat.
God… Who are you?
Smile fixed and stomach sunk, I push off the chair and sink into the space before her. She sits for me, good and still, allowing me to touch the velvety skin of her jaw. She lets me hold her while I explore the wounds, slowly bringing my lips closer. “What’s your name?” I need her to say it.
I need her to give it to me freely.
She gazes into me, falling closer ever so slightly as if she could feel the pull as strongly as I do.
Give me your name.
I need to hear it from your lips.
“Bunny.”
Perfect.
I count the ticking clock in my head the longer Bunny remains in the bathroom.
At first, I think she’s simply enjoying the pleasure of clean water.
Fuck knows I did when I got my first proper shower, but it’s been some time, over an hour now.
My thoughts have transferred from simple enjoyment to suicide.
What if she fucking killed herself in there?
Would I blame her? No, but I think a part of me would already miss her.
With the thought of finding her cold and lifeless, floating in the tub, I give her another handful of minutes, my breath getting shorter and shorter with each pass.
“Okay,” I bark, slapping my hands on the arms of the chair as I push myself up.
“Okay.” My feet fall in heavy patters against the mottled fibers, slapping in a rushed panic toward the illumination under the door.
For a brief moment, I consider knocking, but my hand reaches for the handle instead, pushing down before I can think otherwise.
There’s no steam, and it’s as icy in here as I feared. Bunny, still as the dead, lies with her head resting against the tub’s edge, drowning herself beneath the current. I race toward her unmoving form, shutting off the water. Shit, “That was freezing.”
Just as I turn, ready to shake the life back into her, a sharp “Shit” hisses through the air, followed by her rushed movements to cover herself. I can’t help but look as she scurries away from me. Now that I know she’s alive, all I want to do is stare.
Bunny shields all the important parts, but her fingers twitch toward the wounds.
Now that she’s clean, they appear much brighter, more prominent against her ivory flesh.
Some are fresh, still bleeding down her slender calf.
The sight boils my blood, but I don’t want to scare her.
So, before I lash out, I walk away, tearing the skin from my palms as I storm out the door.
I punch every wall on my way toward the main room, reopening wounds and adding new bruises until the need to murder something turns into a low boil.
With numb hands, I pour myself a drink and then down it so that I can pour another.
When I’m fuzzy, I throw myself on the ground, closing my eyes with an exhausted exhale.
After some time, I hear her cautious feet approach.
In the dark, I listen to her come close, feeling her presence above me before dancing around my form.
I know where she’s headed. I know what she wants to do. “It’s locked.”
The doorknob turns left and right a handful of times, anyway, before Bunny’s aggression kicks in.
She pounds on the solid wood, tugging and yanking on the metal handle as if she could rip the door from its hinges.
“Fuck!” she screams when she’s unsuccessful, followed by a kick that I know has to have hurt.
Groaning and muttering obscenities beneath her breath, Bunny hobbles somewhere beside me. “So, you’re just going to lie there and not bother to try?”
My eyes spring open then, fixed on her with a serious glint as I rise and steadily creep toward her. “What do you want me to do? Hm?” I ask, bending so I can meet her glare. “Tear it down with my bare hands?”
Without looking away, I can see her trachea working itself up and down. It’s her only sign of nerves because her eyes don’t give it away. They’re bright—full of fire.
“I saw you in that ring,” she breathes, glare roaming all across my face. “It’s not like you can’t.”
My head grows at the compliment, as does my cock. I don’t deny her claim because it’s probably true. If I tried hard enough, I probably could break that door down, but then what?
Clara’s voice pops into my mind then, as does the promise she made me make.
I’m thinking about that when Bunny’s face hardens, her head tilting upward in challenge.
I can read her almost as clearly as I can myself, all the bullshit she’s calling me on.
I don’t know what to do with such bold defiance other than touch her.
I don’t want to stop touching her.
“You don’t want to go out there, Bunny,” I warn, trailing my bruised and chewed fingernail down to the fingerprints lodged deep into her bicep. “They’ll eat you alive.”
Suddenly, touching her isn’t nearly enough.
The urge to consume her is overwhelming, but I’m not allowed to do that yet, so I settle on her smell, inhaling her natural musk and sweetness along her jaw until I’m drunk on more than just vodka.
My fingers find their way to hers, tracing her petite and fragile bones until I’m sure I can memorize their shape.
She jumps beneath my touch, but it doesn’t compare to the shivers racing along her skin when I brush her hip.
It's the first time I’ve felt this fabric or seen this color since my arrival. “You’re not dressed like the others.” I don’t mean for it to, but my statement comes out accusatory, as if it’s her fault Marone dolled her up differently. And it is different. Everything about her seems to be.
I’m tallying up all the ways when she asks, “What’s your name?”
The question throws me a bit and leaves me stumbling as my fingers dance across her ribs.
It’s been a long time since anyone has cared about my name—since anyone has cared about me at all, actually.
My mind jumps to Clara, and I feel like shit again for forgetting about her so easily, but when I pull Bunny close, it becomes impossible not to.
Heat radiates from her skin, and for the first time in my life, I think my bones don’t feel so cold. It’s as if she pierces into me with more than just her stare. While I’m feeling her, studying the delicate curves of her mouth, she speaks again, her whisper close to my lips. “Tell me your name.”
“Why?” I snap. “Why does it matter?”
All she does is look at me, pinning me in place with those wild eyes full of blue flames. “It matters.”
I’ve been fighting for over a year to get everyone to stop calling me Blade.
I hate that fucking name. I hate what it represents.
I hate that it’s all that’s left of me. I hate that it’s what I am so much because I forgot who I was before this.
She wants my name, but why does that matter?
It’s not like that’s who I am. I haven’t been in a long time.
But I want to be. “Cade.”
My name is Cade.
One day, maybe I’ll thank her for reminding me of that.