Chapter 20
REICH
Iknew bringing her to the Pit was a mistake.
The Pit was never meant to hold someone like her.
But I did it anyway.
Because when it came to her, logic stopped existing. I didn’t have a choice. No clean answers. No contingency plan. Lucas had forced my hand, and I wasn’t about to leave Sage out there in the open for men like him to circle.
And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to let her go.
Still, the moment the steel door sealed shut behind me, I felt it, the slow creep of regret twisting through my gut. This wasn’t how I planned it. Not here. Not yet. I had told myself that when I brought her in, it would be controlled. Calculated. Everything on my terms.
But Sage had a way of throwing everything out of balance.
And Lucas Renner... his eyes on her told me there was more to her story. Something deeper. Something dangerous. And if I was going to get answers—real answers—I needed her here. Somewhere I could watch her. Keep her close. Keep her safe.
I had her room prepared ahead of time. Surveillance in every corner.
Comfortable enough that she wouldn’t spiral.
A bed. Soft sheets. A dresser. A mirror that wasn’t glass.
I even chose a warm light instead of the sterile white bulbs Castor swore by.
Little details that offered the illusion of safety.
Of control. She’d believe it was a trade or a type of comfort for answers.
And maybe it was.
But I didn’t think I could give her back when this was done.
I stepped inside, the heavy door slicing through the dark with a hollow groan. The thin beam from the hallway cut through the shadows and landed on her like a spotlight. She was slumped in the chair where Castor had left her, restrained but not to the point of pain.
That had been my stipulation.
She stirred at the sound of my boots on the concrete, her body slow to respond, like she was fighting through a fog. The remnants of the sedative still dulled her movements, but not enough to mask the way she stiffened when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Even wrecked, she was stunning.
A disaster I wouldn’t mind getting lost in.
Her head turned sluggishly toward me with eyes heavy but burning with something fierce beneath the surface.
Her voice rasped through cracked lips, “Why are you doing this?”
No fear. No begging. Just exhaustion. Defeat.
But I wasn’t stupid enough to think she’d given up.
She didn’t break easily and part of me respected her for that.
I didn’t answer her question. I didn’t owe her an explanation.
“Soon enough you’ll know,” I murmured, keeping my tone flat. Emotionless.
Her gaze sharpened, a dagger aimed straight at me.
“I did what you asked,” she said, voice low but hard. “I stayed away.”
It was almost funny. She thought this was about my field. A fucking patch of flowers.
I gave her nothing in return but a slow, knowing smile. The kind that seemed to piss her off.
And it worked.
Her frustration snapped like a live wire. “Fuck you,” she spat, venom lacing every syllable. “Let me go.”
Her chest heaved, breath ragged from the effort. Anger flushed hot beneath her skin, blooming in her cheeks and throat. She radiated fury.
And beneath that…I saw her searching me.
For an answer.
For weakness.
For anything to latch onto.
But I wasn’t giving her a thing.
“I’m not your pet, Reich.” She spat out. Her voice was sharp, meant to wound. But hearing my name on her lips did something it shouldn’t.
Something dangerous.
So, I looked away for a moment and regained control. Barely.
This was going to be a long fucking battle.
I closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. Letting the weight of my presence press against her before I touched her.
When I did, it was almost gentle. A mockery of comfort as I cupped her cheek.
For a fraction of a second, her lashes fluttered closed.
And then—she tried to bite me.
Adorable.
I chuckled softly, my thumb brushing over her jaw as I gripped her throat with my other hand.
“Careful, wildflower,” I warned, amusement flickering behind my words. “Don’t bite the hand that’s about to keep you fed. Or maybe you need me to teach you some manners.”
She sucked in a breath, her pulse a frantic drum beneath my fingers.
And still, she fought.
“Manners?” she hissed. “Like taking something that isn’t yours?”
Clever girl.
Too clever.
“You don’t own me, Reich—”
I didn’t answer. Only let my grip tighten slightly, enough to remind her she wasn’t in control here.
The air between us thickened, dense with something we both refused to name.
“—so, stop acting like it,” she bit out, her eyes flashing.
Her words cut deep.
But I didn’t flinch.
I exhaled, slow. Controlled.
“See? That’s where you’re wrong.” I responded.
She scoffed, shaking her head, but I saw the crack in her armor, “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”
But I did. When I took her under my roof. When I decided to make her my problem.
I pressed closer, forcing her back into the chair, into me. “No,” I murmured, breath hot against her skin. “But it doesn’t seem like you knew what was best for you in the first place…”
Her laugh was bitter. Defiant.
I let my lips graze the curve of her jaw, not quite a kiss, but close enough to steal her breath.
“Taking foreign drinks from strangers…trespassing onto someone else’s property daily…” I smirked “I bet you didn’t even know that there was someone trailing you at the House of Music.”
There was silence.
But not the kind I was used to from her.
Her next words were soft.
Hurt.
“Then why… why did you push me away…?”
For a moment, just a breath, I considered telling her the truth.
But truths were dangerous.
Instead, I gripped the back of her hair, tilting her head back until her mouth parted on instinct.
“Tell me why you are the one pushing me away now?” I asked, voice low, curling around her like smoke.
She stilled.
Said nothing.
Just let herself breathe me in.
And I smirked, before giving her praise, “Good girl.”
The words dripped between us, heavy and hot.
She shivered and I felt it.
I tilted her chin higher with two fingers, the touch deceptively gentle, belying the steel beneath it. Her skin was soft, trembling faintly beneath the press of my hand. She resisted for a breath—pride warring with curiosity—until her gaze finally met mine.
Those eyes. Fierce, defiant, and burning with something that thrilled me far more than fear ever could.
“Someday,” I said, voice low and slow, laced with a promise I had every intention of keeping, “you’ll beg to belong to me.”
A flicker crossed her face—anger, confusion, something too foreign to name. But she didn’t pull away.
I leaned in, close enough that my breath skimmed her lips. I brushed my mouth over hers in the lightest ghost of a kiss—more sensation than contact. A whisper of heat. A warning.
A threat.
“And believe me, wildflower—” I murmured, letting the word bloom with mock affection, the way one might cradle something delicate right before plucking its petals.
“—that day will come sooner than you think.”
My knuckles drifted down, slow and deliberate, until they met the hollow of her throat. Her pulse leapt beneath my touch, wild and fast. A war drum behind fragile bone.
She exhaled, shaky and slow, and I smiled—not out of cruelty, but certainty.
The kind of certainty born from knowing what things inevitably bend when the right hands apply pressure.
Her thighs pressed together, subtle but unmistakable. A flicker of tension passed over her features — barely a wince, more like a breath she forgot to hide.
I noticed.
And I couldn’t help myself.
“For someone who doesn’t want to be my pet—” I said, voice low and curling around the words like smoke around a flame, “—you sure don’t mind when I call you a good girl.”
Her eyes narrowed. A twitch of defiance danced behind the softness of her mouth. “Just because my body reacts to you,” she said, quiet but sharp enough to cut, “doesn’t mean anything.”
I laughed. It came out dark, bitter — like the first drag of a cigarette lit in the ruins of something once holy.
“No?” I stepped closer, slowly but deliberate. Watching how her breath caught in the silence between us. “Then why do you look at me like this is the only thing keeping that spark of yours burning?”
She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw tightened. The kind of silence that meant she had too many things to say and none she was ready to admit. Her gaze dropped — not in submission, but in something closer to self-preservation. As if she were afraid of what might come out if she looked at me too long.
“Because you won’t stop,” she finally whispered, voice brittle with the effort it took to sound unaffected. “And I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t get to me.”
I moved in closer, letting the tension coil between us like a storm held back by sheer will.
“That’s not weakness,” I murmured, eyes locked on hers. “That’s honesty.”
She exhaled — part scoff, part surrender. And in that breath, I saw it: the part of her that hated needing me… and the part that needed me anyway.
She dragged in a breath, “You told me not to take things that aren’t mine,” she whispered. “Yet here you are.”
I leaned closer, fingers weaving lazily through her hair. “And whose are you, wildflower?” I murmured. “A former lover, perhaps? Is that why you came to Providence?”
There it was.
A flicker of fear behind her eyes.
I had found the crack in her wall.
I smiled slowly.
“Remarkable,” I murmured, letting my hand drift over her thigh, fingers splayed in warning.
She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away.
“Why are you doing this, Reich?” Her voice was quieter now.
Resigned. Raw.
I should’ve ignored it.
But hearing my name from her lips was too fucking addictive.
I stepped back and straightened.
“I’m going to untie you and take you to your room,” I said, flat. “You’ll stay there. Understand?”
She said nothing.
So, I waited.
“Say it,” I demanded.
Still nothing.
I slid my fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face to mine again.
“Sage,” I said, voice low, lips barely a breath away. “Say it.”
She swallowed hard.
And then— “I understand.”
I smiled, slow and dark.
“Then show me and don’t fight me because I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her breath shuddered out, a surrender she couldn’t hide and when I released her, lifting her from the chair, she didn’t fight.
I carried her up the stairs, laid her on the bed in the room I’d prepared.
And when she stood, crossing to the door, preparing to leave, I let her.
Let her test the boundary.
Three feet.
And then my hand closed around her wrist.
Hard.
I yanked her back into me.
My voice was a growl against her ear, “Try that again and see what happens.”
She glared up at me, but she didn’t move.
I smirked, “That’s what I thought. Now, get some sleep, we have a job to do.”
And then I let her go.
Leaving her standing there.
Breathing heavy.
Trapped in a room with too much space, and nowhere to run.
I slammed the door behind me and smiled to myself.
Because no matter how hard she fought it—she was already mine.