And that’s fucking selfish.
That makes me just as vile as them, and the thought curdles inside me like decay.
I can’t stomach the idea of being anything like them.
“Do you have any family?” I ask again, my voice rougher than I intended. “I can take you to them.”
Anything.Anything to get her the fuck out of here before the monster inside me wins. Before I decide I want to keep this broken, beautiful girl for myself.
She suddenly starts hyperventilating as soon as I ask, her chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked bursts.
All color drains from her flushed cheeks, leaving her ghostly pale.
The knife slips from her trembling fingers and clatters loudly against the floor, the sound loud like a final surrender. Then her tired eyes flutter, losing focus.
“My father…” she whispers between ragged gasps, the words dissolving into nothing.
And I see it coming before it happens—she’s going to collapse.
With widened eyes, I surge forward, polished shoes slamming against the ground in urgent, heavy steps.
Just as her knees buckle and her body pitches toward the floor, I reach her. My arm snakes around her waist, catching her before she can smash against the cold stone.
Her limp form drapes over my forearm, back arched, head lolled back, and I swallow hard, throat tight.
My dark gaze drags slowly down her ruined body. The filthy dress clinging to her, the rope burns on her wrists, and the faint tremble still lingering in her limbs even while unconscious.
She feels so small against me as I slide my other arm beneath her knees and lift her effortlessly against my toned chest.
Her head falls limply against my shoulder, cold breath ghosting across my neck. She weighs almost nothing—a broken thing wrapped in silk and blood.
I stand there in the dimly lit room, cradling her unconscious form, my bleeding hand leaving fresh crimson smears across the back of her dress.
And for the first time ever, I don’t know if I’m saving her…
…or if I'm stealing her.
???
“Is she going to make it?” I ask, pacing the length of the guest room, fingers scraping over my jaw.
“She will,” my private nurse replies, setting meds on the bedside table with medical care. “But she’s extremely weak, malnourished, dehydrated, and traumatized. Her body has been through it.”
Suddenly, the young woman stirs with violent force, her eyes snapping open. She bolts upright on instinct, slammingher bandaged back against the headboard like a caged animal.
I stop cold, her gaze locking onto mine from across the room, and for a second, the air seems to stop around me.
“It’s okay,” the nurse says gently, stepping closer. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be fine. Just please, take the meds. They will make you feel better.”
But the young woman lunges forward and grabs the nurse’s arm with desperate fingers.
“You have to help me,” she pleads. “He bought me… He kidnapped me. Please, you have to get me out of here!”
The nurse’s eyes slowly drift toward mine, and I draw in a deep, unsteady breath, my shoulders sagging under her silent judgment.
She straightens, looking down at the terrified girl with professional detachment, because that’s why I pay her.
“You’re going to be fine,” she repeats, almost blankly, then she gathers her bag and walks toward the door without another word.
