Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Raura

I’m floating on a cloud, and it feels sublime. I’m warm and safe, and the world is wonderful. Taking in a deep breath, I nuzzle closer into the warmth against my face.

And then I stop.

Because my cheek is pressed up against a firm slab of muscle that is definitely not a freaking cloud.

My eyes flash open, and I stiffen. Riot is on his back, and I’m curled up against his side. At some point, I’ve rolled over and snuggled up against him. I’ve draped an arm over his chest, and my knee is hooked up over his thighs. He must have tugged the covers over us during the night because the bedclothes are up over my hips, but my bare breasts are mashed against his ribcage.

Oh….shit!

This is not good.

But now that I’m lying like this, I’m not sure how to extricate myself without calling attention to my very compromised position. I risk a look up at him, and he seems to be fast asleep, his face softened in relaxation. I haven’t seen him like this before, and I find that I like it. The hard lines are gone, and he looks…almost vulnerable. It makes my throat tighten.

I shift a little, and his arm clamps me closer. He has it wrapped around me, pressing me up against his side. I stay still, listening as his breathing evens out. It’s strange. I’d have thought that a man as big and brutal as Riot would be a noisy sleeper, snorting or snoring or huffing or something. He’s silent, aside from that steady breathing. His chest rises and falls evenly against my cheek.

His skin is firm and warm. Smooth. Taut.

All of him is taut. So damn taut. There’s a light smattering of dark hair over his chest, intersected by the fine lines of scars. A fresh one mars the skin of his shoulder right beside my cheek. It’s healed shut but looks to have been recently made. My brows pull together. Something like that doesn’t belong on a body this freaking perfect.

Cut it out, Raura!

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe if I ease away slightly, I’ll be able to roll free. Although there’s always the chance I’m going to jar my arm, and it’s going to hurt like the devil.

Wait a bit…

The arm in question is the one I’m lying on right now. And it doesn’t hurt. I flex my wrist.

That’s interesting.

It’s better. A bit tender but not painful at all. Shifters heal faster; I know that much. But this fast? I’ve never had a break before, so maybe it’s like this for all of us.

Overnight, though?

“Good morning.”

I suck in a breath. He’s awake.

“How did you sleep?” His voice is husky…and too damn sexy to be appropriate for our circumstances.

“Fine,” I squeak. “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I glance down at where my very naked body is plastered against his very naked body.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Better this way…in case someone were to walk in.”

I tug at the cover to pull it over the swell of my breast. And my eyes are instantly drawn to where the fabric is tented below his waist.

Oh, my freaking God!

I snap my eyes back up.

Morning Glory, that’s all it is. I’m perfectly safe here. If he’d wanted to do something, he’d have done it already.

Though I can’t help going back to that moment last night when I’d fallen against him. There was no mistaking his reaction then. That monster had been right up against me.

“Did you?” I ask. “Sleep well, I mean.” God, why does he make me feel so awkward?

Probably because he’s butt naked against you?

But it’s more than that. He’s had me tongue-tied since the moment I laid eyes on him. Hasn’t stopped me from trying to talk to him, but maybe that’s just because I’m generally chatty. I always have been.

“Yes,” he says. “Slept like a baby.” Even white teeth flash as he grins, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off his face. He’s beautiful when he smiles. What am I thinking? He’s beautiful always…but this. This is something else.

Keeping his arm around me, he raises the other one over his head, his body flexing as he stretches languidly. And there it is. Miles and miles of manly muscle undulating against me.

Lord help me.

I pull away.

“Stay close,” he says, and I stop. “You never know who might be watching.

I cringe as I flash a look around the room. “Watching?” I lick my lips. “You mean…like they could have cameras or something?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them.” He seems completely unfazed. “Parker is…”

“A vile, sick, twisted, disgusting piece of motherfucking work,” I mutter.

“Yes. That.” He pulls me right up against him, and I don’t resist. Because of the cameras…if there are any. I shudder. “Don’t let it get to you,” he says.

“How could I not? The man could be listening in on us right now.”

“Yes. He could.”

Shit!

I nudge my face into the curve of his neck and moan low in my throat. “Mmmm… That’s so good…” My nose brushes up against his jawline.

God, he smells incredible…even directly after waking up.

“What are you doing?” he says beneath his breath.

“In case he’s listening…” I moan again. It’s pretty convincing.

“I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?”

“You were the one who said we needed to put on a show.” I slide my hand over his chest, my palm cupping a mound of muscle.

“Raura…” he rasps. It might be a warning. Or something else.

“Mmmm…” I give another convincing moan.

He’s gone stiff against me. “Raura, you—”

“Time to get up, sleeping beauties.” Parker’s voice is like a dash of cold water. He’s standing in the doorway, smirking like the true asshole that he is. Riot pulls the covers over me and scowls at him.

“What do you want?” he growls.

Parker glances at his wristwatch. “Training, remember? You don’t think that your normal duties end just because I’m letting you get laid, do you?” He advances into the room, and Riot snarls. The man stops in his tracks. “Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands. “I’ll give you a minute to finish up…whatever you’re doing.”

“Good.” Riot eyes him balefully.

“Frankly, I’m surprised she’s still in one piece.” Parker eyes me with interest and earns himself a savage growl from Riot. He chuckles. “Fine. Ten minutes. Then my men will be here to take you to the training grounds. I want you prepped for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Riot frowns.

“I’ve planned another little…exhibition of your special talents.” Parker looks like he wants to rub his hands together. “Our guests have been so impressed that they want another taste.”

“You want him to fight again? But he fought last night!” I start to push myself up, but Riot tugs me down again.

Parker raises an eyebrow at me. “Well…would you look at that. Seems you’ve got yourself a groupie, stud.” He smirks at Riot, then claps his hands together sharply. “Ten minutes. Then I want your ass up and ready to work out.” He turns on his heel and heads out the door. It shuts behind him.

I look at Riot. “He can’t make you do that.”

“He can make me do whatever he wants.” He sits and then swings his legs from the bed.

“But that’s not fair!” I shake my head. “You hate it. I know you do.”

Riot’s shoulders roll in a shrug by way of an answer.

I can’t stop watching him. The way his muscles move smoothly beneath the golden skin of his lean limbs. He’s perfectly at home in that insanely beautiful body.

He’s reaching for the jeans he tossed aside last night, but instead of putting them back on, he folds them carefully, along with his T-shirt, and puts them on the chair beside the dresser. Pulling open a drawer, he takes out a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank top. He steps into a pair of snug boxers. They mold around the hard lines of his ass.

Did he pack his things here last night? I don’t know why it surprises me to think that he has personal belongings, but I guess it makes sense. He lives here, after all.

“Riot.” I sit up, tucking the covers around my bare chest. He glances over his shoulder at me, the white shirt poised to go over his head. “Why do you do it? Why do you keep fighting?”

“Because he tells me to.” His head disappears into the tank and then pops out of the neckline. He tugs it over his chest with unnecessary roughness before pulling on his sweats.

“But you could say no.” I brush a wave of tousled hair from my face. “You don’t have to let Parker control you.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” I push, scooting to the edge of the bed. “What could he possibly hold over you that’s so bad? You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”

His silver-gray eyes snap to mine, cold as shards of ice. “You don’t know anything.”

I take a breath, gathering my resolve. “I know enough to see that you’re more than just some brute in a cage. There has to be a reason you let him—”

“Enough.” His voice is a low growl.

“No, it’s not enough!” I snap back, anger flaring. “You could end this! You could…” I look around the room, lowering my voice to a hoarse whisper. “You could leave! You know this place well enough. Why don’t you—?”

“Shut up!” Riot’s fist slams into the dresser, making it rattle. He turns on me, eyes blazing with fury. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s none of your business.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. The raw intensity in his eyes leaves me momentarily speechless.

He turns away from me, grabbing a towel from the chair and wrapping it around his neck. “Just stay out of it.”

“Riot…” I pinch my lips together. I’m making things worse.

He doesn’t look back as he strides to the door and yanks it open. There’s a new pair of guards standing outside this morning. They eye us curiously but say nothing. The tension between us hangs like a storm cloud.

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my questions and the heavy silence of the room.

Dammit.

That didn’t go well.

Why did you have to push, Raura?

God, I can be such an idiot sometimes. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Riot’s departure leaves the room feeling hollow and heavy. I sit on the bed for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. The sting of his words still lingers, but I shove it aside.

For Pete’s sake! You barely know the man, Raura.

After a minute, I rise and start to explore. The room is elegant and tasteful, maybe a guest room of some sort. Parker mentioned having guests; maybe he puts them up in suites like this. Either way, it’s definitely more than what I’ve had since being brought here. There’s a door on one side, and I push it open to find an adjoining bathroom. My eyes widen at the sight. A tub, an actual tub. It’s a luxury I can’t resist.

The water is scalding hot, but it feels incredible as it seeps into my muscles. I soak for what feels like hours, amazed at how my arm has healed. The pain is almost entirely gone. It’s like a small miracle in this place of nightmares.

Reluctantly, I drag myself out of the tub and wrap up in a towel. I return to the main room and begin to tidy up, more out of habit than necessity. It’s only the bed that needs making, but I take my time smoothing the sheets and tugging the covers until they’re firm enough to bounce a coin off of.

Riot’s clothes from last night are still folded on the chair by the dresser. I pick up the tidy bundle, stroking my palm over the fabric before impulsively burying my face against it. The fabric still carries his scent. Breathing it in feels like a guilty pleasure, so I quickly open the top drawer and pack them in. Inside are more items of clothing, and I can’t resist picking through them.

More plain tank tops, T-shirts, sweats, and shorts…black, white, and gray seem to be the only colors he has. Good thing they suit him. Although I’m pretty sure anything would look good on that man. Hopefully, they’ll look okay on me, too, since there’s nothing else for me to wear. I take out a white T-shirt and a pair of gray shorts and put them on. The shirt hangs to my knees, but luckily, the shorts have a drawstring, so I can adjust them to fit. Still, I can’t help giggling at myself when I catch my reflection in the mirror.

It’ll have to do.

The rest of my reflection isn’t so funny, though. My eyes are ringed by dark circles, and my cheeks are hollow. There are fading bruises along my jawline and throat – and I know there are more spread out across my body.

I can’t think about it now. At least I’ve had some sort of reprieve now that Riot has stepped in.

Packing everything back into the drawer exactly the way that it was, my fingers brush against a box in the dresser drawer, and curiosity gets the better of me.

Pulling it out, I lift the lid and find myself staring straight down into a laughing face framed by waves of dark hair. The box is filled with photos of a joyful young woman. Dozens of them, each one capturing her in various moments – laughing, smiling, looking serene. She’s beautiful in a wholesome way that seems almost alien to this grim place.

Who could she be?

Clearly someone important to Riot, or he wouldn’t have these. How has he managed to keep them? Parker doesn’t strike me as someone who permits privacy or sentimentality.

As I ponder this, I sink onto the bed, flipping through each image in turn. Some are worn, as if they’ve been handled regularly for a long time. Others are crisp-edged, clearly new…and she’s older in them. In one, she’s holding an infant in her arms. In another, she’s walking hand-in-hand with a small child.

What on earth?

I chew on the edge of a fingernail as I stare down at where I’ve fanned them out on the coverlet. Who could she be?

A wife? A girlfriend? Someone out there waiting for him?

An odd emotion tugs at my chest that feels uncomfortably like jealousy. Which is totally irrational, since the man has been locked up here for years. And I have absolutely no rights over him. Nor do I want any. He’s been kind to me, even though he didn’t need to be. I’m grateful to him. That’s all there is to it.

Carefully, I pack the photos away and put the box back where I found it. But I can’t seem to wipe the images from my head. And for some reason, I keep imagining Riot in those pictures with her. Walking alongside that child with her. Cupping her cheek as she smiles. Laughing back when she laughs. Suddenly my eyes are welling with tears.

Quit it!

I dash them away, wiping my face hastily, even though there’s nobody around to see me crying. I can’t figure out why I’m so emotional. But the thought of him locked up in here for so long when there’s someone out there who he clearly loves. It’s just…just…

I feel a little sob build and fight it down.

What the hell is wrong with you?

It’s the trauma. I’ve been through so much that my wits are failing me. It has to be that. I’ve been starved, tortured, handed over to a killer as a sex toy. Parker broke my freaking arm, for God’s sake! It’s hardly surprising that I’m a basket case.

I drop my face into my hands and take in a deep, steadying breath. I need to pull it together. But I’m just so damned tired. Exhaustion hits me like a wave. The adrenaline that’s been on a constant high is suddenly gone, leaving me drained. Feeling the fight leave me, I sink onto the bed, curling on my side, and before I know it, sleep takes over.