Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Riot

She looks broken.

It’s been three days since that first moment our eyes met, and she’s been dragged out of here each day since then.

What the hell are they doing to her?

She’s not like the others – the ones who come in and then leave shortly after…the ones they sell. In the beginning, I felt sorry for those ones. Now, there’s a part of me that almost feels envious. At least there’s something else for them out there…whatever that may be.

For me, there’s just this: these bars, this solitude…broken only by the times they drag me out to kill someone or allow me to train. I guess I’m grateful I managed to negotiate that; my daily sessions outdoors have given me a break from the monotony in this place. So, I’ve been out beyond the walls – going through my training routine, a daily run in the sun…or the snow. I don’t care. It’s the fresh air on my skin that I crave.

Sometimes, they take me away from here completely. Up in the air in one of the helicopters, soaring for a while, where I can pretend that I’m not a captive. Until we land at some distant fight club, and it begins again – the killing, the bloodlust shared by Parker and his kind.

Undefeated.

Parker’s undefeated champion. His Beast. That’s what I am.

I don’t give a fuck anymore.

I watch her silently. She’s barely aware of me, staring blankly at the back wall of her cell. It rips at my fucking heart. Each day, I see a little more of the fight seep from her. Some days, she’s come back bruised and bloody; today, her shoulders were cowed, dark circles beneath her eyes.

“Hey!” A guard’s sharp voice snatches me from observing her. I turn my head. “Grub’s up, champ.” He yanks open a small window in the door to my cell and shoves a tray through it. My mouth waters. I can’t help it. I’m like Pavlov’s dog.

Parker’s fucking dog.

I prowl to the door, one eye on the guard, who steps away, putting distance between us. I don’t know why. It’s been a long time since I ripped anyone’s arm through there.

“Relax.” My voice is rough from disuse. “I’m not going to eat you. Today.” I give him a grim smile, baring my teeth as I chuckle darkly.

He visibly blanches, putting more distance between us. I don’t recognize him, so he must be new.

Poor fucker.

I turn my back and focus on my food. The plate is piled high with half-raw steak. To one side, there’s a mound of greens in a bowl—a vague attempt at a balanced diet for a creature designed to live on pure protein. A jug of cold water is set beside the plate. It’s the same meal I’ve had three times a day for the ten years I’ve been here, and there are days that I long for something else. Still, it’s better than the scraps they throw to some of the other inmates.

Setting the tray on the small table in the corner of my cell, I pull up my chair and reach for the knife and fork that I insist that they provide for me. I refuse to eat with my hands the way they way expect me to. I’ve clung to each small piece of humanity left in me, and this is one of them.

Cutting a slice of rare beef, I put it into my mouth and chew slowly, savoring the flavor. It’s the best cut available. A treat for Parker’s favorite pet. The thought makes my lip curl, but I swallow it down and cut another slice.

A sound makes my head turn.

She’s pushed herself up, supporting herself on her palm as she stares at me.

Not at me. As I move my knife down to the steak, her eyes follow it. Then back up again when I bring another piece of meat to my mouth. She stares at my lips as I chew and swallow once more. She licks her own lips.

Fuck.

She’s hungry.

They haven’t fed her.

I think back over the days since she’s been here, and not once have I seen them bring a tray to her cell. It’s possible she’s eaten during those times she’s been away, but somehow, I doubt it. Frankly, I don’t really want to think about what they’ve been doing during those times she’s away.

Motherfucking Parker!

If I ever get my hands on the man, he’s going to pray for death before I end him. The things I would do…the things-

Stop!

I’ve forced myself not to fantasize about how I’d kill him – it does me no good.

She needs to eat.

Lifting my plate, I stand and head to the bars that separate us. She’s still staring at me. Spearing a large chunk of meat with my fork, I hold it through the bars.

“Here,” I say. She eyes me suspiciously, licking her lips again. The tip of her tongue is pink as it sweeps over her bottom lip, which is lush and plump. I try to ignore it, focusing on where I’m holding out the food. “You need to eat,” I tell her.

She looks around cautiously, her eyes wide.

“They won’t be back for a while. We get half an hour to eat before they clear the trays.” I move my hand, drawing her attention to the food I’m holding.

Slowly, she stands and takes a hesitant step forward. I wait patiently, staying still as she reaches for the fork. Our fingers brush. Something that feels like sparks tingles through my skin, and for a second, I almost drop the damn fork.

What the actual fuck?

She’s sucked in a breath and has her eyes fixed on my face.

“Eat.” My voice is hoarse. I step away from the bars.

I watch as she takes the meat and starts eating. She devours it greedily, her hands trembling slightly as she lifts each bite to her mouth. The bones of her wrists are stark against her pale skin, jutting out like sharp angles. Her cheeks are hollow, and shadows cling to the contours of her face. The sight stirs something deep inside me – anger, pity, and a reluctant admiration for her tenacity.

Yet, despite her gaunt appearance, there’s something almost sensual about the way she eats. The way her lips close around each morsel, the way she chews slowly, savoring the taste even though she’s clearly starving. I can see the relief in her eyes as the food starts to give her some strength back.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the stirring in my gut.

Think about something else.

But my eyes keep returning to her, watching the subtle movements of her throat as she swallows, the way a strand of strawberry-blond hair falls across her face. She brushes it back absently, never pausing in her hungry chewing and swallowing. A trickle of juice drips onto her chin and she wipes it away, then licks her fingers. That tugging in my gut grows stronger.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

The woman is wasting away, and my cock is swelling at the sight of her eating.

Snap out of it!

I haven’t been near a female for so damn long; that’s all this is. Just biology reacting to proximity. Nothing more.

She finishes the piece of meat and looks at me, uncertainty flickering in her chestnut eyes. I grab another slice from my plate and pass it through the bars. She hesitates for a moment but then takes it with a nod of thanks. No words needed; the gratitude is clear enough.

I return to my seat and turn my attention back to my meal, forcing myself to eat methodically while keeping one eye on the female. Each bite she takes seems to bring a bit more life back into her eyes. Her movements grow steadier, less frantic.

As I chew on another piece of steak, I can’t help but think about how quickly things can change here – how someone can go from being full of fight to barely hanging on by a thread in just a few days. I’ve seen it too many times.

But this one…there’s something different about her. She’s got fire underneath that weariness.

She looks up again, catching me staring. Her gaze holds mine for a beat longer than necessary before she returns to eating.

Keep your distance. She’s not your problem.

But somehow, I get the feeling that she already is.

???

Raura

Oh, my God, I can’t remember the last time anything tasted so good. I’m making a pig of myself, but I don’t care. I lick the sticky juices from my fingers and catch myself in the act of groaning at how incredible it is.

I didn’t think that hunger could be so all-consuming. When Parker had first threatened me with starvation, I’d scoffed at him. But now, I’m starting to feel myself waiver.

At least, I’d thought I would. This unexpected act of kindness could change everything. Hope is surging in me again as my strength returns.

I keep my eyes on the stranger, watching as he eats. He’s sitting at a small table, carefully cutting and eating his food as if he’s at some sort of fancy restaurant. It would be funny if the man wasn’t so darn easy to look at.

Why did he give me his food?

I’ve been certain that he hasn’t been aware of me since I arrived. Not that I’ve spent much time in my cell. But during the times I’ve been here, I might as well not have been, for all the attention he’s paid me. This is the first time he’s actually acknowledged my existence, aside from that fleeting moment the first day I saw him.

Licking the last of the flavor from my fingers, I steel myself and take a deep breath. “Um…thank you,” I say. He doesn’t respond, so I try again, “For the…uh…food. Thanks.”

He turns his head and looks over at me, and I find myself frozen. Those eyes are something else. Pale silver with a darker band around the irises. Like a wolf…which he is, of course. But this is more like a snow wolf than anything I’ve encountered before. And it’s mind-boggling. I try hard not to let my mouth drop open.

“No problem,” he says, then goes back to eating.

I gnaw on my lip. It feels as if there needs to be more to this interaction. “So…um…why did you do it? Give me your food, I mean.”

“You were hungry,” he says, then turns his attention back to his plate and takes another mouthful. My God, he’s got a really great jawline. I watch the way it flexes as he chews.

“Yes. But you didn’t need to. That was really…um…kind of you.” I don’t know why I’m pushing this, but it’s been days since I spoke to anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt me, and I can’t seem to help myself. It’s my big mouth again. Always getting me into trouble.

He sets his fork down, and I feel a little awkward…as if I’m interrupting his meal. “Do you think I was going to sit here and watch you starve?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Of course not. Or maybe… I don’t know.” I chew on my lip. “But you need to eat, too, and I just… I’m grateful. I want you to know that.” It’s only when I reach the bars that I realize I’ve walked forward.

I’m close enough to pick up his scent now, and it’s even more appealing than the steak I just devoured. Crisp and clean, like the forest after a rainstorm. Which is odd in this place. We only have a small basin in each cell – not much opportunity to wash off the grime in here. Although I’m squeaky clean right now, thanks to freaking Parker blasting me with a fire hose this morning.

God, I hate the man.

“It was nothing,” he says. “Would you like more?” He points to his plate. The gesture flexes the muscles in his forearm, which is broad and sinewy and leads to an almost impossibly thick bicep.

“No…no,” I shake my head. “You need it. I’m good. I just…I…I… I’m Raura,” I blurt, feeling foolish even as I say it.

Dark eyebrows pull together as if he’s wondering why I just volunteered this information.

Because you’re an idiot, Raura!

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” God, I’m such a fool.

“Riot,” he says simply.

I blink a few times. “That’s your name?”

“It is now.” He picks his fork up again. I watch as he cuts another piece of steak and puts it into his mouth. There’s something so deliberate about the way he’s eating. And sexy as hell, too. Which is insane because why would I even be thinking that right now? Parker and his thugs could be back any minute to start beating on me again.

“What was it before?” I ask, curious.

“It’s not important.” He doesn’t look my way.

I can’t help but study him as he eats, this man with eyes like ice and the demeanor of someone who’s seen too much. The scars crisscrossing his arms and shoulders hint at a life of violence, and there’s a weariness behind those steely eyes that speaks of burdens far too heavy for one person.

My curiosity is gnawing at me. “How long have you been here?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and regards me silently for a beat before answering. “Too long.”

I nod slowly, recognizing the haunted look. “I can only imagine…” My voice trails off as his gaze drops back to his plate. Undeterred, I press on. “Where are you from originally? Before…all this?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I instantly regret pushing him. Of course he doesn’t want to talk about his past. This place has clearly stripped him of everything.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, cutting another piece of steak with precision.

“Do you know who else is here? Besides us and…um…” I flick an eye around the cell block, “them?”

He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine for a moment before he goes back to his meal. “Not many worth knowing.”

I let out a heavy breath. This is going nowhere. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just…” I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. “Being surrounded by all these animals, these half-humans…it’s easy to feel alone, you know?”

His eyes flick up at that, holding my gaze for a long moment. I feel pinned by their intensity, rooted to the spot. Then he gives a barely perceptible nod and looks away again.

We lapse into silence once more as he finishes his meal. I should just leave him be, but some desperate part of me craves this tiny connection, fleeting as it may be. Being able to talk to someone, anyone who seems even remotely human, is a lifeline I can’t bring myself to let go of yet.

“Your scars,” I say, pointing vaguely at the marks on his arms that disappear beneath the white fabric of his snug tanktop. “Did you get them here?”

“Yes,” he replies, voice clipped.

“Why do they keep you here?” I ask. “The others,” I glance around again, “don’t seem to stick around more than a day.”

“The Enclave is my home.”

“The Enclave?”

“That’s what they call this place.” He jerks his head toward the hallway outside.

“Good to know,” I say, though I can’t see how it makes a difference to me.

He shrugs, but I notice how his fingers curl, his hand closing into a fist on his knife. His knuckles are scarred and callused. Wolves heal quickly, seldom scarring, unless their injuries are either life-threatening…or consistent.

He’s been hitting something…repeatedly. Maybe a boxing bag or something. It’s the only way his hands would look like that.

“Do they…make you fight?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Riot’s fork pauses mid-air for just a fraction of a second before he continues eating. “Yes.”

The simplicity of his answer holds a weight that crushes me for a moment. His scars, his demeanor – they all make sense now. He’s been forced into violence, just like Parker wants to force information out of me.

“Oh.” The word sounds too small for the enormity of the moment. Still, I feel a strange comfort speaking to him despite his reluctance. There’s something grounding about having this small contact in a place that feels so utterly isolating.

“Anyway,” I say feebly, “I just wanted to say thanks.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. His terse responses are maddening, but I can’t help but cling to this interaction. The alternative is silence. I’m alone here, and every moment feels like an eternity.

Parker’s relentless pursuit of information about Steel Lakes has left me on edge. Every question he asks feels like a knife aimed at my home and my people. I can’t give him what he wants, but the fear of what he’ll do if I don’t is suffocating.

Before I can ask another question, the thumping of approaching footsteps has me scrambling back to my bunk, instinctively shrinking against the wall. My heart is in my throat at the thought of being dragged out again. I curse my panicked reaction, hating how easily I’ve been cowed. But the fear of being hauled off to another round of Parker’s “questioning” is never far from the surface.

It’s just the guards coming for the trays, and I breathe a small sigh of relief.

Get a grip, Raura.

I can’t let myself lose my nerve; I have to stay strong, or they’ll break me. At least having food in my belly will make it easier now. I sneak a glance at Riot, but his focus has returned inward once more. For a moment there, though, I thought I glimpsed something…a flicker of understanding, maybe even kinship. Or perhaps I’m just projecting, grasping at any shred of hope to keep my spirits from crumbling completely.

Either way, now I know his name. And I’m sure of one thing – there’s a heart beating under that brutal exterior – even if it’s buried under layers of scars and hatred. I have to believe that counts for something in this waking nightmare.

Maybe I’m not entirely alone here.