Page 34 of Savage Desires

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KISTEN

I watch Willow sleep. She fought it for a long time despite being exhausted. Without her telling me, I knew it was because she was worried I wouldn't be here when she woke up. I promised her I wouldn't go anywhere. She's been sleeping for several hours, but not peacefully. It's obvious her dreams are plagued by nightmares.

Even though I know I should keep my distance, I can't seem to walk away. In fact, when she first started whimpering in her sleep, even the chair across the room was too far. I pulled the chair to her bedside so I could be closer. Whenever she shows distress, I stroke her soft hair and whisper reassurances. It calms her every time and makes me feel like I can slay all her demons.

I want to slay them. I want to make every man who dared touch her pay. The depth of my rage knows no bounds when it comes to avenging Willow. I can't even fathom the things she's been through during her six years of captivity. They fucking sterilized her when she was still a child, for Christ's sake.

She's not the first woman I've saved with a similar story, but she is the youngest. I'm not sure why the fact that she was so young when they did it makes it so much worse, but it does. Children are taken every day and made to suffer atrocities that would give anyone nightmares. I know it. I've seen the aftermath dozens of times.

Willow admitting to being sterilized with such shame in her voice and written all over her face will be something I never forget. Victims should never be ashamed of what other people force on them. Yet, they blame themselves for being taken. For being beaten and raped. Sold and debased. They take on responsibility for things that are beyond their control.

It's fucked up that victims like Willow blame themselves for anything. It's one of the reasons we started Hope House. Once we realized how hard it is for the women we save to reintegrate into their lives, we knew we had to do more. Matthew, Slade, and I built them a safe haven to heal and grow. A place where they can find their way back to themselves or find a new version of themselves. Whatever they need.

The women I helped last night will rest here for a few days. We will tell them their options and facilitate whatever they decide to do. We let them know there is a home for them for as long as they need and a full range of support. Everything is taken care of, from basic necessities to therapy services. They help them get their diploma, if required, as well as a college education. They even offer career advice and job placement.

In some cases, we help them create an entirely new identity. It's disgusting how many times we've helped women and children who were sold by their families. The only way they could truly be free is to become a phoenix. The old them dies and is rebuilt into the person they want to become.

I wonder what Willow's story is. Will she need a new identity to disappear forever, or does she have a family looking for her? Six years is a long time to be a missing person. If she had a family, would they still be looking, or would they already have made peace with the fact that their daughter is gone forever?

Will she want to find her family immediately or go to Hope House? Both options make me irrationally angry. I don't want her to leave. I don't give a fuck that it's the right thing to do. I want to keep her, and I can almost fool myself into believing she wants to be kept because she doesn't want me to leave her side. It's a ridiculous thought because no matter how much I want her, I'm no good for her.

Willow shifts on the bed and makes a pained sound. I'm there immediately, stroking her hair and murmuring to her.

"Kisten?" she says sleepily, blinking her beautiful blue eyes open.

"I'm here, beauty."

"You stayed."

"I told you I would."

I stroke my finger down her arm, causing her to shiver and goosebumps to break out over her pale skin. I tangle my fingers with hers and give them a little squeeze. She looks from my eyes to our entwined fingers and back again like she's trying to do a math equation she doesn't understand.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for anything, beauty. Anything within my power is yours. All you have to do is ask."

She smiles shyly. "You're too good to be true. I'm starting to wonder if I'm still in the cage, and this is just another delusion my brain has conjured up. Surely, there's no one like you in the real world."

I let out a growl. "Cage? What cage?"

She cringes away from my angry tone but doesn't release my hand. It's proof that even though she knows I'm mad, she knows she's safe from that anger. She's so damn strong. I've never seen anyone come out of what she has with so much fire inside them.

"It doesn't matter," she whispers.

"It matters. Everything that happened to you matters."

She sighs. "It's a punishment at Mecca. They lock you in a cage in a room that's pitch black."

As far as punishments go, it doesn't sound that terrible, but from the haunted look in her eyes, I can tell she's not telling me everything. "Tell me everything," I push.

"The cage is made for a dog. There isn't enough room to sit or stand. I'm lucky to be so small because I can curl on my side and lie down. Most of the girls have to stay on their hands and knees the whole time."

"And how long is the whole time?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"A day, two… a week. It depends on how badly you pissed them off," she says resigned.

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