Page 8 of Saving Meri

"Get some rest," he said. "You need it."

Her body betrayed her again, sagging slightly under exhaustion.

Bear stepped toward the door, then paused, glancing back. "I’ll be right outside if you need me."

The door closed behind him. Meri stared after him, her mind a war zone, her body too tired to keep up. She lay back slowly, gripping the sheets like an anchor, eyes locked on the door. She wasn’t sure she trusted Bear, but she wasn’t sure she feared him, either.

That could be dangerous. Because if she let herself believe she was safe, and it turned out to be a lie… she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Meri closed her eyes, but sleep was impossible. She lay stiffly on the bed, staring at the ceiling, muscles locked as though expecting a door to fly open, for hands to grab her, for the nightmare to start again. It always started again.

The quiet of the room unnerved her. No muffled screams from unseen prisoners. No slurred voices bartering over flesh. No sickly sweet cologne marking a predator’s approach. Just silence.

Bear was outside. She knew that. Felt it. He hadn’t locked her in. Hadn’t given her orders. Hadn’t forced her to kneel at his feet like the others had.

He’d walked away. Left her to decide. That should have meant something, but it didn’t. Because men like him always wanted something. The thought made her pulse beat like a crazed metronome. She needed to move—to do something.

Meri shoved back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet met cold concrete. That was familiar. The only familiar thing about this place. She inhaled deeply, forcing the oxygen into her lungs, forcing the rising unease back where it belonged.

She would not be a victim. Moving cautiously, she padded toward the door, ears straining for sound. The warehouse had an emptiness to it, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were alone. Bear had a team. There would be others… and she couldn’t trust any of them.

She curled her fingers around the doorknob, hesitating just long enough to hate herself for hesitating, then twisted. The heavy door swung open smoothly.

Bear was there—seated against the opposite wall, arms crossed, one boot planted against the floor, the other bent with his forearm resting casually over his knee. His eyes lifted to her the moment she stepped into the dim light of the hallway. He didn’t look surprised.

Meri braced, expecting him to stand, to move, to demand she go back inside. To control her. He did none of those things.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked instead, voice even.

She clenched her jaw. “Not tired.”

Bear studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Suit yourself.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask her what she wanted. Just watched. Waiting. It infuriated her. She’d spent months living under the rule of men who didn’t wait. Who took. Who controlled. Who stripped choice away from her and called it privilege.

Bear was something else, and she couldn’t figure out if that was better or worse.

Her nails bit into her palms. He was screwing with her—he had to be. He toyed with her, acting as if none of this mattered, as if they hadn’t sold her on a stage only hours before. Like she wasn’t one wrong move away from shattering into something she couldn’t put back together.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” she snapped, shoving down the rising unease. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bear’s gaze remained steady. “Not babysitting.”

“No?” She folded her arms, biting back the urge to pace, to burn off the overwhelming rage and confusion churning beneath her skin. “Then what would you call this?”

Bear stood slowly, methodically stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders. “I’d call it making sure you don’t do something reckless.”

Meri’s pulse spiked. “Like what?”

His gaze flicked to her hands, still clenched at her sides. “Like whatever’s running through that head of yours.”

Her breath came faster, too shallow, her body betraying her. She hated that he saw it. Hated that he read her so damn easily.

She turned away, needing space. Meri pressed her palms against the cool concrete wall. The world felt too big, too uncertain, too much. Someone had trapped her before. She didn’t notice that much had changed—only that uncertainty, not steel, now formed the bars of her cage.

Bear followed, his steps measured, unhurried. “Talk to me.”

She barked out a laugh. “Why? So you can twist my words? Tell me what’s best for me?”

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