Page 26 of To Have and to Hold

She paused at the door for a moment, but then left, saying nothing. A tear slid down my cheek. My nose tickled as I fought not to break. I hadn’t yet. And having a random woman who delivered me food not say hi wasn’t going to be what tipped me over the edge.

I sucked it up and studied my meal. Rafe removed my dignity, my small mercies. But I was surprised to have them returned to me so soon. The porridge was warm, oats swimming in creamy milk. It looked good. I didn’t understand it. Why now? My period wasn’t over.

Hunger won out over curiosity or suspicion, and I shoveled the food in, leaning back in the bed and stretching my tenderlegs out. The warmth of the bowl rested against my stomach, soothing the lessening cramps.

My gut revolted at the sudden intrusion, nausea tingling up my gullet, but I kept the food down.

Despite all this, all the pain and horror and his anger now marring my skin, I was grateful. Glad. It was all on the outside, surface level. He hadn’t done his damage on the inside yet. My womb was mercifully empty of his claws.

And it wasn’t for lack of trying. He kept me plugged up with his cum, lying with my legs in the air, every single day. Multiple times. He didn’t care if I was bone dry down there, if I was sleeping or not in the mood like a normal man might. He swept in, took from me, manhandled me into position and left again. And those were the lucky days. If he arrived in a temper, I would learn all about that too.

I didn't understand it, the rabid need to fill me up, the words he muttered to himself when he came, the blood he rubbed onto his skin when I bled. It wasn't for me to know, only witness.

I had welts on my back from him whipping me. A red bruise across my neck from when he squeezed it as he came, his cock jerking his seed deep in me as his features tensed in bliss. This was my space, my bedroom, but it was his pleasure house, his to use as he pleased. I was to just sit and wait.

He assured me, though, that he wouldn’t injure my face or hands. I needed to be presentable whenever he had to wheel his wife out. A high-necked dress, long sleeves, long skirt, all manageable, but there was no amount of make-up that would hide the sort of damage he could do to me. I knew it was well as he did. And he gave me that small mercy.

He told me my brothers had been by and hadn’t asked after me, that they didn’t care, that my job was done to them and I was worthless. His words struck me, but I struggled to believe them. not Theo. Not after how he treated me on the wedding day, theway he’d looked and touched and spoken to me at breakfast the next morning. I didn’t believe he didn’t care. It was impossible. It had to be.

So I wandered the room, pacing in circles from my enormous bed to the narrow window, dragging my fingertips across the top of the chair I sat in to stare at the trees lining the property. Bumping my foot against the wardrobe filled with ill-fitting clothes and doing a spin in the small bathroom before turning around and repeating.

The house sounded busy today, more noise than normal. I’d taken to listening to the movements, imagining what those with freedom were doing here. Why come here if you weren’t forced?

Or maybe it was the sound of the police swarming in to save me. Pounding footsteps and shouts of being armed as they swept the property and fired a dozen bullets into my husband…

My door opened with an innocuous click that made me jump, and the door banged into the wall. For a split second, I didn’t trust what I was seeing. I blinked, let the tray on my lap slip onto the sheets.

Theo. Theo shutting the door with his heel and turning toward me, a wild expression on his face. He… he didn’t look good. Tired, drained. But oh, so handsome. My Theo.

My heart squeezed and tears heated my eyes with no control from me. I couldn’t spit any words out. For the tiniest moment, I let myself think he was here to save me.

But his expression was grave.

“Wh-what is it?” I muttered, breaking the heavy silence and pulling myself to stand, abandoning the spilling tray. But on my feet, I froze again. Too much tension. Uncertainty. My entire body buzzed with need to run into his arms.

But… I didn’t know. Did he want me? Was he here to save me? To berate me? No. Not that. But what? My gaze darted around his features to take them in as I waited.

“Theo,” I whispered, the taste of his name on my tongue sending shivers through me. He’d come here for a reason, his eyes betrayed that. Any hope that it was a good visit, a rescue, just a bloody social call to catch up with his little sister… it all flittered away on the dusty air when his jaw tensed.

A long minute passed between our heavy gazes, before I broke it, moving to the chair and plonking myself down, trying not to wince as I let my body settle muscle by sore muscle.

Then Theo was there, his hands hovering just over me, not touching.

“What did he do to you?” he asked, his voice so low, fear leaking through as he fell to his knees before me. Wide eyes looked up, that familiar warmth so evident making me choke. All I saw was love, pain.

I moved to stand back up, I don’t know why, to get away from how heavy it settled on my heart? But he stopped me, his hand landing on my knee to still me.

“Don’t get up,” he urged with a whisper, watching his palm skating across my bared knee. He traced over the wounds here, the welts and healing gashes from when Rafe hit me so hard he broke the skin. Theo’s breathing was steady but deep, too deep, like he was keeping himself calm. Shivers tingled up my legs from his touch, so reverent and gentle, unlike anything I’d experienced before.

“Theo…” His name spilled from my lips and my hand moved to touch him. Anywhere. Everywhere. For him, my heart beat. And each slam of it against my chest didn’t feel like a prison sentence, it was renewing, giving me hope. Life. I wanted him so bad it ached. For him to take me away. To save me. Love me. Keep me.

He sucked in a lungful of air, and with great reluctance, pulled his hand from my knee, taking that human connection with him like a cold knife. But he stayed. He leaned up, his warm bodycrowding over mine, his head ducked against mine like he was hugging me.

“I don’t have long enough,” he murmured, his breath tickling my cheek. “I don’t have long enough to say everything I want to. But know I’m so sorry, know I…”

I tried to turn to him, my lips brushing against his cheek, but he stopped me with a quiet ‘No’. And just when I didn’t know what to do, what was happening, he spoke again. “You’ll feel a sting, but don’t freak out.”

“Wha—?” I started, but then he shuffled and pulled an item from his front pocket. It was too quick, he moved too fast, but then I felt that prick, a needle I was sure, driving into my thigh. I did as I was told and didn’t make a sound. Not even a gasp as the needle pierced through my skin where Rafe had punched me so hard a fist-shaped bruise remained. I couldn’t see what he was doing, Theo’s body pressed too close to mine, it was too dark, too quick. I gulped and shuddered, stopping the budding panic threatening to spill over.

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