Page 21 of Riot's Thorn
Shifting positions, I feel something furry tucked into my side. It takes my brain a minute to realize what it must be, but when I do, I bolt upright. The rats, who are cuddled into a ball, look up at me in confusion. One of them yawns, big and wide, showing its yellow buck teeth.
“They like you.” Riot scoops them up and returns to his chair.
A little of the fear I held for them slips away, knowing they slept next to me and didn’t eat my face. Still, I’m not ready to knowingly snuggle with them. However, my fear of Riot has only gotten worse, so I pull the blanket up over my shoulders, needing to shield myself, even if only by a layer of fabric.
Part of me was feeling safe since it’d been twenty-four hours and he hadn’t killed or raped me, but after what he did before he fled the house, that trust is gone. He tried to strangle me, andit was even more horrible than seeing Dad with a bullet in his head. Having my air restricted for that long was terrifying; each second felt like an hour.
I’m not sure why he stopped. There was so much anger and hate in his eyes while he squeezed my throat, but it was as if he was looking through me, not at me. Then, something about my choked plea for mercy brought him back to reality. I saw the second he realized what he was doing and watched as his expression turned from rage to shock.
Then he was gone, tucked into his corner like a little boy.
This man is clearly unstable, which makes my situation all the more dire. For someone who doesn’t seem to have respect for human life or even sympathy for my situation, there will be no reasoning with him. I’ll never convince him to let me go.
“I brought back some food. Sushi. You like sushi, right?” His tone is placating. I do like sushi, it’s actually my favorite meal, but I’m not talking to him. He can’t possibly expect me to after everything that’s happened. When my silence becomes obvious, he says, “You’re mad.”
My stomach chooses now to rumble, but I’d rather starve than speak to him, so I tuck my nose and mouth under the cotton blanket, noting it smells like it’s fresh out of the dryer. Mad doesn’t even begin to explain what’s going on in my head right now.
“Fine. Don’t talk to me, but you need to eat.” He sets the rats on the ground and grabs a take-out bag off the kitchen counter before sitting down next to me. I scoot as far away from him as possible, not caring about his feelings. He didn’t care about mine when his hands were around my throat.
The irritated sigh he expels has me second-guessing my actions. Is it better to disengage or go along with whatever he’s getting at? I’d do anything to not have him overpower me again,but I’m nothing if not stubborn, so I remain tucked up tight, even after he lays the food out on the coffee table in front of me.
“Don’t try me, Thorn,” he says when I don’t reach for the chopsticks he thrusts at me. They remain between us for long seconds, Riot glaring at me and me pretending like he doesn’t exist. The air thickens, and he tosses the chopsticks at me. “Fine. Fuckin’ starve.”
He rips me off the couch by my arm and all but drags me into his bedroom. The covers are in disarray from last night, and the handcuffs still dangle from the iron post. He shoves me onto the bed and yanks my arm above my head. My heart pounds in my chest, and I wonder if this is it. I pushed him too far. But then I feel the cold metal on my wrist and hear the teeth of the handcuffs linking together. At least I’m not going to die; he wouldn’t cuff me to his bed if he was going to kill me.
He cages me in with a hand on either side of my head and lowers, making me flinch, but he stops when we’re nearly nose-to-nose. My chest heaves, and for a brief second, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me, but his tense jaw and blown pupils tell me he’s more likely to head butt me.
“I might be the bad guy in your story, but I saved your goddamn life. I’m protecting you, and I’m keeping you alive. Obviously, I battle fuckin’ demons, and sometimes they win, but I’m trying. You, on the other hand, are choosing pride and the memory of someone you didn’t even know over survival.” The intensity of his gaze and his heartfelt words have me rethinking my approach. I share his breath as I search for any hint of a lie. His nearly black eyes reflect the demons I met up close and personal, but it’s clear he believes what he’s telling me is the truth.
Is it possible the patriarch of my family had this longstanding secret? Could Dad have tucked me in at night then turned around and done unspeakable things to unwilling girls? Couldmy prim and proper grandpa have hosted these events where his uptight friends raped and abused women and children?
The men I know could never, but something in the back of my mind won’t let me dismiss the possibility altogether. It was made clear to me at a young age that whenever I stayed over at Grandpa’s, I was never to go downstairs after I was put to bed, a rule that didn’t die along with him. Why is that? Now that I think about it, there were so many times I felt like something was off in that mansion. It’s why I never wanted to spend time there. I could never put a finger on it; it was just a constant pit in my stomach.
“Two things can be true at the same time,” I whisper, accepting that maybe he’s right, but they were still my family, and the happy memories I have of them don’t go away just because maybe they were monsters when I wasn’t around.
If I were Riot, I’d be disgusted by my response, but instead, he backs up a little and takes time to digest what I said. He really is beautiful. He looks to be in his early thirties, judging by the slight wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His mouth is perfectly shaped with a rounded cupid’s bow and full lower lip. My pussy betrays me when I feel wet arousal between my thighs.
It’s official: I’m fucked in the head. I have to be to get turned on by my dad’s murderer.
“You’re right, but just because he was a good dad doesn’t mean he should’ve been allowed to continue trafficking innocent girls. What we did was a kindness. If we had just turned him in, there would’ve been a long trial, and you would be dragged through the mud along with him.”
“Do you want me to thank you?” There’s a hard edge to my tone I can’t hide because this whole situation is fucked, and I need time to sort through all my thoughts.
“No, but you could be compliant until I figure out what to do with you.”
“Just let me go.” I lick my dry lips.
Crying for hours and not rehydrating has left them crusty. He follows the path my tongue takes and swallows hard. Is this messed-up attraction mutual? He said last night it didn’t bother him to be close to me; maybe that was more than a passing comment.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, sitting up and breaking the connection. “Besides, I don’t trust you not to report me. Now, get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then spend this time thinking about how to have a better attitude.” He walks out, shutting the door behind him and not giving me a chance to argue.
My head, my body, and my heart hurt, all due to the man who abducted me and is keeping me prisoner. The same man who cuddles me at night and makes me feel things I have no business feeling. Confused doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel right now.
Minutes after walking out, I hear the front door open and close, telling me he left me here like this. I have no choice but to work through everything that’s happened, starting with replaying the conversation we just had. He admitted to having demons. How did he get them?
