Page 11 of Prodigal Son

“You’re alive because I saved you.”

“Th-thank you. I’m a big fan of living.”

“Shut up!”

She snapped her lips closed and whimpered.

“I’m the only voice you listen to from here on out. You don’t speak or question or argue or breathe without my permission. You obey,” he growled the last order, looming over her and forcing her shoulders to press into the unforgiving earth. “Understand?”

A tear rolled from her lashes. She didn’t understand any of this. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, realizing too late that she’d just broken his rules. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just scared and my back—”

Before she could finish the frantic thought, he’d flipped her to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. The weight of her clothing lifted, pulling at her lacerated flesh. Cold air touched her back and a tear slipped from her eye. She was at his mercy now.

“Your cuts have opened.” He seemed bothered by this, despite his desire to hurt her.

“I’m sure it’s—”

He palmed the back of her skull and shoved her down when she tried to rise. “Stay still.”

A startled sob, trapped in her throat, escaped when her cheekbone hit the hard ground. He ripped her torn clothes out of the way, her body pinned beneath him and trembling. He leaned close and at the first touch of his lips to her battered body, she bucked wildly. “Get off me!”

“Be still!” His fist locked in her hair as he clamped his knees around her hips, holding her helplessly to the dirty ground. “I’m trying to help you.”

Her mind spasmed like a taught rubber band let loose too quickly. Survival instinct blotted out all other thoughts and she went ballistic, shoving and kicking, doing anything in her power to loosen his hold, but he was so strong.

The material of her coat tore with a sharp rip as he yanked the wool apart. “No!”

“You’re doing more damage to yourself by fighting me.”

“Don’t touch me!” She kicked and thrashed, desperate to escape his unbreakable hold. “No—”

Then something cool and soothing traced over the burning cut on her back and she stilled. Her body shook with shock as she tried to understand if he was assaulting her or actually helping her. Trembling uncontrollably, she sucked in a breath and silently sobbed as relief soothed the burning scrapes at her back.

Her hair covered her face and sweat and tears burned her eyes. He held her head against the cave floor, making it impossible to move.

He applied some sort of numbing salve to her cuts and the pain quickly subsided. Her jagged breathing calmed but remained uneven as his firm touch turned tender. She stopped fighting, a strange but fragile truce taking hold as she accepted his care.

She understood then how hostages could so easily fall under the spell of Stockholm syndrome. She was at his mercy, and in that moment she would do anything for kindness over cruelty. The relief the medicine brought terrified her, because it endeared her to him, and he was not a good man. Why was he trying to help her?

He carefully treated each gash with a gentle touch, but then she felt his mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Her raw muscles were torn and exposed. She needed a doctor. Hopefully whatever salve he applied would prevent further pain or possible infection.

The mood of the cave shifted, her cold terror sliding into something warm and comforting as if under the influence. A balmy wind pushed through the arctic air, and his touch lowered, his body pressing against hers as he quietly growled.

Safe feeling gone.

His lips trailed over her exposed skin and she trembled, fear mixing with shame as some part of her curiously wondered if there was a way for him to take what he wanted without hurting her. Could she bear it? Struggling was futile and would only make matters worse.

Perhaps it was self-preservation that so desperately wanted to romanticize this nightmare into something redeeming. He was a vicious mercenary of some kind, and she was at his mercy, but if she cooperated, she might avoid some degree of suffering.

With great effort, she forced her body to unclench. As she softened beneath him, he stilled. She closed her eyes and loosened her fist, laying her palms flat on the ground in a show of surrender. His arousal rested heavily against his clothing, pressing firmly into her curves.

His weight disappeared and he sprung to his feet, leaving her abandoned and confused on the ground, trembling with fear. Worry kept her still. Had she upset him? She hadn’t meant to. She only hoped to prolong her life and avoid more unnecessary pain by cooperating.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

The warmth of the cave evaporated as cold gusts of wind howled past the grotto. With shaky arms, she lifted her head and looked over the horizon. Thick black clouds rolled in from the north as thunder rumbled over the treetops. A choking sense of foreboding took hold.

How was she ever going to make the walk back to salvation? Her back felt better from whatever he’d applied, but she still ached from everything she’d been through, and she was sure the anesthetic wouldn’t last.

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