Page 54 of Beautifully Forgiven

“You’re letting me go?” she asks. I shake my head and her face falls.

“B-but you?—”

“I’m not letting you go, Savannah.”

“Then what?” she breathes.

“I’m keeping you, kitten. You’re mine.”

“What about my father?” she murmurs.

Smiling down at her, my fingers grasp her chin. “Your father will pay, Savannah. I plan on slitting his throat and watching him die.”

Her forehead furrows as I let my fingers drop. Savannah stays kneeling her brows dip, leaning down my lips ghost her ear as I whisper.

“I want you to tell me you’re mine, kitten.”

Savannah inhales.

I want her to admit it, out loud not only to me but to herself.

“Now, kitten. Don’t make me ask again,” I demand.

“I-I’m,” she begins. “I’m yours.”

“Yes, yes you are. All mine, princess. Just for me.” I twist my fingers in her hair, tugging until her head bends back, forcing her gaze on me.

“You’re my fuck toy, aren’t you, kitten?” A shattered breath escapes her as she nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” I say, placing a soft kiss to her lips, I take a small taste before I turn and walk out the door, leaving her to come to terms with knowing she’ll never escape me. I don’t plan on letting her go, I mean what I said. Savannah is mine.

* * *

I’ve given her more freedom to move around the cabin. The front door is still locked because as much as I decided to keep Savannah, I'm not so sure she’s fond of the idea, just yet.

Watching her, I see the moment her gaze finds mine to meet my mismatched stare before she turns her head back toward the window, she’d been staring out of for the past half an hour.

Her cheeks tint with a soft pink, and I don’t miss the way her lips tilt up.

She sighs but doesn't say a word as I continue to watch her.

“Something on your mind, kitten?” I ask, moving toward where she sits.

She shakes her head, opens her mouth as if to speak, and then closes it again before she sinks into herself.

“Will you tell me about your family?” she suddenly asks. Grinding my teeth, I feel like they’re about to crack when she whispers, “Never mind.”

“My daughter was three.” I swallow the thickness building in my throat. I haven’t spoken about my family out loud in a really long time.

“She was my entire world. When she was born, I knew I had no room for my old life. I took my family and ran.”

“I bet she was lucky to have you?” she whispers. I thought so.

“You said my father hurt them. Why did he?” she asks. I don’t hold back. I tell her the brutal, honest truth.

“Your father brutally murdered my family. I watched as his men raped my wife all while my little girl cried for her mother. I watched it all unfold before he shot them both in cold blood, and then when they all left, I crawled to my wife and daughter and held their bodies as they grew colder.”

My eyes lift to hers, and I watch as a single tear slides down her cheek.

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