Set Me Free

Spoiled Rotten

Sofia

I glare down at the clothes spread across Brax's messy bed. Messy, because I slept through the night and hardly remember him awaking me to coax food into me. Messy, because I thrashed around and kicked and punched and had horrible, horrible dreams. Messy, because for the first time in my entire life, I shared a bed with a man—and not just any man. A man capable of killing me, a man much wiser and more worldly, a man who is an entirely different species and race.

My hands fisted at my hips, I deepen my glare and feel my lips twist into a pout. I am no closer to getting away. Whatever substance he gave me was...well, amazing, really, but it knocked me out. I hate admitting I feel refreshed, my mind clearer than it has been since I was captured. I am healing, but only on the outside. On the inside, I can feel every wound I've ever received festering, bubbling like a pot of slow cooking soup. As soon as the heat is ratcheted up another notch, I fear I might blow.

Which is why I need to get out of here, away from them. If I explode, I have no doubt that Brax will kill me or give me away. Josh couldn't, because he was obligated to love me and take care of me as his sister. Brax has no obligation to me. He simply won me, and he seems to enjoy my presence to an extent. But figuring that out is what has my mind spiraling.

Why does he want to keep me? What am I to him but a pet? I had always thought slaves to champions were conquests—free pleasure, but he hasn't tried anything of the nature with me. I run my tongue over my teeth, considering this situation. From my hazy memories of the night before, he seemed to warm to me. His conversation with his son is one I cannot remember in thanks to whatever drug he gave me. His body, however, told me a different story.

I could feel it, between my legs, growing hard and hot. I am not stupid or naive to the extent that I don't understand how men work; I may be a virgin, but I am not dumb. I know that once you can garner that reaction from a man, you can get away with anything.

I stare at the clothes, tears wavering in my eyes, my fists beginning to tremble. I bat away the dark thoughts, the memories, taking a steadying breath. I'll do whatever I have to do to get away from here and back to Josh.

There's a knock on the door, the noise splintering my silence and reverie, and I whirl, clutching at my stomach as my quiet anxieties eat away at me.

Brax stands there, wearing jeans and a long sleeve, dark grey fitted shirt, his hair pulled back in a bun. His eyes—normally playful, I've noticed—narrow and glint with something dark. I swallow the lump in my throat and take a step back, my butt hitting the mattress. He crosses his arms, leaning a great shoulder on the doorjamb.

"They fit?"
I glance over my shoulder at the display. One pair of jeans, two pairs of leggings, a small variety of shirts and a sweatshirt, and then other necessities. The color scheme, though, is all dark; black, grey, a dash of white here or there within a demonic logo, or a skull and crossbones. When I turn my gaze back to his, I feel my annoyance simmering just below the surface. I'm not some cheap harlot; I don't need to dress like one.

He pushes off the doorjamb, uncrossing his arms as his heavy boots thud closer, his mouth twisted down into anger. I chew my bottom lip, my face crimson as my eyes find the floor, but his long fingers are at the back of my neck. His grip alone tells me his own anger simmers just below the surface as well, and I know it rivals mine tenfold.

I bring my eyes to his, hunching my shoulders, my body submitting to his authority before my mind can comprehend what I am bowing to. Not only is he powerful physically, but he is somehow able to reprimand my sour attitude with a look alone. My stomach flips and flops as I stare into his green and golden-spoked eyes. He presses his thumb to that same vein, a warning.