Page 17 of Alpha Chained
I blink a few times. “That’s your name?”
“It is now.” He picks his fork up again. I watch as he cuts another piece of steak and puts it into his mouth. There’s something so deliberate about the way he’s eating. And sexy as hell, too. Which is insane because why would I even be thinking that right now? Parker and his thugs could be back any minute to start beating on me again.
“What was it before?” I ask, curious.
“It’s not important.” He doesn’t look my way.
I can’t help but study him as he eats, this man with eyes like ice and the demeanor of someone who’s seen too much. The scars crisscrossing his arms and shoulders hint at a life of violence, and there’s a weariness behind those steely eyes that speaks of burdens far too heavy for one person.
My curiosity is gnawing at me. “How long have you been here?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and regards me silently for a beat before answering. “Too long.”
I nod slowly, recognizing the haunted look. “I can only imagine…” My voice trails off as his gaze drops back to his plate. Undeterred, I press on. “Where are you from originally? Before…all this?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I instantly regret pushing him. Of course he doesn’t want to talk about his past. This place has clearly stripped him of everything.
“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, cutting another piece of steak with precision.
“Do you know who else is here? Besides us and…um…” I flick an eye around the cell block, “them?”
He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine for a moment before he goes back to his meal. “Not many worth knowing.”
I let out a heavy breath. This is going nowhere. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just…” I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. “Being surrounded by all these animals, these half-humans…it’s easy to feel alone, you know?”
His eyes flick up at that, holding my gaze for a long moment. I feel pinned by their intensity, rooted to the spot. Then he gives a barely perceptible nod and looks away again.
We lapse into silence once more as he finishes his meal. I should just leave him be, but some desperate part of me craves this tiny connection, fleeting as it may be. Being able to talk to someone, anyone who seems even remotely human, is a lifeline I can’t bring myself to let go of yet.
“Your scars,” I say, pointing vaguely at the marks on his arms that disappear beneath the white fabric of his snug tanktop. “Did you get them here?”
“Yes,” he replies, voice clipped.
“Why do they keep you here?” I ask. “The others,” I glance around again, “don’t seem to stick around more than a day.”
“The Enclave is my home.”
“The Enclave?”
“That’s what they call this place.” He jerks his head toward the hallway outside.
“Good to know,” I say, though I can’t see how it makes a difference to me.
He shrugs, but I notice how his fingers curl, his hand closing into a fist on his knife. His knuckles are scarred and callused. Wolves heal quickly, seldom scarring, unless their injuries are either life-threatening…or consistent.
He’s been hitting something…repeatedly. Maybe a boxing bag or something. It’s the only way his hands would look like that.
“Do they…make you fight?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Riot’s fork pauses mid-air for just a fraction of a second before he continues eating. “Yes.”
The simplicity of his answer holds a weight that crushes me for a moment. His scars, his demeanor – they all make sense now. He’s been forced into violence, just like Parker wants to force information out of me.
“Oh.” The word sounds too small for the enormity of the moment. Still, I feel a strange comfort speaking to him despite his reluctance. There’s something grounding about having this small contact in a place that feels so utterly isolating.
“Anyway,” I say feebly, “I just wanted to say thanks.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. His terse responses are maddening, but I can’t help but cling to this interaction. The alternative is silence. I’m alone here, and every moment feels like an eternity.
Parker’s relentless pursuit of information about Steel Lakes has left me on edge. Every question he asks feels like a knife aimed at my home and my people. I can’t give him what he wants, but the fear of what he’ll do if I don’t is suffocating.