Page 30 of Alpha Chained
Packing everything back into the drawer exactly the way that it was, my fingers brush against a box in the dresser drawer, and curiosity gets the better of me.
Pulling it out, I lift the lid and find myself staring straight down into a laughing face framed by waves of dark hair. The box is filled with photos of a joyful young woman. Dozens of them, each one capturing her in various moments – laughing, smiling, looking serene. She’s beautiful in a wholesome way that seems almost alien to this grim place.
Who could she be?
Clearly someone important to Riot, or he wouldn’t have these. How has he managed to keep them? Parker doesn’t strike me as someone who permits privacy or sentimentality.
As I ponder this, I sink onto the bed, flipping through each image in turn. Some are worn, as if they’ve been handled regularly for a long time. Others are crisp-edged, clearly new…and she’s older in them. In one, she’s holding an infant in her arms. In another, she’s walking hand-in-hand with a small child.
What on earth?
I chew on the edge of a fingernail as I stare down at where I’ve fanned them out on the coverlet. Who could she be?
A wife? A girlfriend? Someone out there waiting for him?
An odd emotion tugs at my chest that feels uncomfortably like jealousy. Which is totally irrational, since the man has been locked up here for years. And I have absolutely no rights over him. Nor do I want any. He’s been kind to me, even though he didn’t need to be. I’m grateful to him. That’s all there is to it.
Carefully, I pack the photos away and put the box back where I found it. But I can’t seem to wipe the images from my head. And for some reason, I keep imagining Riot in those pictures with her. Walking alongside that child with her. Cupping her cheek as she smiles. Laughing back when she laughs. Suddenly my eyes are welling with tears.
Quit it!
I dash them away, wiping my face hastily, even though there’s nobody around to see me crying. I can’t figure out why I’m so emotional. But the thought of him locked up in here for so long when there’s someone out there who he clearly loves. It’s just…just…
I feel a little sob build and fight it down.
What the hell is wrong with you?
It’s the trauma. I’ve been through so much that my wits are failing me. It has to be that. I’ve been starved, tortured, handed over to a killer as a sex toy. Parker broke my freaking arm, for God’s sake! It’s hardly surprising that I’m a basket case.
I drop my face into my hands and take in a deep, steadying breath. I need to pull it together. But I’m just so damned tired. Exhaustion hits me like a wave. The adrenaline that’s been on a constant high is suddenly gone, leaving me drained. Feeling the fight leave me, I sink onto the bed, curling on my side, and before I know it, sleep takes over.
Chapter 12
Riot
The fight was brutal – a tattooed thug claiming to be a Bratva soldier, whatever that is – more of Parker putting on another display for whoever he’s been trying so hard to impress; there’s nothing unusual about that. But tonight, something’s different.
She’s here.
Even though I left the room under a cloud, I’m still glad to be back.
Ignoring the guards who’ve stopped at the door, I open it and walk in, flexing stiff muscles. I’m bruised. Bloody. The stink of it lingers in my nostrils, mingling with the sweat that coats my skin. I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally, but the sight before me makes me pause.
Raura is asleep on the bed, her body curled up, her breathing slow and even. Despite the horrors of this place, she looks almost peaceful in slumber. I find myself mesmerized, unable to tear my gaze away from her.
Why did I help her?
The question echoes in my mind as I study her delicate features. Parker was hurting her; that much was clear. And he would have sold her eventually, like so many others that pass through these walls. But creatures being sold is nothing new to me. I’ve witnessed it countless times over the years, hardening my heart to their fates long ago. Fighting to save them never got me anywhere.
Why her?
Why did this woman stir something in me? Why did I feel compelled to intervene, to protect her?
As I watch her chest rise and fall with each breath, I’m struck by an unfamiliar urge – a desire to reach out and touch her. My fingers itch to trace the curve of her cheek, to brush aside a stray lock of hair from her face. I clench my fists, resisting the impulse. She’s wearing my clothes, and for some inexplicable reason, I find a strange sense of possessiveness wash over me at the sight. As if her donning my garments marks her as mine, somehow.
That’s wrong. So fucking wrong!
I shake my head, pushing the thought away. I may have told Parker she’s my property now, but the thought of owning another living soul – the way I’m owned – sickens me. Still, I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her, the magnetic attraction that defies all reason.