In the Alpha’s Arms

Things We Don’t Enjoy

The walk to the shower room was familiar. So was Ren at her back, nudging her forward, though he was a bit more gentle than he’d ever been before. She still didn’t know what to make of it. She hadn’t seen him since the pits and they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. So she didn’t ask what he thought about Chris being dead. Or why Maxim had yet to replace him.

The exhaustion she felt was familiar too, though now her legs shook. A week of torture would do that to a person, even a strong one. Though, all things considered she hadn’t been tortured much. More than once over the course of her stay, her mind imagined knives and pliers inflicting pain. She imagined ropes and gags and her own screams… her own blood dripping to the floor… but that hadn’t happened. Instead Maxim had chosen torture through deprivation. Mild, all thing considered but it wasn’t something to scoff at either. Barely any edible food. Barely any rest. Barely any hygiene. No sunlight. No fresh air. No communication. Deprivation was its own brand of awful.

Lita rubbed at the chafed, swollen skin of her wrists as if it would undo the stinging, heavy sensations of cuffs. She’d worn them for a week, nearly going crazy with pain from pulling at them. Then anger as they didn’t break, didn’t weaken, and continued to clink against her to the damn cell wall. And then, poof, without warning Maxim had waltzed in and ordered them removed. As if her life were simply a measure of his desires and orders. As if what happened to her and why, was solely in his control, solely in his power. Which, technically, it was. And she hated it.

She had known killing Chris would rain down Maxim’s wrath. But she also knew it had to be done. And she’d wanted to be the one to do it.

Damn straight, Nyx growled.

When Ren uncuffed her from the wall, the sudden lightness was disarming. Those metal bracelets had hung on her like anchors, heavy, painful reminders of her captivity and at whose mercy she existed. It was sickening. Almost as sickening as the sudden weightlessness she now felt as her steps echoed along the corridor. The air wasn’t fresh but it was fresher than it had been in her cell. There wasn’t any sunlight but there was more overhead light than she had seen in a week. Lita was still exhausted and lightheaded but at least she was standing. All of those things were were marked improvements in her condition.

She hated that she felt grateful for those things, that she was happy to be free. She hated that her mind was already prepared to do anything to spare her from going back in that cell. As if her freedom was something she needed to fight for. As if it wasn’t a right.

Maxim was probably enjoying the fact that she owed her relief to him. Probably sitting in his stuffy fireplace chair, toasting to his ability to make her hurt. But if he thought that would make her forget that she owed her discomfort to him as well, he was sorely mistaken. Chris had tried to make her hurt. And look what happened to him. Maxim would be no different. Heat and anger pounded her chest, relentless in its desire to tear this whole place down around him.

Her steps faltered hard after the first turn of the hallway. What had been strong, if not slow steps had grown clumsy and ill–measured. Ren was a constant presence at her back, doing his best not to shove her forward, which was oddly thoughtful of him. Especially since she’d probably land face first on a hard ground. Chris would have loved that. And it made her even happier to have ripped his throat out.

She didn’t trust Ren. But he was always the better of the two. And he’d fought alongside her. That had to be worth something. That had to give them at least a little comradery. Perhaps that was why he didn’t shove her.

direction. Down this hall, there were no doors, only smooth metal walls that turned to drywall as they ascended. And they were ascending she realized, as if it was a back passageway leading back up to the main floor. But why? For a heartbeat, she worried Maxim intended for her to bathe somewhere more public than the shower

her elbow before she could fall. She stifled

with a large bath in the center and nothing else. The tub was large, wide enough

big tub used for? Torture? The image of her head being dunked until she drowned played heavy in her

filthiness was driving her insane. The tub wasn’t fancy or anything, no more than a

off the chair and onto the floor. Not only had she been basically floor–ridden for a week but she’d hardly eaten in just as long and the toll was noticeable. The walk there had all but robbed Lita of the energy reserves she did have. Which had probably been Maxim’s point. Bleed out all her

Things We Don’t Enjoy

wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Chris. He wasn’t going to defy orders or put his own neck on the chopping block. And he knew that she was dangerous now. She could see the way his mental gears moved the longer he stared at her. Perhaps he was wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before, the strength, the Alpha wolf, or the rage. Or perhaps he was wondering if she was going

though she hated the thought, hated the idea of anyone other than Cole touching her skin, she knew she wasn’t strong enough to do it alone. Maxim had ordered it and

clean her wounds, a collection of scrapes she’d gotten while fighting

to know they were out of options. Infection was a serious risk at this point, even with her injuries being minor. Without having eaten in a week, her immune system was likely running on fumes. So she let him lift the shirt, sucking her arms

the hell did she have to be ashamed about? She didn’t chain herself to a concrete wall with barely enough room to make it to the toilet hole. She didn’t ensure that her hygiene needs hadn’t been met. So whatever Ren thought as he crouched again, bringing his fingers to the lip of

always been with Brian. But respect. She respected Cole and their bond. She didn’t want to do anything to sully it. But she didn’t really have a choice. She didn’t want to

worth, I don’t enjoy doing

laughed. Almost. Because she thought he was saying he didn’t enjoy helping her bathe, didn’t enjoy touching her filth. But as she studied the hard lines of his face and the sincerity of his eyes, she

enjoy making you feel uncomfortable and I definitely don’t enjoy being forced to strip you when you so

Lita stopped breathing.

Lita realized she couldn’t. She all but ate her own air as she looked for the game, the moment he would do something

resumed removing her pants, managing only to wiggle her hips enough for him to