by P. Jameson
Leah rushed forward, bending over the bed to test the girl’s pulse. It was strong, if a little fast.
Good. Okay.
She turned to find Thomas, watching her intently.
He was like the others. He had females under him all the time. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew. But he never took them to his room. Never allowed them in his space. It was how she was able to stomach knowing he was just like the others. It was enough to know he was never going to keep a female. Never get her with child. Never give the clan another young.
But now… now there was one in his bed. Clearly hurt. Unconscious.
Horror filled Leah. Did he do this? Hurt this one?
“Thomas… what have you done?”
Somehow she found his eyes. They flashed with some emotion that looked eerily similar to hurt. He straightened his shoulders, set his jaw in that stubborn way that put him above her. Reminded her she was lower. Always lower, even though he needed her. They all needed her.
“She’s mine. Fix her.”
Chapter Four
“Did you do this?”
The question was like a slap in the face coming from her. Did she really think he’d hurt a female like this? Yeah, he’d had his share of women in his bed. In the lounge. Whatever.
Women who wanted to be used. But he’d never taken anything from anyone. Threatened a few times, to assert power when it was needed. He was an asshole for sure. But the girl in his bed had it worse than any of that. And it turned his stomach seeing her in such bad shape.
No. He didn’t do this.
But he tried to remember why his mother might think so.
Their fathers had been this bad. The generation who ruled the Alley Cats before them.
“If I did, would I be trying to fix her?” he asked through tight teeth. “Would I have called you here?”
His mother pulled the covers back, messing up the careful way he’d tucked the girl in. Her gaze rolled over her fragile body. The ratted flannel jacket she wore. The jeans that were too big. Before she covered her back up.
“Why is she here?”
“I found her.” He liked finding things. He found treasures in the trash he collected all the time. People threw away some of the most interesting things.
His mother gave him a skeptical look.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I brought her up here to hide her from Felix. I was trying to get her damn name when she passed out. She’s coming off something, pretty sure.”
She pressed two fingers to the female’s neck to check her pulse, and seemed to be counting.
“Is she okay?” Ratchet fidgeted, waiting for an answer. He wasn’t patient on a normal day, and he definitely wasn’t now.
“Pulse is fast. Any idea what she’s on?”
He shook his head. “Something in her drink she said. Long term. Built up a tolerance to it.”
His mother frowned. “A sedative then. Get me some water. She needs to drink. We’ll get her cleaned up when she wakes. Get some food in her if she can keep it down.”
Ratchet stomped over to the little fridge in the corner of his room. It was mostly full of beer, but there was some bottled water there too.
When he brought it back, he started to twist off the lid.
“No. Leave it. She’ll want to see us open it.”
He frowned. Why would she want to do that?
“Hey.” His mother shook the female. Gently. Like she used to do to wake him up. “Hey, sweetie. Can you open your eyes?”
The female moaned softly. Like the motion hurt. But his mother didn’t stop shaking her. In fact, she went harder.
“Come on, hun. You need to wake up.”
A whimper escaped but it turned into a twisted cry. The sound tied his stomach up in knots. He fisted his hands against the feeling.
“Shh.” His mother brushed the female’s hair with her fingers. “Wake up,” she said gently. “Time to get some liquid in you.”
His girl’s eyelids flickered, those long lashes twitching to open but not quite pulling it off.
“There you go. Almost there. Open your eyes for me. It’s okay.”
This time she woke, her gaze foggy as it landed on his mother.
“Hi there. I’m Leah.” She gave the female a friendly smile, but there was no hiding the edge in her expression. A well-concealed fear. His mother wore it always, he realized. If not in her look, then in her mannerisms. “I’m going to help you as best I can. We need to start by getting some fluids in you, okay?”
The female seemed confused and her gaze skittered around looking for anything familiar. But then they landed on Ratchet and went from confused to lucid in a blink.
“No, no, no…” she whimpered, scrambling to a sit too fast and almost knocking the water bottle out of his mother’s hand. Terror creased the edges of her gaze and crimped her lips. “Y-You.” She pointed a shaking finger at Ratchet and it felt like she was accusing him with it. “You don’t touch me.”
He frowned at her command. And inside, he stood at attention, the voice demanding he listen well. Don’t touch her. Okay. He wouldn’t.
It made him feel… sad. How could he help her if he couldn’t touch her?
He found his mother’s confused gaze. She probably thought he’d done something ugly. Why should she think any different? He was filled with that familiar shame even though he’d done nothing to the female. Always with the shame.
He swallowed hard, pushing it all down.
The female needed fixing. That was all that mattered.
Yes, murmured the voice.
Ratchet gave her a nod. “I won’t lay a finger on you. But let my mother help you.”
She switched her green gaze back to Leah, skeptical.
“You’ve been hurt,” his mother said, “but it’s going to be okay. We will get you stronger and get you out of here.”
Ratchet’s gaze snapped to his mother.
No. She can’t leave. We’ve finally found her.
The new voice inside was panicking now, and he wasn’t used to the feeling. Panic wasn’t something an Alley Cat ever let show. You pushed the shit down. Always. Be. In. Control.
“Y-you’ll let me go?”
Never.
His mother looked at him, clearly unsure of the promise she’d made. “When it’s safe. For now, drink.”
The female was shaking her head back and forth so fast she was going to be dizzy if she wasn’t already. “No water. Please. No water.”
His mother’s voice was calm. Like she knew exactly how to talk to the woman. “Ratchet tells me you were dosed. We aren’t doing that to you. Look…” She held the sealed bottle out for the female to see. “Unopened. You can do it yourself. That way you know. It’s just water.”
She stared, unsure. Her gaze flicked to Ratchet and his stomach flopped. Her eyes on him felt good. Even with that edge of fear in them.
He’d make that go away though. Show her he was safe.
Not safe. Not yet, the voice argued.
He set his jaw and tried to make sure his eyes seemed dull. No reaction. Never show a reaction unless it’s anger.
He tipped his chin toward the water, urging her wordlessly to drink. She reached for it, carefully, and when it was in her hand, she cradled it close to her chest. She breathed hard, staring between Ratchet and his mother.
With trembling fingers, she attempted to unscrew the plastic cap. The blood and dirt caked under her nails turned the lid grimy. And she winced, not able to break the seal. She tried again, gritting her teeth.
“What happened to your fingers?” he growled. The boom of his voice froze her.
Too hard. Too loud.
“How did you hurt your fingers?” he tried, softer. He wasn’t good at soft shit.
“Scraping,” she murmured. “To… to get the window open. And then climbing the fence. It was wooden. And tall.”
She’d hurt herself escaping. But from where? From whom?
Ratchet p
ushed the questions aside. Swallowed down the bile that came with the knowledge his female had endured something awful.
And that maybe the awful shit wasn’t over for her yet. She’d landed in Alley Cat territory. Nothing good could come of that.
He didn’t touch her, but he reached his hand forward. “I can open it for you.”
She pressed her lips together and instead, held the bottle out to his mother to open.
Ratchet cleared his throat, crossing his arms and staring at the floor to hide his disappointment while the female drank.
“Slow down, hun. Don’t want you to get sick. Sip it down, okay?”
He found her again as she was pulling the bottle from her mouth. The tremors were so bad she sloshed some over the edge.
“What’s your name?” his mother asked.
“I’m Thirteen—” She shook her head. “No. My name is Marlee.”
Marlee.
Her name made the voice inside go still. Made everything inside just… calm.
Marlee. Her.
He wanted to say it out loud and feel it on his lips.
He mouthed it silently instead. Later he would whisper it. Get his mouth familiar with it so she wouldn’t flinch when he spoke it for the first time.
“What’s Thirteen?” his mother asked, helping Marlee drink some more.
“It’s what he called me. He has five dolls. He used to have more. We don’t have names. Only numbers. I was unlucky number thirteen. But I don’t forget.”
“Don’t forget what, hun?” His mother’s voice was choked thin, but calm. Why did it seem like she’d done this before? Like she was a veteran at calming down scared females. At digging information out of them.
“Who I am,” Marlee said bravely, her chin jutting so slightly it was barely noticeable.
Ratchet noticed.
“My name is Marlee Benson. I am twenty-eight years old. I had a dog named Jem. I was last free on my eighteenth birthday. I was in the news. Someone will find me. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.”
It was a mantra. She recited it with her eyes closed. Like she was trying to remember. Like she’d whispered it a million times to herself. Like it was the thing that kept her going through whatever darkness she’d endured.
Marlee Benson.
The female had been in captivity for ten years, if she was right about the details. Stripped of her identity… the same way Ratchet was stripped of his. Of his animal. And treated so poorly she could barely keep down her water.
And now… she was captive again.
Ratchet pumped his fists wanting something to hurt on her behalf. He didn’t understand these protective instincts, the way his heart seemed to be claiming her when it shouldn’t be possible. When it was fucking dangerous to. Wanting revenge for someone other than himself, it wasn’t normal.
“Okay, Marlee,” his mother said. “That’s good. You keep remembering that.”
Her green gaze large and worried, she nodded, whispering, “I don’t forget.”
And it was all he could take.
Ratchet stalked to the door, escaping through it before he blew his top and scared her even more.
Fuck everything.
Chapter Five
Marlee flinched at the sharp bang of the door slamming shut. The man was frightening. But it wasn’t just because of his size or the permanent snarl on his face or the hard way he talked. The most frightening thing was the way he stared at her. Like he knew her. Not just recognized her from the news or something. But… knew her. Inside her middle. Where nobody was allowed.
It made her feel strange. Scared, but curious. And curiosity was part of what made the last ten years hell. If only she hadn’t asked for answers. Why she was a prisoner. When could she leave…
She’d never make that mistake again.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” the woman murmured. “He left so he could be angry without scaring you.”
Leah was her name, and she seemed nice. Marlee didn’t trust people. Not anyone anymore. But her gut told her Leah was… something. Not safe, but wanted to be.
“How do you know?”
“He’s my son. He doesn’t handle emotion well. None of them do. And I can feel it rolling off him like a tidal wave.”
None of them do. That reminded her there were more. More men, drunk and doing unspeakable things if the sounds she’d heard in the lounge were anything to go by.
She had to get out of here.
“He’ll be back?”
Leah nodded.
“Then I should go now. Can you help me get out of here? I need to be out of Memphis by tonight. Gotta get far away. People are looking for me. His people. And they always find what they’re looking for.”
“Your captor’s people?” Leah asked.
“Yes. Please.”
“Do you know his name?”
Marlee nodded, but she wasn’t telling yet. He was too well-known. Too powerful.
“Where am I?”
Leah glanced at the door, looking unsure. She’d called the man Ratchet. And he’d called her mother.
“Alley Cat headquarters,” she admitted finally. “It’s not safe here, but my son won’t let you be hurt. I have to believe that. And it’s not possible for you to leave yet. No one knows you’re here but me and him. If the others find out…”
Alley Cats. She’d heard the name from her captor. Former captor. They worked for him, if she could be sure of the conversations she’d heard.
Her stomach lurched.
Once they found out she belonged to him, they’d return her.
She wrapped her arms around her middle, desperately trying to hold in her new panic. She felt like the bottom was falling out of her soul, everything just sinking… sliding… crashing.
“We… we could call the police,” she whispered in desperation. “Tell them who I am.”
Leah’s face turned from careful to hard. “No police. They can’t help you here.”
More sinking-gut feeling as it occurred to her what she already knew. The police wouldn’t lift a finger against her former captor, why would they do anything for her new ones. His employees.
“Only I can help you, but I can’t do it right now,” Leah hissed. “And until I can, you have to survive. Understand me? You stay here, in this room. Do what you’re told until I can get you free.”
“What I’m told?”
“Thomas won’t hurt you.” But she didn’t sound one hundred percent on that.
“Thomas?”
“Ratchet. They call him Ratchet. And his heart… it’s fair. Not good, but fair. Deep down, he knows how to be right. He just needs to remember. Now, he brought you here to keep you safe. I have to believe that means something. Trust him, and no one else. Got it?”
Marlee remembered what he’d told her in the shed and when he’d dragged her into the warehouse. I won’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else hurt you either.
How could she trust him? How could she trust anyone?
“Tell me you’ll do what I say,” Leah demanded, squeezing her hand. The desperation in the woman’s gaze felt identical to hers. Was she captive too? Was she in as much danger as Marlee was?
Trust him, and no one else.
Damn it. Did she have a choice? Did she ever have a choice.
No. Never.
The day she had a choice would be the day she was finally actually free.
Until then, it was the same as it had been for ten years. Survive.
She nodded, feeling sicker than when she first awoke in the shed.
Leah let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up and more comfortable. It’s going to be all right, Marlee. I promise.”
But promises meant nothing to a captive.
***
Ratchet paced the hallway outside his room. He’d been heading to the lounge for a drink but couldn’t go more than six steps before turning back. Now he was repeating the action, trying to work out this fucked up situat
ion in his mind.
He needed more information.
Like who was responsible for Marlee’s condition? Because he was going to fuck them up good. If he had his cat still, he’d call it out and eat the bastard’s goddamn face.
Or where was she kept? Because he was going to raze it to the ground. Burn it down and let her watch so she knew she’d never have to go back there.
Or what was done to her… because he needed to undo it all. Somehow.
He ran a shaking hand through his hair. What the fuck was happening to him? The need to care for this stranger was nearly overwhelming. It made his center burn to the point of being uncomfortable. Like whatever was inside him now was forcing him to action.
Do something. Make her better, and she will make you better. She can heal you where you’re broken. It’s her. The one.
Ratchet frowned. He couldn’t be healed. He was shattered. No one would ever be able to find all the shards much less put them all back in their place.
You’ll see. One thing at a time.
What could he do for her right now?
Tearing out the hearts of her enemies would have to come later, when he’d collected more intel.
Ratchet stared at the closed door, thinking.
She needed food. His female needed food. He’d hunt some down.
This got his feet moving toward the lounge. There was always food around when a party was happening. And when he got there, he wasn’t disappointed. Past the people humping in dark corners and some shamelessly on the couches, he found tonight’s buffet spread out over the counter. It wasn’t even picked over yet. The empty beer and liquor bottles littering the floor told him most of the cats had skipped dinner and gone straight for the numbing agents.
Ratchet skipped the stack of paper plates, and dug around in the cabinet for a tray instead. He found a banged up cookie sheet. It would do.
Moving down the counter, he picked out the best looking sandwich. It looked like turkey probably, and the lettuce was nice and green. He grabbed several slices of pizza for Marlee to choose from, not knowing which kind his female would like. He passed on the chips. They looked stale. Fucking Fang had probably left the bag open again.
Ratchet stepped back, looking the food over. None of this shit was healthy. It wouldn’t be good for her, but at least it would fill her empty stomach.
