Sofia
The cabin is dark—as though it is nighttime, even though I know it is just late afternoon. I curl deeper into my pile of blankets, shivering in the clammy cold. Brax wasn't kidding when he said the power would go out. Though being on the run in the woods is something I am begrudgingly used to, it is not something I wish to return to. Maybe I am spoiled.
A particularly loud clap of thunder has me burrowing deeper as I cover my ears and whimper. The shutters on the cabin slam against the outer walls, the whole frame creaks and groans in the wind, and the trees high above us threaten to snap any second under such strain. He's gone—left me alone in his room with one candle that went out minutes after he stomped out, muttering curses.
I'm not sure what he went to fix, but something tells me he knows how to fix everything. Without power—without even a fire in the hearth of the living room I caught a glimpse of—I will freeze to death. If something happens to him and he never returns, I will starve, chained here to the floor.
And there is the beginning of my inspiration. Joshua always told me I was too smart—wicked smart, because if I wanted something, even as a child I was pretty damn good at manipulating our parents or our nanny until I got it. It was their fault for falling for it, though, so I can't bring myself to feel guilty now.
The front door slams open, and with it comes a gust of wind. I bury my head under the blankets as lightning flashes through the inky cabin. Not even a second after, thunder answers. I don't hear his heavy boots thudding closer, but the strike of a match and his subsequent chuckle tells me he's here.
"Little fiery angel, scared of a fuckin' windstorm," he chuckles again. I glare at the silvery chains around my wrists at his jest.
"Fuck off," I growl, unable to stem my temper anymore. My head feeling better, keeping my tongue behind my teeth will be difficult.
"Watch it, girly. I like yer fire, but I won't stand for disrespect."
I roll my eyes to the quilted pattern, lit by the soft glow of the candle. I could hear the creak and groan of his bed as he sat, could hear the thump of his heavy black boots as he shed them. And then, of course, there was the slamming of more shutters and the bright flash of lighting and the ever-present thunder.
Cocooned in my little shell of blankets, I don't see or hear him approach, but I squeak and thrash as he hefts me up into his arms, unlocking my chains, letting them slither to the floor in a silver pile. Chin wobbling, I peek up at him, wondering if he is going to punish me again. He just stares at me for a moment, frowning before he shakes his head.
"Don't got an oven, don't got a heater. Gonna be picky with me?"
I shake my head quickly. His grasp on me tightens as he nods, his chest moist and bare and cold for once. I glance down, quickly regretting it. He's naked as can be once more. He chuckles, walking us out into the darkness of his cabin, around the corner to the living room where a warm fire blazes. He plops me on the couch.
He fumbles around, finding another set of chains. Testing their strength with a tug, he seems satisfied as he cuffs me once more. He stands tall, looking around for a moment before he thuds back to his room and reappears with all the blankets and pillows. He dumps them on me, burying me as another clap of thunder shakes the cabin.
"Fuckin' tired, girly," he says with a yawn, sinking down next to me on the couch, not caring in the slightest that he's nude. I push the blankets and pillows aside, feeling like a little kid. He's leaned back, one hand resting on his thickly muscled thigh, the other across the back of the couch, his eyes closed in contentment.
I sense he wants to sleep, and I am thankful for the lapping flames that warm me, that he gave me so many blankets and even a pillow. I sink down into the springy cushions of the couch. When we had a home, we had a couch, but no one was allowed to sit on it. It was white, expensive, and even the guests seemed to know to stay away, or my mother in all her diamonds and pearls would blow a gasket.
When I glance back over at him, his head's turned, and his pale green and gold eyes are staring right through me. I feel my eyes begin to water. I've been reminiscing too much about my old life. I do it a lot, and it annoys Josh, but we always play a game, telling each other the best things we remember from childhood. After the uprootings began, our family was sent into hiding—guarded quite vehemently because of my father's standing in politics.
I was fifteen when it all finally crumbled around us. Much older than most who succumbed to such a fate. Josh was eighteen at the time. I still remember fleeing in the night with him, sobbing my heart out as we left our mother and father and safety behind. I sniffle, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.
Braxton shifts beside me, and I flinch away from him. I can hear his annoyed huff, can feel him shift again, bringing himself closer.
"C'mere, little girly."
The tone of his voice is soft, still rough around the edges, and still gruff. It's warm, though, and today has been shit, and after him punishing me with his belt, for some reason being near him sounds...nice, comforting.
I scoot closer. He drapes a blanket over his nudity before grasping my hips and planting me firmly on his lap, facing him. Before I can think straight or wrap my mind around anything else, I collapse into his chest and sob.
***
Braxton
Little girly has had a long ass day. Should've expected a breakdown at some point. Still don't know about her past, or where she comes from, but I do intend to find out before our three months are up. She's fast asleep now, curled into me as the storm outside ebbs. Can't wait to see what fuckin' damage I'll have to deal with tomorrow.
I rub a lock of her silky, dirty blonde hair between my thumb and forefinger. She's quite the puzzle; feisty, a spoiled fuckin' brat and about as manipulative as they come. A dangerous woman, with those eyes and those curves and the way that sharp mind of hers thinks. But I see right through her, right to the heart of her; she's never had a tough go before, not really. She needs a strong presence—a man to coral her in, to keep her sights set on productive things and not destroyin' things because she's had a bad day.
I wonder for a moment what her parents were like, when I realize I already know; I can picture it clear as day in my mind. Too busy to keep their kids in line and show 'em the love they crave. I picture Girly havin' a sibling or two, 'cause humans can't help but fuck like rabbits and pop out a bunch of kids.
Even now, she's spoiled, has a rose-tinted view of this fucked up world. I s'pose that's good in some cases, but she needs to learn real quick that it ain't always gonna be that way. I fight to stay alive. Puttin' in tags for slaves is just a perk to keep things interestin' for spectators. I can keep winnin' her if I want, when that time comes.
Twenty three. I have twenty three fights left to win, and I'll be a free fuckin' man. I squeeze her tight to my chest in my own excitement. The very thing I was convicted of is now the thing I do every time I step into that damned ring; kill. I stroke my beard with my free hand as those memories beat at me, always festerin' no matter how hard I push it down. Life's a bitch. I was robbed of my joy, and I took care of it. Didn't bother me none, the justice I doled out.
She shifts in my lap, snuggling further into me, her little head tucked up tight under my chin. I'll keep her safe, from herself, from the monsters of my world. I lean back with a growl. Haven't read through her files yet. Wonder if she remembers going through all those exams I hear so much about. Kinda hope she doesn't.
That damn Levi fucker, showin' up here. They know not to come on my property. He made a gamble and lived. Can't imagine givin' her up, just so some sick fuck will knock her up. She's just a kid—a grown ass woman, but a kid all the same. She don't know the harsh realities of my society.
A small whimper pulls my attention back to her round face. She's flawless, skin pale as moonbeams, brows thin and dark, eyes so blue they could be gemstones, and a body so curvy even my own hand has troubles cuppin' the swell of her ass or tits. Her little waist and thin arms and gaunt face tell me she's been hungry for a while, though.
She blinks those round baby blues open, the glow of the fire soft and golden on her face. She tenses, eyes jutting up to my face. There is a sense of resignation about her, but there is a new feel to her; urgency. I pride myself on being good at readin' people, and humans are about as open as a damn book. She has somethin' on her mind, somethin' important she wants to get back to. I ignore it for now; can't punish her for her thoughts.
"Gonna throw a temper tantrum and trash you dinner, girly?"
Her eyes round, and she shakes her head quickly, cheek rubbin' soft against my hard chest. Been a while since I felt the warmth of a woman. Kinda nice. I chuckle.
"Damn. My belt was itchin' for another go."
Her cheeks flame, and she fixes me with a glare.
"You can't treat me like an animal," she hisses.
"Oh?" I mock with a chuckle. Her bravado is short lived, though, when I clap my hand over her mouth and push her down until she's laying in my lap. She whines against me, twisting, but I push her face further into my crotch, straining to hear that noise again.
"Hush up," I hiss, giving her face a shake. I listen once more; nothing but a softer rain, droplets slipping off trees, rivulets draining into mud puddles from the gutters. And then, the footsteps.
A/N: So far, I think I'm team Brax. Sofia annoys me already, and I'm the one writing her! Thoughts??