Page 3 of Nothing is Free

“You’ve always been a disappointment, Freeya. This is the only way I can ever see you making up for those shortcomings,” she said venomously, tossing me away from her. My mother’s words dripped from her lips like acid, burning into my skin and eating away at my already fragile sense of self. I hit the floor and crawled away until my back was against the foot of the bed.

“If you fail, then you are of no use to this family. If you are of no use to this family, then you don’t deserve to live with us. You don’t deserve the clothes on your back, the food we put into your belly, or the bed you sleep in. I will simply get rid of you.” She leaned forward, her sickly-sweet freesia scent made me queasy as she sneered down at me. “Besides, I at least have your younger sister, so you will hardly be missed,” she taunted before she turned, grabbed anotherdress she had been eyeing out of my closet and tossed it to me.

“Now get dressed, you useless, little bitch.” Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed on me as spit flew from her twisted lips.

Even after all this time my mother’s words still haunt me, making me doubt the worth of my existence. Seventeen-years-old, just a teenage girl, yet nothing in my life mattered to her other than my designation and what it would bring to our family. Her threats and barbed words were her own personal throwing knives, and I still bear the scars of each cut.

Shaking off the unwanted memory, I freeze as the sound of a door opening has my full attention. Yanking off the covers, I attempt to stand, refusing to be caught in a vulnerable position, but I am met with resistance by a cuff attached to my right ankle. Shit. This is really fucking happening. Leaning over I watch the chain I am connected to slide off the side of the bed, the links hitting the floor with a heavy thud, making me jump at the sound. I stare at the chain, following the links to where they are wrapped around the base of the bed and bolted to the wooden floor underneath. A whimper escapes my lips and my shoulders slump forward. I am in no shape to try to get myself out of this physically, the bolted chain is the proverbial nail in the coffin. I am screwed. I sigh and rotate my ankle; the metal cuff is snug but not tight enough to hurt me. At least there’s that.

I give the room a once over, lilac painted walls with white crown molding, long velvet lilac curtains cover the two windows behind the bed to keep out the morning light. To the left of the room another door is ajar, to what I can only assume is a restroom from the white tiled floor I can see. A white wooden desk with a purple wingback chair sits againstthe opposite wall with a bookshelf full of books. It’s airy and feminine, well decorated and cozy, a room that in normal circumstances I could see myself being comfortable in, if it hadn’t been my new prison. I fight the urge to yank the curtains back, almost certain I will find bars to solidify this hypothesis. I turn, suddenly desperate for a view of the outside, and move to draw one of the curtains back only to find the windows are fake.

“What the—” Frosted panels with light shining behind them to give the impression of early morning greet me. So, no real windows, definitely a prison. I wrap my arms around my waist, attempting to comfort myself but it only makes me aware of the clothes I am in, or lack thereof. My dress is gone, replaced by a tiny cream nighty that barely covers my ass. At least I got to keep my underwear. But on closer inspection, very unrecognizable underwear.Fuck,this man has stripped me of everything. I swallow past the lump in my throat at the thought of Damyn undressing me and redressing my unconscious body. I take a deep breath, trying to keep calm but I’m on the very edge of losing my shit. What does he want from me? Why now? I wonder as the man himself appears, pushing a cart through the door of the room.

The scar over his eye doesn’t detract from his handsome face. He is almost exactly how I remember him. Smooth brown skin, dark brown eyes that beg me to understand without him saying a word. Those lips, if I recall correctly, were soft and demanding against mine, now sit in a thin neutral line, giving nothing away. He seems taller and has definitely packed on more muscle over the years. His head is now shaved, and instead of an impeccably tailored suit, he’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans that leave nothing to the imagination as they cling to his body like a second skin. I drop my eyes when he catches me perusing his body, the lastthing I want is for him to get the wrong idea. Once upon a time my body came alive in his presence, but that ship sailed. The dream of the two of us died when I thought he had. I look at Damyn now and feel absolutely nothing.

“Hello, Butterfly.” He stops before me, then shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans almost shyly, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. I watch those brown eyes scan the room, assessing every detail, assessing me. As if I have somehow found a way to escape even though I am standing right here shackled before him. I almost roll my eyes and toss my arms up in frustration at the action. Sorry to disappoint you, Damyn, but a badass ‘I can get myself out of any situation’ kind of woman, I am not. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods in approval and gifts me with a once familiar smile.

“Do you like your room?” he asks with a hint of pride in his voice. “I designed it with you in mind. Purple, right?”

He winks knowingly before he takes his hands out of his pockets and begins to push the cart toward the bed. I want to scoff and tell the man he doesn’t know shit about me, that I hate this room, that I hate him. But I’m afraid, too much is at stake for me to pretend to be brave. I take a step back as he gets closer, keeping my arms wrapped tight around my waist. I used to know him, this man before me, but now I have no idea what he’s capable of or willing to do to keep me right here in this room. I want to scream, kick, and claw out his eyes, but without a clear picture of his intentions he could just as easily kill me. Is that his endgame? My death? The whole ‘if I can’t have you, no one will’ vibe is so cliché.

I think of my mates. My chest burns, the ache from being apart from them supersedes my fear and I refuse to speak. He doesn’t deserve my words. How dare he take me away from my mates, away from Omari? Oh God, Omari. I had so muchto tell him after the gala, to tell them all. Just the thought of my mates makes my knees threaten to lose their strength. I can feel their distress humming just below the surface, a constant reminder that I don’t belong here.

“From your lack of response, I am guessing that’s a no then,” he replies when I remain quiet.

I take another step back as he approaches the bed and parks the cart at the end. There is nowhere else for me to go so I sit, eyeing the cart cautiously, although the sudden smell of bacon makes my stomach growl.

Damyn lifts a brow at the sound and smirks. “Hungry? Is that why you’re not speaking to me?” he asks as he carefully folds back a white tablecloth to reveal several covered plates of food. I watch as he uncovers bacon and scrambled eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit, and yogurt. My mouth waters despite the wave of nausea I felt when I opened my eyes moments ago. I can’t remember the last thing I ate. I didn’t eat at the gala the night before because I was so busy making sure everything was perfect for Mercy’s big night. I look away from the food, attempting to blink away my tears at the thought of my bestie. By now I am sure they are all actively searching for me. I just want to go home. I can’t be here. I’m. . .I’m?—

“Freeya,” Damyn calls my name abruptly, ending my spiral at the tense sound of his voice. I look up but refuse to wipe away the tear that managed to escape down my cheek. His eyes immediately shift to the tear, tracking it until it falls to the bed. I won’t shy away from my emotions, I want him to see that this, whatever this is, is not what I want.

He picks up an empty plate off the cart and begins to scoop eggs and bacon onto it. Clearing a place at the end of the cart, he places the plate down then sighs. “You’reunhappy, I understand that. I accept it. But in time you will learn?—”

“Time? In time?” I ask incredulously, ending my forced silence. My throat feels scratchy from lack of use, but I force the words out regardless of my need for water. I let the words roll around on my tongue, leaving a foul taste in my mouth. Time? Time for what exactly. “Why am I here, Damyn?”

He closes his eyes at the sound of his name and takes a deep breath, as if he’s savoring it, like he just took a bite of something delicious. When he finally opens his eyes, the need, the want that I see in them makes me scoot further into the pillows on the bed. “I’ve waited years for you to say my name again, Butterfly, and it’s a sweet reward for my patience.” He reaches down and grips his cock with a groan. “Worth it.”

Too stunned to say anything else, I repeat my question. “Why am I here?”

He visibly tenses, shuttering his lust filled gaze, pursing his lips in annoyance. I watch the shift in his demeanor as he goes back to setting out what I can only guess is my breakfast. “Butterfly, I would rather you eat before we have this conversation,” he says as he crosses the room, picking up the wingback chair and carrying it back to the end of the cart.

“I’m not hung?—”

“You will eat!” he shouts as he slams the chair down, making me flinch. He takes a deep breath, places both his hands on the back of the seat. The white-knuckle grip is all the indication I need to know he is barely holding it together and I am poking an unpredictable bear.

“Please, I know you’re hungry. I will not starve you or take away your food. I don’t want to hurt you, Butterfly. I want to take care of you. I only ask you to do as you’re told,” he says softly. Damyn steps away from the chair and with asweeping gesture of this arm, invites me to sit again. “Please,” he says again. It’s not a plea or a demand, it feels more like resignation.

I stand and slowly walk to the end of the bed. The heavy chain drags behind me, the soundtrack of my new normal. Hopefully not for long, I think to myself as I sit in the chair and stare down at the food on the plate. I don’t want to think about what he will do if I keep resisting, so I give in to his request. For now. The thought of food now makes my stomach turn, my mouth waters once more; not from hunger but from the need to empty out the nonexistent contents of my gut.

I can feel the penetrating weight of his gaze on my back as he stands somewhere behind me. He doesn’t move or say a word until with two shaky hands I pick up the knife and fork to eat.

“Good girl,” he praises, humming in approval. Inwardly cringing, I force myself to keep the food down as I push it past my lips and swallow. Keeping my eyes down, I continue to shove food down my throat barely tasting anything until I hear him approach me again. I still, fork frozen in place as I feel the heat of his body against my back. I shudder as Damyn strokes my hair, his finger grazing my skin tenderly before his pushes my mess of a rats nest to one side of my neck.

“You asked why you’re here,” he says softly, his lips hovering against the shell of my ear, sending a sickening shiver down my spine. I don’t move, body locked tight as I wait for his next move.

“You’re here because for years, my little Butterfly, I watched you live your life without me. I stayed away from you when I shouldn’t have. I kept you and your Omega friend safe. I kept the prying eyes of your parents away from you,because you know as well as I do that they didn’t disown you. Not fully.”

I gasp as he steps away, walks slowly to the opposite side of the cart and lifts the rest of the white tablecloth off the table.

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