Chapter 36 CAUGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
SAMANTHA’S POV
An arm lay firmly around my waist, possessive even in sleep, pulling me closer like I belonged there. My breath hitched when I realized whose arm it was.
Kane.
My heart slammed so hard against my ribs it felt like it would give me away. Panic crawled up my throat, choking me. This was bad. This was very bad. It was not even the fact that I had been caught in his room, or that I had slept beside him. It was the way his body curved around mine, the way his chest rose against my back, the way it almost felt… normal.
I stiffened immediately.
What was going on.??
I was freaking. Literally.
I slowly lifted his arm off me, my movements careful, calculated. Every second felt like a countdown to my death. My mind raced through punishments, through screams, through blood. I was definitely going to get punished. There was no doubt about that. The only question was why now, after everything that had happened these past few days.
I needed to run.
No. Not here. Not in front of Micky.
The thought of her small eyes watching, of her innocent mind trying to make sense of her father’s cruelty, made my chest ache. She should never see that side of him. She should never know how vile and ruthless Kane could be.
Or maybe you are scared she will find out you lied to her about being her mother.
My heart skipped painfully. My mind betrayed me with that thought, sharp and cruel. I swallowed hard and pushed it away.
I took a step back.
Then another.
The mattress shifted and I stiffened
I turned just as Kane stirred, his eyes snapping open instantly like he had never truly been asleep. He scanned the room, alert, tense, then pushed himself up in one swift movement. His face tightened immediately as pain shot through him. I saw it. The brief wince. The stiffness in his body. His wounds were still fresh.
But pain was the least thing on his mind.
His gaze landed on me.
The look in his eyes stopped me cold.
It was not just anger. It was layered. Dark. Twisted with something that looked dangerously close to disappointment. Pain maybe. Or something worse that I could not name.
Before I could speak, before I could even think, he was on his feet.
In seconds, he crossed the space between us and grabbed my arm. Hard.
I gasped silently as he dragged me toward the door, his grip bruising my arm. Pain exploded up my arm, but I bit it back. I refused to let a sound escape my lips. Micky must not hear this. She must not feel that something was wrong.
He pulled me out of the room and across to the other mansion without a word. His steps were fast, angry, fueled by something violent. When we reached the parlor, he shoved me forward.
I crashed onto the couch painfully, my body jolting from the impact.
I barely had time to lift my head before his voice thundered through the room.
“What were you doing in my daughter’s room?”
Fear wrapped tightly around my throat.
“I… I thought… you… you were ill,” I stammered, my voice barely holding together.
He stared at me for one terrifying second.
Then something heavy landed near my face with a loud thud.
I flinched violently, instinctively dropping to my knees. My entire body shook as fear took over. My ears rang. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
I should have known.
I forgot my place.
I groaned softly, my head bowed low.
“I am sorry,” I whispered, tears spilling freely now. “She was concerned about her mother and I…”
“Stop.”
His voice sliced through mine.
“You are not her mother, Samantha,” he said coldly. “You are not Sally.”
Each word hit harder than the last.
“You are a mutate. A worthless sex object,” he continued, his voice rising. “How dare you touch my daughter. How dare you lay your filthy hands on her. How dare you try to place a picture that spells out we were a happy family.”
I sobbed openly now, my chest aching, my body trembling under his words.
“I thought…” I cried, my voice breaking. “These past few days I thought you felt…”
“Felt what?” he snapped. “Do not ever forget who you are.”
He stepped closer, towering over me.
“You might act like you are in a high position,” he continued, “but you mean nothing to me. You are worthless. Do not forget your place.”
I flinched with every word.
“I do not want my daughter having conflicted ideas about her mother,” he roared. “Stay away from her, Samantha. Stay away.”
His words shattered something inside me.
I cried deeply, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Was it because I forgot my place. Or because I allowed myself to believe he saw me differently. Or because the one good thing in my miserable life, Micky, was being taken away from me.
“You will die if you try it again,” he said coldly. “You really will.”
He turned away from me then, walking toward the door.
“Ahh.”
The sound stopped me.
I looked up through my tears just in time to see him stagger slightly. Blood had soaked through his shirt, dark and spreading. My heart clenched painfully.
“Are you okay?” I asked instinctively, scrambling to my feet as I rushed toward him.
He spun around and shoved me back hard.
I fell to the floor with a cry.
“Stay away from me,” he said angrily.
The finality in his voice crushed me.
I stayed where I was, broken, trembling, watching as he walked away angrily.