Teddy's Caramel: An MC Shifter Romance

Being a bear-shifter has its downfall. I'm built like a mountain. Too big. Too much. The last time I let myself take a club bunny, she ended up in the hospital. Stitches. I stopped after that. Swore off women. Just watching my brothers claim and be claimed, patch in new members, build lives I told myself I didn't need. Told myself I was just waiting for my destined mate—one who could handle me. But years passed. Hope thinned. Until tonight. I found her in the forest. Curled at the base of a tree, sleeping alone in the dark. Her scent hit me before I saw her—soft, unmistakable, sinking under my skin like she'd always been there. Mine. My bear, Bane, didn't hesitate. Neither did I. She was drowning in oversized men's clothes. Bane growled at the thought of someone else's scent on her. Disapproval. Possession. Then I saw the motorcycle. Old. Beat-up. A Honda Nighthawk. My mate rides. Something shifted inside me. Respect. Intrigue. This was a woman who ran, who fought, who made it this far on her own. Bane circled her, careful not to wake her. Then he curled his massive body around hers—a wall of fur and muscle between her and the rest of the world. She sighed in her sleep. Relaxed into us. Like she already knew she was safe. I don't know her name yet. I don't know what she's running from. But I know this— She's mine. And whatever comes next, she won't face it alone. *** Arthur’s voice cracked through the mansion like a whip. “Carmen, get your lazy @s out here.” My stomach twisted. Sharp, immediate, instinctive. My body reacted before my mind. My fingers tightened around the thin blanket, breath stuttering as I stared at the cracked ceiling. He was angry. That wasn’t unusual. Arthur Nelson lived angrily, at least when it came to me. It was like he had poison in his veins. But this wasn’t quite irritation—his tone meant real danger. This was the kind that ended with blood. My blood. I swung my legs off the narrow bed, the mattress groaning beneath me. This tiny staff bedroom, once a maid’s room, was mine now. Arthur had made that very clear the day he moved me into it. The room held almost nothing: a twin bed, a three-drawer dresser with one crooked handle, and a cracked mirror above it that split my reflection whenever I looked. Sometimes I wondered which half was the real me. Was I the Carmen determined to escape this prison? Or was I the one who, slowly giving in to submission, hoped he’d eventually go too far so I would be freed from him and the pain? “Carmen!” His voice roared again, closer this time. I flinched. “I’m coming,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. I had learned not to speak loudly; now my voice was only ever just loud enough for myself. It was safer that way. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Arthur was waiting for me at the end of the hall. His face was red, jaw tight, his expensive suit jacket tossed over the arm of a nearby chair. Even from where I stood, I could see the vein pulsing in his temple. I lowered my head and walked toward him slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on the marble floor. “Finally decided to show your face?” His voice snapped like a whip. I stopped a few feet away. “You think you’re really smart, don’t you?” he said coldly. I stayed quiet. Head lowered. Eyes on my feet. Men like Arthur didn’t want answers. They only wanted submission. And I gave it to him, hoping maybe it would hurt less this time. The slap came without warning. My head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. I stumbled back a step. “I said,” Arthur snarled, “you think you’re smart, don’t you?” Another slap. Heat spread across my face instantly. Still, I remained silent. He pulled out his phone and shoved it toward my face. “Look at this, you fkn b1tch!” The headline filled the screen. ‘The Lost Heiress of McCready — Missing or Prisoner to Her Husband?’ My heart stopped. I barely had time to read anything before Arthur jerked the phone away, but I’d seen enough. The article questioned what happened after my parents died. It suggested Arthur dismantled the McCready company suspiciously fast and that he may have been behind it. No one had seen me in public for years. Some unnamed sources claimed something wasn’t right. That I might be trapped, or worse—Dead. There were no quotes or statements from me. Just whispers. Suspicions. Questions. But to Arthur, that was enough. His fist smashed into my face, and pain burst through my skull as I collapsed to the marble floor. “You stupid b!tch!” Another punch. “You think you can embarrass me like this?!” I tried to curl into myself, tried to shield my head, but Arthur’s boots slammed into my ribs. A crack echoed through my body. Loud. Or at least it seemed that way to me. I screamed. Air vanished from my lungs as agony ripped through my side. I tried to crawl away, just a few inches, just enough to breathe. But Arthur grabbed my ankle. His grip tightened like iron as he dragged me down the hallway, my nails scraping helplessly against the marble. Arthur Nelson. My millionaire husband. My father’s business partner, once. A man who’d stood in my father’s office with a polished smile, the kind people trusted. After a few bad deals and tightening markets, my father made the choice he believed would protect the company. He married me off. He negotiated the terms: no violence, no mistresses, no abuse. I was to be treated like a Queen by my husband, as I was always treated like a Princess by my father. Arthur had agreed. And for a short, naive while, I believed him. We all did. The beatings didn’t start until exactly one week after my parents died. The car accident was sudden. Violent. The kind of tragedy that makes headlines for a few days before the world moves on. But my world never moved on. At first, the violence started small. A slap, a few harsh words. Constant cold silence. Back then, I told myself it wasn’t bad. Now, ‘small’ feels laughable. No form of abuse should ever be considered small. But, compared to broken bones and swollen welts—the stitches and scars—I’d give anything for my day to end with something as “small” as a slap. Over the year following my parents’ death, Arthur stopped allowing me to leave. He controlled the finances. Somehow, he even managed to take control of my inheritance. I still don’t understand how he pulled it off. On top of that, he seized control of my family’s company. Then he dismantled it. Piece by piece. Brick by brick. Within a year, the McCready name was gone from the business world. Erased. And I was the last living McCready. The forgotten heiress. Most nights, I heard him laughing down the hall with whichever mistress currently held his attention, drinking wine like he owned the world. Meanwhile, I hid in my tiny bedroom, making sandwiches out of whatever scraps I could find. After my parents’ funeral, he’d moved me out of the master bedroom without so much as an explanation. I returned from the cemetery to find my things already boxed and this room waiting for me. A lock on the door. On the outside. If it weren’t for Nancy, the housekeeper, I would have starved. Every week, she secretly brought me bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Sometimes, she even slipped a few apples into the bag. She risked everything to do that for me, but things changed when Arthur brought home his newest woman. She didn’t like Nancy; she said the housekeeper made her uncomfortable. So Arthur fired her. Now I was alone. Every morning after that, Arthur’s doctor came by with a small white pill and told me to take it. I never learned what it was. I only knew what it did. It made me tired, foggy, weak, and compliant. Eventually, the world started to blur as pain burned through every inch of my body. My vision darkened at the edges, but I welcomed it. The darkness. The silence, creeping closer. Maybe this time I wouldn’t wake up. Tomorrow was supposed to be the one day I was allowed to leave the house. My parents’ anniversary. The third year since they’d left me here alone with this monster. I never missed that day. I wondered, distantly, if I’d get the chance to miss it now. Maybe this time I could finally be with my family again. Because even if it meant death, anywhere would be better than here with Arthur. Chapter 2 Consciousness returned slowly. If you’ve never been in a state where you’ve been hit by a bus multiple times and survived, then you wouldn’t understand the difference in consciousness. My eye fluttered open. But only one. The other refused to cooperate, swollen shut. Even slight movement sent throbbing pain through my cheek and temple. I saw one of my molars on the floor. I was almost jealous—it had escaped. Even discarded, it was freer than I was. I lay there in the dim light of the tiny staff room, staring at the strip of moonlight stretching across the floor. It had moved since the last time I'd seen it. Hours must have passed. Perhaps even days, but I was too disoriented to care. And that was when I heard it. At first, I thought it was something in my head. My ears were still ringing faintly from the beating. But then the sound came again. It was a woman’s voice. High. Breathy. Loud. Followed by Arthur’s unmistakable voice, and instantly, my stomach twisted. They weren’t even trying to hide it. The bedroom door upstairs must have been wide open because the sounds echoed through the mansion’s hallway like some grotesque performance. It was Germaine. She was Arthur’s newest live-in mistress. I had only seen her once before, when she arrived with him two weeks ago. Tall. Blonde. The kind of beauty that seemed sculpted specifically to draw attention. She had looked at me like I was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. And now, only two weeks later, while I lay here feeling like even death refused to accept me, her laughter drifted down through the house. It was dramatically loud. It was performative. Arthur answered with a low, satisfied chuckle and loud, drawn-out grunts. The bed upstairs creaked rhythmically. The headboard banged wildly against the wall. I closed my eyes, as humiliation and exhaustion rolled over me like a wave. This had become normal. Arthur parading women through the house. Arthur is enjoying them loudly enough that I can hear. At first, it had crushed me, but now it just felt empty. However, something about tonight was different. Arthur sounded relaxed. Carefree. Certain of himself. Maybe it was because he believed I was unconscious—maybe even dead. Then I noticed—no guards were in the hallway for the first time in years. Usually, two men were stationed near the main floor entrance at night. Arthur claimed it was security for the house. But I knew the truth. They were there to make sure I never left. Tonight the house was quiet. Too quiet. Normally, the guards chatted among themselves, but there was nothing. Arthur had grown careless because he thought I wasn’t waking up. A small flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in my chest. I dared to call it Hope. It was fragile. Maybe even dangerous, but it was there. I forced myself onto my elbows. The movement nearly made me black out again. My ribs screamed in protest, and the room spun violently. I waited and focused on controlling my micro-movements and breathing. I counted slowly until the dizziness passed, and then I tried again. This time, I managed to push myself into a sitting position against the wall. My vision swam as I looked down at my body. Bruises covered my arms. Dark purple blotches bloomed across my skin. My nightshirt was torn and stiff with dried blood. My eyes continued to take in the damage my loving husband left, and that was when I looked at my leg. It bent in a way that it shouldn’t. A wave of nausea surged through me. It was broken. It had to be. Why else would it bend like this? I squeezed my eyes shut and fought the urge to vomit. Upstairs, Germaine’s voice rose into another exaggerated moan. Arthur laughed. They sounded drunk and distracted. They weren’t paying attention to anything else in the world. If I was going to leave, this was my chance. I reached for the dresser beside the bed and slowly pulled myself up. I forced myself to stay upright as my panicked gaze drifted across the small room. What could I use to stabilize myself enough to get out of here? There was nothing. There was a bed, a dresser, and a cracked mirror. And then I saw it. In the corner, leaning against the wall, was an old broom. I was expected to keep my room cleaned at all times, and so I was given an old broom. The bristles were no longer straight, the handle gave you slivers, but it was still a tall stick. Something I could make use of. My heart started beating faster at the thought of what this might mean. Slowly, painfully, I hobbled across the room and grabbed the broom handle. The wooden stick felt rough beneath my fingers. I turned it upside down, placed the worn, coarse bristles under my arm, and tested my weight against it. It wasn’t perfect, but it held after I put a sock on the bottom to improve traction on the marble flooring. Another sound echoed from upstairs. It was Germaine’s laughter again. They still hadn’t noticed anything. Good. I shuffled toward the door. Each step felt like walking through broken glass. My broken leg trembled violently every time it brushed the floor, forcing me to lean heavily on the broom. It was lucky that I was so malnourished; I weighed next to nothing at this point, but that also meant I had zero muscle strength. The hallway stretched endlessly before me when I opened the door. I had not walked freely through this hallway in nearly three years. My heart pounded in my ears, and I began moving again. The broom scraped faintly against the marble floor as I moved toward the front entrance of the house. Every few seconds, I paused, listening for footsteps. But the only sounds were still coming from upstairs. Arthur and Germaine were too busy with each other to notice anything else. Too confident that he had broken me completely, that I wouldn’t dare try to escape. When I reached the front doorway, my strength began to fade. My arms trembled from supporting my weight, and the broom slipped slightly in my grip. I nearly collapsed again. But the front door was right there. It was just a few more feet. I couldn’t give up. That’s what Arthur wanted. I dragged myself across the marble floor and reached up, pulling the door open. Cold night air rushed over me. For a moment, I simply stood there breathing it in. Fresh air. Real air. The smell of grass and earth filled my lungs. I hadn’t felt that in so long. Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t stop now. The estate grounds were large because Arthur liked privacy. Which also meant the gates were far from the house—Much farther than I remembered. The gravel path cut across the yard like a silver ribbon under the moonlight. I stepped onto it. Pain exploded through my leg again. But I kept moving. Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Eventually, the broom was no longer enough. My leg refused to hold any weight. So I dropped to my knees. The gravel tore into my skin as I began crawling. Each movement sent fresh agony through my ribs and leg. But the gates were closer now. I could see them; it was just right there. I just needed to keep pushing. The iron bars looked enormous from where I lay in the driveway. I forced myself forward again. Crawling and dragging my body as if it were dead weight, I refused to leave it behind. And technically, it was dead weight. But even with the struggle, I still refused to give up. My breathing became ragged, each breath a dragged-out gasp. But it was all worth it, because I finally reached the gate. The main gate was locked, but, as if something were watching over me tonight, I found the side gate unlocked. It was clear that Arthur never expected me to make it this far. With shaking hands, I pushed it open and dragged myself through. The road stretched ahead of me, empty and silent. My body had nothing left. I crawled a few feet onto the asphalt as darkness edged in. Fading fast, I kept trying. The cold pavement pressed against my cheek as I collapsed in the middle of the road, and I thought maybe that was it. Maybe I had made it this far only to die here. This could still be considered free, right? This didn’t mean I failed to escape? But then—Headlights appeared in the distance. A large vehicle approached slowly down the road. It was an RV, and I could sense that it had slowed at the sight of me crumpled on the road. The engine cut off, and voices filled the air. “Oh my Goddess—” “Is she alive?” Chapter 3 Footsteps rushed toward me. Hands gently turned me onto my back. The sudden movement sent pain tearing through my body again. I groaned weakly, trying not to scream out and risk Arthur hearing me. “She’s breathing,” a man said. “She needs a hospital,” a woman replied urgently. At her words, panic surged through me. Hospital. Police. Arthur. With the last ounce of strength I had left, I grabbed the woman’s sleeve. My fingers barely held on; I was too weak to assert anything, much less strength, even in a desperate plea. “Please—” I rasped. My voice sounded like broken glass. “Don’t—hospital—” I felt them both freeze at my plea. “Don’t tell him I—escaped,” I whispered. Fear burned through my chest. “If he finds me—he’ll kill me.” Through the flutter slit of my one eye, I saw the woman’s eyes widen. She looked at the man beside her. Before they could speak, my vision blurred again. Then the darkness returned. *** For the first time in years, I felt nothing. It was uncanny—almost serene. I wanted to remain adrift in this tranquility forever. I drifted through the emptiness like a loose feather carried on invisible wind. I didn’t know where I was, or even if I was truly alive anymore. Part of me wondered if this was what dying felt like. If so, it was far gentler than I expected. A soft mist began to form in the darkness ahead of me. Shapes slowly emerged from the void, blurry at first, then slowly sharpening into something recognizable. I was in a forest. Tall pine trees stretched endlessly toward a pale sky. The air looked cold and clean, the ground dusted with snow that glowed faintly in soft moonlight. It had the kind of quiet that belongs to untouched wilderness. Then I saw it. At the edge of the trees stood a massive grizzly bear. The creature was enormous. Larger than any bear I’d seen in pictures or documentaries. Its dense brown fur rippled in the chill, powerful shoulders rolling with deliberate grace. Every instinct should have screamed danger, but I was rooted—not with fear, but fascination. The bear turned its massive head toward me, and our eyes met. Even from the distance between us, I could see them clearly. Green. Deep green. The same green as pine needles lit by sunlight. The bear watched me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. It took a slow step forward. The ground seemed to tremble slightly beneath its massive paws, yet I couldn’t move. I floated there like a silent observer, completely powerless to look away. And then something impossible happened. The bear stopped. Its form shimmered faintly in the pale light. The thick fur began to ripple strangely, shifting like waves moving through water. The enormous body twisted and folded in on itself as though reality itself was bending around it. I watched in stunned silence as the massive grizzly bear began to change. The towering animal shrank. Its shape narrowed, and the bear's limbs stretched in an impossible way. I watched as the bear's pelt melted away, revealing bare skin. Within moments, the beast was gone, and in its place stood a man. He was massive. Perhaps as big as the bear itself was. The man now standing there wasn’t just tall, but built in a way that made him seem almost unreal. Broad shoulders stretched beneath a worn dark leather vest. His arms looked strong enough to break stone. He looked wild. Untamed. His dark beard was unkempt, grazing his chest as if he couldn’t be bothered to trim it. But it was his eyes that held me captive. The same green eyes. They were unnaturally bright, radiating a keen, penetrating awareness. Predator's eyes—yet, oddly, he didn't frighten me. With a sharp snap in my direction, his eyes locked onto mine with the exact same intensity the bear had moments ago. My heart fluttered strangely in my chest. I had spent my entire life surrounded by men in expensive suits. Men like my father. Men like Arthur. Smooth smiles. Perfect hair. Polished shoes. Everything about them was meticulously groomed to radiate wealth and control. Image and status ruled. But this man was nothing like them; he was unpolished. Genuine. He looked dangerous. The kind of danger that didn’t lurk behind money or deals. It was the kind that thrived in muscle and raw instinct. The kind that survived in the wild. And yet—against all logic, something about him made my chest ache with an emotion I hadn’t felt in a year, conflicting sharply with the wariness lingering from my past.s. Safety. It made no sense; the safety I felt warred with my ingrained distrust, leaving me unsure which emotion to believe. A whisper drifted through the air. “Trust.” The voice was soft. But it wasn’t the man before me speaking. It was a hidden woman, voice soft as a breeze across my skin. I startled slightly, trying to look around, but I couldn’t move. My eyes remained locked with the man’s. He hadn’t spoken yet. His lips never moved. Yet somehow the word echoed through the space between us again. “Trust.” My chest tightened at the thought. Trust. The word pressed on me—foreign, weighty, fractured. I hadn’t trusted anyone in years—Not since Arthur. Arthur had taken what I once gave freely and shattered it. If Arthur, with his lean frame and tailored suits, could wound me, what might a man in denim and leather, with mountain-sized muscles, do if I let him close? This stranger with steel-hard muscles and eyes that pierced my soul? No, I couldn't let anyone close again. It was too great a risk. The thought made my throat tighten. “I can’t,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if any sound came out. Trusting again felt impossible. The man didn’t step closer, nor did he try to reach for me. He simply watched patiently, like he understood the battle happening inside my mind. The female voice whispered once more. “Trust.” But before I could search for where it came from, the world began fading again. The forest blurred. The snow dissolved into darkness. The man’s green eyes were the last thing I saw before everything disappeared. Then voices replaced the silence. Real voices. Louder than the whispering woman. Close, but still muffled. It was a man and a woman. At first, I couldn’t tell if I was still dreaming. Everything sounded distant, as if I were underwater. “Her leg is definitely broken,” the man said quietly. “That’s not the only thing,” the woman replied softly. Her voice sounded concerned. Sad even. “I’ve never seen injuries like this outside of a trauma ward.” The woman added. My mind struggled to focus. The RV. The couple. They found me. “She’s covered in scars,” the woman continued. “I mean everywhere. Old welts, healed fractures—Frank, this isn’t new abuse for her. She’s endured a lot.” My chest tightened faintly. Of course, it wasn’t new; Arthur made sure of that. I wore a new mark of his wrath nearly every day. The man let out a low growl of frustration. “What the h*ll kind of monster does this to someone?” Silence filled the small space for a moment before the woman spoke again, her voice quieter. “She begged us not to take her to the hospital.” “I know,” the man replied. “But she needs one, Frank. I can stabilize her injuries for now,” the woman said slowly. “I’ve set the leg as best as I can, but we need proper X-rays. Internal bleeding is still a possibility, and her ribs—I’m worried about punctured lungs. Her breathing doesn’t sound right. We need to know the extent of her injuries.” I felt something brush lightly against my arm. Hands. Careful, tender hands, probably cleaning wounds. Bandaging. I could tell you the last time someone touched me tenderly, and it was Nancy, three days before she was removed from the manor, and I never saw her again. My body still felt distant, floating somewhere between pain and numbness. “We need to stop somewhere neutral,” the woman continued. “Somewhere with connections. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.” The man sighed heavily. “You really think it’s that bad?” The woman didn’t hesitate. “If tonight’s injuries are any indication, then I can confidently state that she’s most likely been abused for years.” Her words hung heavily in the air. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Inside the darkness of my drifting mind, my thoughts slowly returned to the forest. To the massive grizzly bear. To the man who had stepped out of its form. Those green eyes. They had felt so real. So vivid. I had never seen or met a man like him before, yet something about him lingered in my mind, like a memory rather than a dream. I found myself wishing for something strange. I wished I had met him first. Before Arthur. Before I became a prisoner in my own home. Before the years of broken bones and silent suffering. If a man like that had found me first—Would things have been different? The thought faded slowly as the voices near me continued discussing plans. Their words drifted in and out of my awareness, but even as I floated somewhere between sleep and consciousness… Those green eyes remained burned into my memory. Watching me. Patiently waiting. And somewhere deep inside my heart—a fragile spark of hope flickered for the very first time in a year, quietly shifting the balance of all I had learned to expect from the world. Chapter 4 I became aware of warmth first. There was soft fabric beneath me. The faint hum of something mechanical and beeping nearby. My eyelid fluttered open slowly. The room I saw was small but comfortable. Sunlight filtered through a narrow window beside me, painting the walls in soft golden streaks. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, coffee, and something warm and familiar, like laundry detergent. Not the sterile cold scent of a hospital, that gave me a sense of relief, loosening the knot of concern in my chest. I shifted slightly. The movement sent a wave of aches through my body, but something was different now. I was being supported. I felt stabilized—a warmth I’d never known before. Before, when my parents left me to fend off a monster alone, I’d only felt cold terror. My gaze slowly drifted downward, and I saw that my right leg was elevated on pillows. It was encased in a white cast from the knee to my foot. My breath caught, realizing that it really had been broken. I would never have received medical attention for this break at the manor with Arthur, which means it would never have healed right, and if I didn’t escape as I did, I would have had a limp for the rest of my miserable life. Maybe that was what he wanted. To make sure I could never walk, so I could never leave. ‘Well, guess what, jerk! We would crawl through fire to be free.’ I looked around, alarmed. I was alone. But that felt like a stranger's voice echoing within me. Pushing it aside, I inspected Arthur's latest damage. It felt surreal to have this quiet moment in a plush bed; normally, I would wake up crumpled on the floor where he had left me. There was thick gauze wrapped around my ribs beneath the loose shirt someone had dressed me in. My arm rested in a sling across my chest, the shoulder stiff and tender every time I shifted. I noticed that more gauze peeked out from beneath the sleeves and neckline. Bandages covered cuts I didn’t even remember getting. Honestly, I felt like someone who had crawled their way out of a war zone. And maybe that was because, in so many ways, I did. A quiet movement across the room pulled my attention away from my injuries. Two figures walked into the room through the door not far from the bed, and the woman was the first to notice my eyes open. Her face brightened immediately. “Oh,” she breathed softly, standing up quickly. “You’re finally awake. You had us scared there for a while.” Her voice was gentle and warm. She reminded me of Mum. Hard as nails when she needed to be, but if someone or something was injured, she was the sweetest, gentlest soul you’d ever find. I missed that tenderness. It took me a minute to register that this was the same voice I had heard drifting through the darkness while I floated in that strange dream. It was the woman from the RV, I think. The man beside her offered me a kind smile that almost felt unnatural on his naturally stern expression. He had a no-nonsense demeanour, and I liked it. Something about him felt familiar, though we’d never met. His presence felt similar to my father in an unusual way. My lips parted slightly to speak, but my throat felt dry and scratchy, like I hadn’t spoken in days. “Water?” the woman said softly before I could even try to ask. She moved quickly, pouring a glass and gently helping me sit up just enough to take a few careful sips. The water was cool and refreshing, easing the dryness in my throat. “Easy, sweetheart,” she murmured when I tried to move more. “You’ve been through a lot.” I leaned back against the pillows slowly. My body felt fragile, like glass that might crack if I moved too suddenly. The man stepped closer to the bed. His arms folded loosely across his chest, though his expression remained gentle. For a few seconds, none of us spoke. I studied them cautiously. They didn’t look like people who wanted something from me. Not like my father's business associates, or Arthur's when I was still allowed privileges in the beginning. They didn’t look like reporters sniffing around for a story. They were just normal people. Kind strangers. Finally, my voice came out, soft and hoarse. “W-where a-are we?” I stuttered out. I wasn’t comfortable speaking out; it felt strange not to feel safe to ask questions, but this is what three years of conditioning did to you. It shrinks you within yourself. The couple exchanged a glance. The man answered first. “Safe. We had a doctor friend, who has a small clinic, but don’t worry, no one knows you’re here.” I blinked slowly, trying to process that. “Safe?” I repeated faintly. The woman nodded. “We kept driving after we picked you up,” she explained gently. “You were in bad shape, and we didn’t want to risk anyone tracing you back right away. So we headed south while you were resting.” The man rubbed the back of his neck slightly before continuing. “We’re about three states over now.” Three states. My mind struggled to comprehend that distance. Suddenly, Arthur’s mansion—the terror, the tyranny—felt worlds away, as if possibilities had opened between the life I escaped and the trembling hope that maybe I might finally be free. ‘Safe.’ The calming voice inside my thoughts offered. I was so far away. Farther than he could easily reach. Farther than he would think to look, after all, I had no access to money or transportation. He had my legal identification locked away, my driver's license, my passport. All of it. He took it away and locked it up. Somewhere I will never reach. His office. Silence lingered in the room again. Then the questions piled up in my head, but I was afraid to ask anything more. I’d already spoken too much. The woman pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down carefully. “I’m Ellen,” she said softly. She gestured toward the man beside her. “And that’s my husband, Frank.” Frank gave me a small nod. “What’s your name, dear?” Chapter 5 The question hung in the air. It was such a simple question people ask in everyday conversation, but it weighed heavily on me. For a long moment, I didn’t answer. I didn’t really know how to. My name carried weight. My family’s identity and connections were still remembered. Everyone in the business world knew William McCready and Arthur Nelson. Giving my name meant danger. But they had rescued me. They’d cared for me deeply, even driving me across several states, never asking for anything in return. Because of that, I owed them honesty. “C-carmen,” I whispered. Ellen’s expression softened. “That’s a beautiful name.” Frank shifted slightly, his voice calm but serious. “Carmen, we need to ask you some things.” My fingers clenched the blanket as fear tightened in my stomach. I knew they would want answers, but part of me hoped they would forget. I don’t know. “Can you tell us a bit of what happened to you?” The question was gentle; it wasn’t accusing, nor was it forceful. They asked out of concern, but still, the answer felt overwhelming. Too big to explain in a single breath. My mind flashed with memories. Arthur’s fists. The locked door. Three years of isolation. The beatings. The humiliation. The broken bones that had never been properly treated. Ellen watched my face carefully. “You don’t have to tell us everything right now,” Ellen said quickly, concern sharpening her words as she saw my hesitation. “But we need to understand enough to know how to help you.” Frank nodded. "Because whoever did this to you—they’re dangerous," he said, his voice low. "And I suspect you were never meant to be on that road the other night. You weren’t meant to be found and saved." His jaw tight, Frank continued gravely, “And if they’re looking for you, we need to be prepared.” A shiver ran through me, snapping me from the momentary sense of security back into the chill of fear. There was no doubt in my mind that Arthur would be looking for me the moment he realized I was gone. “He will be looking for me. I don’t doubt that at all.” My voice trembled slightly. Ellen leaned forward slightly. “He?” My throat tightened. I had avoided saying his name for years, but hiding it now wouldn’t change anything. “My husband,” I whispered, my voice nearly inaudible. Frank’s expression darkened immediately. “Your husband did this?” I nodded faintly. Ellen’s hand lifted slowly to cover her mouth. “Oh my Goddess—” Frank’s eyes hardened. “How long?” The question made my stomach twist, and I stared at the blanket in my lap. “—It started about three years ago.” The room fell silent. Ellen inhaled sharply. “Three years?” Another small nod. Tears stung the corner of my eye, hovering there as control warred with the urge to break down. I felt a sharp vulnerability replacing numbness, but the tears didn’t fall. Not yet. Frank ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to control his anger. Frank ran a hand through his hair and asked carefully, his frustration evident, “And no one helped you?” I let out a faint, humourless breath. “One of the housekeepers would sneak me food or bandages once a week, but my husband’s latest live-in mistress must have seen, because she told my husband to get rid of Nancy, and he did. I never saw her again. He’s powerful, and no one goes against him.” Frank pressed gently, his voice encouraging, “What does that mean?” My voice felt hollow when I answered. “He owns people. He’s a powerful man. There is nowhere in this country that he won’t be able to find me at some point.” The weight of those words settled over the room. Ellen’s eyes filled with quiet sadness. “That explains the scars,” she murmured softly, her eyes reflecting deep empathy. Frank paced a step away before turning back. “What’s his name, Carmen?” My chest tightened again. Saying it out loud felt like inviting his shadow back into the room, like he was my version of Bloody Mary. Saying his name out loud could summon him here, and then I would never survive him again. But they needed to know what they were now involved in. “His name is Arthur Nelson.” Frank froze. There was instant recognition in his expression. He asked slowly, recognition dawning in his eyes, “You mean the Arthur Nelson from the magazine cover for Business Weekly?” I nodded weakly. Ellen and Frank exchanged a troubled look. Frank muttered under his breath, “That’s a big name.” Ellen reached out gently, resting her hand lightly over mine. “Carmen,” she said softly. “You’re safe here right now. You’re safe with us.” Her words were meant to offer comfort, but fear and doubt still lingered, swirling together deep inside my chest. For every reassuring moment, anxiety seemed to creep back in. Arthur had always found a way to get what he wanted. Always. Frank spoke again after a moment, changing the subject, which I appreciated. Frank explained, shifting the conversation, “Okay, let’s discuss your injuries now. We brought you to someone we trust to get those X-rays and set your leg properly. You’re lucky. It was a clean break.” Lucky. The word almost made me laugh. Ellen squeezed my hand slightly. Ellen squeezed my hand and asked gently, “But the other injuries—Carmen, some of these scars are years old. Broken bones that never healed right.” I looked away. I knew that. Last year, my arm was broken, but without treatment, I still felt the phantom pains when it rained or turned cold in the winter. It trembled if I carried too much weight on it. Arthur had been thorough. Every bruise. Every mark. Every reminder that I belonged to him. “You’ve been sleeping for nearly a week, to be honest. We arrived here three days ago, and you still hadn’t woken. We were starting to get concerned.” A week? My panic spiked. Arthur knew without a doubt that I was gone by now. That meant—he was already out there, hunting for me. Ellen must have sensed my flare of panic. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “No one will find you here. Our friend, Doctor Wilson, understands discretion. This isn’t the first time he’d help someone injured off the records.” I wanted to ask more questions, but stayed quiet. Frank’s voice softened slightly. “What we need to know now,” he said carefully, “is what you want to do.” The question surprised me. What did I want? I hadn’t been asked what I wanted in a very long time. My mind felt blank, caught in the gulf between an old life ruled by fear and the sudden, overwhelming possibility of a future. At the thought, my emotions shifted from uncertainty to a fragile hope, and then back to emptiness. I swallowed slowly. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never been able to think about the future when all I could focus on was shrinking myself to survive.” Ellen’s hand tightened gently around mine as she murmured, “That’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll help you with that, too.” Frank nodded. “You don’t have to figure it out today.” Outside the window, the sunlight shifted slightly as the afternoon moved forward. For the first time in years, I wasn’t locked in a room. I wasn’t waiting for Arthur’s footsteps in the hallway. The guards weren’t laughing and making crude jokes about me in the halls while they stood guard. The staff weren’t scurrying around pretending not to see the abuse and cruelty. And somewhere deep in my mind, those haunting green eyes flickered through my memory. Watching me. Waiting. Patient. The memory of the Grizzly man watching me from the lush forest warmed something fragile inside my chest. It gave me a spark of something, telling me that maybe my life wasn’t over after all. It was just beginning. Chapter 6 CARMEN POV The clinic room was small, but it felt safe. That was the first word that came to mind as I sat propped up on the narrow hospital bed that was oddly the same size as my bed in the manor. This bed, however, had an extra blanket, a luxury I lost three years ago. The walls were a soft, faded cream, lined with shelves of neatly organized supplies. A small window let in the waning daylight, and somewhere down the hall I could hear the faint clatter of equipment and quiet voices. It wasn’t cold and sterile like a hospital. It felt lived in, maintained with compassion and pride, both things you rarely seem to find at General hospitals nowadays. Not that I’ve been in one for years, but when my parents were still alive and well, I always felt unwelcome in hospitals. I feel like many people do. Which is unfortunate, but it is the reality of today's society. Frank and Ellen sat nearby, their chairs pulled close as if they didn’t want to leave me alone even for a moment. It was nice to be cared for. I didn't want to scare them away with my unloading of baggage, so I kept many things to myself for now, despite them asking me questions about my life before we met on that darkened road a week ago. Frank leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You know,” he said with a quiet chuckle, “they say that retirement is supposed to be peaceful, and here I am, picking up strays off the side of the road. Literally.” Ellen rolled her eyes fondly and batted his arm playfully, her smile making it clear this was a familiar exchange. "You say that like you didn’t spend thirty years chasing chaos with a big grin on your d@mn face," she replied, the affection obvious in her tone. Frank met her gaze, smirked, and shot her a wink. "That was different. That was structured chaos," he teased, clearly baiting her for a reaction. I found myself watching them, something soft stirring in my chest. They spoke easily with each other. There was comfortably between them. They had the kind of connection that only came from years of shared life. After a moment observing them, I cleared my throat. "So, you mentioned that you were in the military?" I asked quietly, my voice still a little rough. Frank nodded. I watched as his chest puffed with pride. “Indeed. It is a great honour to serve our King, and I did it proudly as a ranked officer within the Royal Military for most of my life,” he said. “But that was a long time ago now.” Ellen smiled faintly. He won’t admit it, but he misses it. Men of structured chaos rarely take retirement well. It’s too quiet for them. That’s why we decided to sell our home and buy an RV. Frank huffed. “Whoa, wait just a minute. I don’t miss the freezing mornings and terrible food, or the loss of comrades that I was close to. I also don’t miss the time I lost with my family, but I do miss the cause. The sense of purpose every day.” I shifted slightly on the bed, wincing as my ribs protested the movement. Ellen noticed immediately. “Careful, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You’ve got more broken than just that leg.” I let out a small breath. “Yup, it definitely feels like it.” For a moment, silence settled between us again. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just—quiet. Ellen leaned back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful. “I worked as a nurse,” she said. “Small hometown clinic. Nothing fancy like this, but enough to keep people patched together.” "You make it sound simple," Frank muttered, giving Ellen a sidelong smile. Ellen smiled faintly. “It wasn’t always. But it mattered to the people within my community.” I watched her carefully. There was something steady about her. Grounded. Like she had seen a lot in her life, but hadn’t let it harden her. Before I could say anything else, the door opened. All three of us turned. An older man stepped into the room, dressed in a white coat. His hair was gray, his posture slightly stooped, but his eyes were sharp and alert. But there was also warmth and kindness in them. He offered a small smile as he stepped inside. “Well,” he said warmly, “I see our patient is finally awake and talking.” Ellen stood slightly. “Danny, this is Carmen.” He nodded as he looked over what I presumed was my chart as Ellen spoke. He lifted his gaze and shifted it to me. “Hello, Carmen. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, conscious. I am Doctor Daniel Flint, but you can call me Doctor Dan, most do around here.” I nodded faintly. He wasn’t at all like the doctor that Arthur had made house calls to my room every morning. He didn’t make my skin crawl with an unease I didn’t understand like the other doctor, either. He stepped closer, pulling a stool over and sitting near the bed. “I must admit, we almost lost you at one point,” he said. “I’ve been helping patch you back together, checking your vitals, and until today, nothing changed.” His tone was light, but there was something careful beneath it. “How are you feeling, Carmen?” he asked. I hesitated. There were too many answers to that question. How much paper does the guy have for the notes? So I settled on the simplest one. “Sore.” A faint smile touched his lips. “To be honest, I’d be concerned if you weren’t.” He reached gently for my wrist, checking my pulse. His touch was careful and non-threatening, but still, my body tensed slightly. He seemed to notice. I’m pretty sure they all noticed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Carmen,” he said quietly. There was something in his tone that somehow made it easier for me to breathe. I gave a small nod. He released my wrist and leaned back slightly. “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he continued. “Make sure we’re not missing anything important. Would that be okay, Carmen?” I nodded again. His expression grew more serious. “Alright, I am just going to jump right into it, then. You let me know when you’ve had enough for the day. Okay?” Again, I nod in understanding, but look to Ellen for reassurance. She offers me a supportive smile, and her eyes warm when they meet mine. I felt safe again just because of that small gesture from her. “Good, so some of your injuries—” he began carefully, “suggest that there has been prolonged trauma without proper medical attention. Is this assumption correct?” I swallowed with an audible gulp, but didn’t withdraw. “T-that’s a-accurate.” I stuttered. He held my gaze for a moment before asking the question. “Do you want me to perform an examination for sexual assault?” ... What happens next? Open the app and find out. 👉 (You'll be redirected to the book upon opening.) www.brgbook.com