Caged: An Alpha Protector Romance (Sample)

Chapter 1

Jenna

Waking up feels like emerging from water. I take a deep breath and stretch, rolling onto my side with my eyes still closed. The pillow smells strange, but I like it, the woody fragrance of men's cologne.

I bolt upright, eyes wide open. My bed doesn't smell like men's cologne, and the walls around me should be beige, not gray. My breath catches in my throat as I look around, not remembering how I got here.

The room is plain and impersonal, with an old wardrobe and the bed taking up most of the space. The wall clock tells me it's noon, but heavy curtains make it seem like evening. There's a nightstand to my right, where I find my purse and cell phone – what's left of it, anyway.

My hand flies to my chest as I look down at the long T-shirt I'm wearing. Panic surges through me, and I remember everything.

The angry men that assaulted me in the alley behind the club. Their greedy hands and hissing voices. The blinding pain that followed the fall. The tall figure that appeared behind their backs, a split moment before I passed out. The way one of them was dragged away like a puppy.

And I remember flashes after that. Strong arms carrying me up the stairs. A quiet voice telling me to lie still. Careful hands wiping blood off my face, calming me down as I wake up with a gasp and go right back to sleep.

I touch my forehead and wince. The bruise that didn't seem to be there a moment ago starts to throb the second I'm reminded about it. My fingers slide over a Band-Aid carefully as I get off the bed and walk over to the window. I'm on the third floor, for all the good this knowledge does me, and all I see is a red brick wall. With the air inside so stale and my head heavy from restless sleep, I crave a fresh breeze, but give up when the window creaks as I pull at it. I'm not ready to meet my savior yet, whoever he is.

There are men's clothes in the wardrobe, but not too many, so I know he doesn't really live here. The drawers are full of random things that I suspect have been here longer than he has, and that's it.

I look around the room one more time with a resigned sigh and feel utterly stupid when I notice another door in the corner, the same color as the wall. Good job, Sherlock, I mutter inwardly as I cross the room. I'm so sure that the door leads to a closet that I don't even think before grabbing the doorknob and swinging it open. Instead, I find a big, bright bathroom.

And there's a naked man in it.

My jaw goes slack, and seconds stretch out as I gape at the long, muscular back and legs. Tearing my eyes off of his butt, I follow the lines of the big tattoo that stretches from his lower back, up to his shoulders and down his right arm. He raises his eyes to the mirror, and our gazes lock. It's enough for what's left of my brain to come back to life and make me slam the door shut.

"I'm sorry!" I call through the door, cringing.

There's no reply.

Well, that's reassuring. I flop down on the bed and grab my purse, trying to get rid of the naked stranger in my head. The fact that I can't remember the last time I had sex isn't helping – my jackass boyfriend has completely given up on pretending like a decent human being, and I stopped paying attention to all the women he's been seen with. It was foolish to fall for Anthony in the first place, but back then, I believed I was following my heart to LA. I wanted to sing, and he gave me my dream. Who cares if my life with him turned out to be just an ugly arrangement? There are other good things in life, like friendship and the pleasure of seeing dozens of people fall silent at the sound of your voice.

I spill the contents of my purse on the bed and see that nothing's missing. The next thing I do brings instant regret.

My face is a mess. I peer at the compact mirror, wondering how big the cut is under the Band-Aid on my right eyebrow. The skin above it is purple and swollen, and there's a nasty scratch on my chin. My eyes are bloodshot, as if I've been drinking for days, and their usually bright green color looks muddy gray. On top of it all, my smeared makeup and tangled red hair make me look like a beat-up whore.

Great, I sigh inwardly, raking my fingers through my hair to smooth it down a little. There's a bandage on my knee, and I touch it hesitantly, wondering why it doesn't hurt at all. For the first time since I woke up, the tight knot in my stomach loosens up a little as I realize that the tattooed stranger is a friend. That the strange empty room and window with no view don't mean I'm in danger. Maybe he's one of Anthony's men, I speculate as I spot a bottle of water on the windowsill and reach for it.

"Eat," a deep voice sounds behind me, making me jump.

My eyes dart up, and I can't shake off the wide-eyed expression as I stand on my feet, staring at the tall man in front of me. He's wearing jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt that clings tightly to his muscular chest. While his shoulders are broad enough to block the doorway, his narrow hips and long legs keep him from looking bulky. Even with my five feet seven inches, I suddenly feel like a dwarf.

He crosses the room in two large steps and puts a steaming bowl on the nightstand, but all I can think about is how this gigantic creature managed to sneak up on me.

"Wait!" I call out as he walks out as quickly as he came in. His shadow lingers outside the door, and he takes one slow step back, stopping just outside the reach of light. "I-I need to talk to you!" I stammer in bewilderment. "Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer right away, his silence filling me with tension. Slowly, he ducks his head through the doorway, and the coldest gray eyes I've ever seen settle heavily onto me. His strongly molded features and hollow cheeks give him a rugged look, hardened by the heavy stubble and neck-long, dark hair that's swept upward in messy strands. His eyes pierce into me with menace, and I suddenly feel like hiding behind the curtain.

"Eat," he repeats slowly and steps back.

Paralyzed with fear, I can only stare as he closes the door. The lock clicks shut, making something snap inside me, and I sprint to the door and pull at the handle, even though I know it's pointless. Words won't come out as I open and close my mouth in shock.

Right there and then, I know it.

I'm going to die here.