My Little Pup

Chapter 15

"Wake up, pup. We're home."

I uncurl from my balled-up position and slowly open my groggy eyes. The warehouse stands before us, illuminated by the searchlights on the perimeter fence. I turn to see a pair of headlights pull in behind us. It must be Simon and Dwight.

I squeeze my eyes shut and utter a silent prayer before reopening them, as if doing so would change what I saw, that what has transpired is only a nightmare that will all be over once I open my eyes again.

The same worn building fills my line of sight yet again. The nightmare is my reality.

Negan jumps out and places Lucille in his belt loop before coming around to the passenger door to retrieve me. I'm unable to unbuckle or exit the vehicle on my own, due to my wrists still being tightly bound behind my back.

He reaches across my petite body and unhooks the seat belt. His hand faintly trailing over my breast as he retracts the belt from across me. I flinch, watching him find any excuse to cop a feel.

"What? I'm just lending a hand." He responds to my warning look before guiding me out of the truck.

Negan utters a few parting remarks to Simon and Dwight before ushering me into the Sanctuary. He is careful to keep a steadied grip on my forearm when climbing the stairs to his domain, helping me in maintaining my balance. The hold is momentarily released long enough for him to unlock the apartment door.

I'm caught off guard when he doesn't grab me again, but instead, bends down and effortlessly hauls me into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Last time I checked, it was customary for the new wife to be carried over the threshold," he grins. Practically bouncing in delight as he carries me into the apartment.

I try to lean away from the embrace but Negan only pulls me closer, plastering me against the cool leather of his jacket.

Its intriguing how I tend to end up in his arms after a paramount event in our 'relationship.' First, it was after the introduction with Lucille, then after the ironing, and finally, after his proposal of sorts. Each instance marked a time when my eyes were opened, in a way, to another dimension of Negan. What could that mean for this instance?

I'm relieved to be on my feet and out of his arms once we reach the lounge area of his bedroom. I sit in the farthest seat possible as Negan quickly fetches the first aid kit from his dresser drawer. It had previously been kept in the hallway linen closet but was quickly relocated to the bedroom after my frequent 'injuries'.

Negan unsheathes his knife and slides the serrated edge against the restraints, severing them in two.

He raises a questioning eyebrow as he gently inspects the open wounds. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall you being handled rough enough to cause these hellacious gashes. Was someone pulling at their restraints?"

"Maybe a little…."

"A little my ass! You practically embedded the damn things into your wrists.  You need to work on that anger of yours, pup," Negan chastises, shaking his head in displeasure.

My instinct is to fire back at him that me pulling against the zip-ties were, in fact, an example of controlling my anger. The self-infliction of pain was the only thing that could block out my rising aggravation towards Negan on our ride back. If it weren't for that, I have no doubt that I would've mouthed off to a degree that would've resulted in a severe reprimand from Negan.