“Oliver!” I shouted toward the ceiling, knowing the bedroom and main room were wired. “I don’t mind you watching mostthings, but a man needs privacy when he shits. Keep your fucking cameras out of the bathroom.”
I crushed the device in my fist, letting the pieces fall onto the coffee table where the other cameras could see them.
I heard footsteps outside almost immediately. One of Oliver’s men, checking on the disturbance. I met him at the cabin door.
“Problem?” It was Bishop, Oliver’s personal security. He’d been around with us all day.
“Yeah, there’s a problem.” I showed him the destroyed camera pieces. “I don’t perform bathroom functions for an audience. Oliver wants to watch me sleep, fuck, whatever—fine. But bathroom’s off-limits.”
Bishop’s expression didn’t change. “Mr. Oliver likes to ensure security.”
“And I like to take a dump in peace. Tell Oliver if he has a problem with that, he can discuss it with me tomorrow. Otherwise, keep the cameras out of the bathroom, or I’ll rip out every one I find.”
Bishop pocketed the destroyed camera pieces. “I’ll relay your message.”
After he left, I caught Mia’s eye and nodded toward the bathroom. “Need to wash up before bed.”
In the bathroom, I closed the door and pulled out the RF detector I’d grabbed from my bag—the same one I’d used in the truck. I swept it carefully across the walls, ceiling, fixtures. Nothing. The bathroom was clean now.
But the detector picked up something else—a steady pulse that made the device light up like Christmas. Signal jammers. The whole compound was blanketed in electronic interference, strong enough to kill any cell phone, satellite phone, or emergency beacon. My lifeline to Warrior Security and the task force was completely severed.
I moved the detector toward the small window facing the perimeter. The jamming signal weakened slightly—not much, but maybe enough. If I could get closer to that tree line, maybe find the right spot where the jammers had a dead zone, I might be able to get a burst transmission through. It was a long shot, but it was something.
For now, though, we were completely cut off. No backup. No extraction. No way to call for help.
I turned on the shower, letting the water create white noise, then motioned Mia closer.
“This is the only place we can talk freely,” I said quietly, voice barely above the sound of running water. “But we still need to be careful. Too many private conversations in here will raise suspicions.”
“Can’t we get rid of the cameras? At least in the bedroom?” she whispered.
“No. That would be too suspicious. Oliver expects a certain amount of paranoia, but destroying all his surveillance would tell him we have something to hide.” I checked the door was locked. “We play along, stay in character out there. Every word, every action assumes an audience.”
“So we’re just…on display?”
“Until I figure out how to get you out of here, yes.” I met her eyes, hating myself for what I had to say next. “And tonight… Oliver’s watching. He heard me tell Bishop he could watch me fuck. If we just go to sleep, if nothing happens between us on our first night here…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. The implications threatened us like a loaded weapon.
Her face went pale. “You’re saying we have to…”
“Make it look real. At least.” The words tasted like poison. Every protective instinct I’d ever had toward her screamed against it, but the tactical part of my brain knew the truth—Oliver would be watching tonight, waiting to see if I was who I claimed to be. A man who’d claimed a woman wouldn’t spend his first night with her just sleeping. “We can fake most of it. Under the covers. But the cameras need to see enough to sell it.”
“God.” She closed her eyes, leaning against the bathroom wall.
“I’m sorry.” The apology felt pathetically inadequate. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mia. But if Oliver thinks this is anything other than what I’ve said—if he suspects you mean anything more to me than just entertainment?—”
“He’ll use me against you. Or worse.” She opened her eyes, and I saw steel there alongside the fear. “I understand.”
I wanted to punch through the wall. Six years ago, I’d left to protect her from the darkness in me, and now, I was dragging her straight into hell, asking her to perform depravity for an audience of monsters.
“You need to…” I forced the words out, each one scraping like broken glass. “You need to come out without clothes. Make it look like we just showered together. Like this is normal for us.”
Her knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the sink. Something shifted in her expression—fear giving way to something else. Determination maybe. Or resignation.
“Okay.” The word came out steady, stronger than I expected. “We perform for the cameras. We sell the lie.”
She reached for the buttons on her shirt.
