Oh, God.
Again, the realization that I have no underwear on hits me. I didn't wear any because... well, there's exactly one reason I meet Legion Kane at the Silo. And it's so he can claim me completely,desperately, anyway he wants. My eyes squeeze shut, heart racing as forbidden memories surface of his rough hands, his hungry mouth, his?—
Marcus's fingers trace clinical patterns on my bare skin. Goosebumps rise in pure revulsion. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. To kick until bones break. To bite until I taste blood.
But I remain perfectly still. Motionless as a photograph in Eleanor's portfolio.
He's touching places Legion just—No. Lock that memory away. Don't let him taint it. Keep it sacred. Keep it yours alone.
"It's all right," Marcus says. "He defiled you, I totally understand your revulsion. But I took care of that."
"Took care of what?" I blurt. My heart is breaking. Have they killed Legion? "Where is Cash? Where are my brothers?"
"They helped me, Savannah."
"Helped you do what?"
"Clean you. Bring you up here so you could rest."
"Clean…cleanme? What the hell does that mean?"
"I washed you, darling. I washed away all traces of him. Inside and out."
Oh, god. I actually turn my head to the side and almost puke. He was touching my body while I was unconscious. Hecleanedme!
I've never felt so utterly exposed. So deeply violated. Never, in my entire life.
Marcus either doesn't notice my visceral reaction or simply doesn't care. He withdraws his hand and turns to study the photos he's meticulously arranged on every wall like some twisted gallery.
My entire life displayed like art.
Me at six, clutching a blue show ribbon with gap-toothed pride.
Me at twelve, weaving wildflowers into delicate crowns with sun-browned fingers.
Me at sixteen, caught in a rare moment of genuine laughter, bathed in golden prairie light.
He moves between them like a possessive curator, adjusting frames with precise fingers, wiping away invisible dust with reverent care.
What kind of sick set up is this? Why are all these pictures of me on the walls? They do not belong here. This is a hunting cabin. No one comes up here.
Which makes it the perfect place for a kidnapping.
He must be lying about Cash and Wyatt helping. He has to be. And there is no way—no fucking way in hell—that Colt would have anything to do with this.
Where is Colt?
Where is Legion?
I might never know the answers to these questions if I don’t get out of here. Who can tell how crazy Marcus is right now? He put a fucking tube up inside me to collect my urine so he doesn’t have to let me out of bed!
I pull against the restraints, testing. "I will never be with you again, Marcus."
His smile doesn't falter. Just shifts—a careful rearrangement, like adjusting a tie before stepping onto a stage. "You're confused, Savannah. That's perfectly natural after trauma."
"The only trauma here is being tied to a bed by you."
He leans forward, fingertips pressed together like a therapist I never asked for. "Your mother warned me this might happen. That if he ever got to you again?—"
