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It feels like a lifetime ago that I was here, drawing a butterfly. That version of me seems so innocent. Would my father be ashamed of me? I hope not.

I am going to have to contact Father Montague once the snow has thawed and arrange to either collect my father’s ashes or have them sent to me here. I feel guilty that I haven’t been in touch already, and I hope my father isn’t angry for being abandoned at the church.

I’m surprised to find Levi already there, sitting on the bench, his face upturned to the sun slatting through patches of melted snow and glass. His eyes are shut, thick, black lashes resting on his cheeks, the angle of his face highlighting the cut line of his jaw and dark stubble just below the surface.

Things have gone back to normal between us since his accusations, and he has apologized countless times. I’m still freaked out by the idea of the hotel manifesting a ‘fake’ version of me with which to torment the men. Each time one of them looks at me strangely or says something I don’t quite understand, I wonder if they think I might be the fake version. None of them have said they’ve seen anything since the meat incident, and I haven’t seen any more dead women, either, but the possibility of it happening any moment is very present.

He must sense me standing there because his eyes ping open, and he looks directly at me.

“Great minds, huh?” he says with a smirk.

“I guess so. It feels like spring is on the way.”

But he shakes his head. “No, this weather is just lulling us into a false sense of security.”

“So, if we tried to hike to town now, it wouldn’t be a good idea?”

His tone grows hard. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. The weather can still change in an instant. If a storm came in while you were exposed, you wouldn’t last twenty-four hours.”

I hold up both hands. “Don’t panic, it’s not like I’m going to try. I was just curious.”

Besides, I have my cell phone now—not that I’ve mentioned it to Levi, and I’m guessing his father hasn’t either. If I needed to, could I walk somewhere I could get better service and make a call? I don’t know why my thoughts are leading me down this route. I don’t really want to escape this place or leave the men within its walls, but it still feels better to have a backup plan.

He gets to his feet and approaches me, then takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts my gaze to his.

“If you ever tried to leave, we would chase you and we would catch you.”

“Is that right? And what would you do then?”

“Do you really need me to answer that, Little Fox?” He jerks his chin. “What do you think we’d do to you?”

I like playing this game. “Fuck me. I think you’d fuck me.”

He leans in and brushes his lips across mine. “Maybe you should run, then?”

He drops his hold on me, and, with a squeal, I turn and run. Still, his words echo in my ears. What would they do if I tried to run? Would they come after me? Would they force me to stay here? What happens in the spring if I need to leave to collect my dad’s ashes? Would they let me go alone, or would they expect one of them to go with me? Have I given up my freedom in return for these men?

My feet pound down the hallways, Levi hot on my tail.

I’ve barely made any effort to get away. I’m not interested in the running; I just want to get to the filthy sex part. Sometimes I wonder what I did with all my time when I wasn’t having sex with these men, and then I remember, with a heavy heart, that I’d have been drawing.

Levi catches up with me and grabs me around the waist. Roughly, he swings me around and slams me against the wall, the air bursting from my lungs. Pain shudders down my spine.

“You’re not going to leave us, Little Fox,” he growls as he jams himself against me. “Not ever.”

I try to catch my breath and shove at his shoulders. He’d hurt me more than I’d been expecting, and not in a fun way.

“Levi, enough,” I manage to gasp.

His knee shoves between my thighs, his hand on my breast.

“You don’t get to say no,” he growls.

He kisses me hard, his lips bruising. His tongue pushes into my mouth, and I close my teeth, biting at the edge.

“Fuck.” He puts his hand to his mouth and pulls it away, his fingers dotted with blood. “You want to get rough, huh?”

“Just wait⁠—"