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Someone’s in here, trying to stay out of sight. I crawl in further and see platinum blonde hair sticking out of a hood. Naomi’s shivering, with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at me with her big brown eyes.

My insides tighten at the sight of her. Withered, skinny, broken, and the last fucking person I wanted to see here. I whip my head around to see if this is an ambush because why the fuck would Ezra leave Naomi like this?

The wind greets me, and the silence of the forest is the only menacing presence. No one jumps out. Nigel and Ezra don’t make some grand fucking entrance because no one else is here. I know this because I stalked the perimeter for an hour, making sure of it.

“Naomi,” I say with caution, barely recognizing the girl I grew up with. The girl I fucked recklessly in the bathroom, stealing her innocence before she was even of age.

I was a predator even then.

Without blinking, she breathes my name, her tear-stained face streaked with mud and her unwavering gaze fixed on me. “Is that really you?”

I drop my bone weapon to my side, a feeling of protectiveness resurfacing along with the guilt for how I treated her over the years and how quickly I dropped her when London gave me a sliver of hope I had a chance.

And now I stare at this girl who has suddenly become a wrinkle in my plans, sitting by herself and barely holding on to her life, knowing I can’t just walk away from her in her current state.

Fuck.

I have a decision to make.

Which girl am I going to save first? And why do I have a gut feeling I’m going to make the wrong decision?

Chapter Ten

London

“Ihate him. I hate him. I hate him,” I whisper to myself, over and over again, as the sun drifts across the sky and the day turns into night. If I say the words enough times, maybe it will become true. Maybe I’ll believe it.

I shift to my knees to give my wrist a break, but the weight of my body might as well be a ton of bricks with how sharp this wire is. My skin is raw as the edged restraint grazes the bones of my hand like a steak knife. The skin on the rest of my body is crawling, tingling, and burning, all the sensations blurring together.

I shiver as I have kicked off my blankets in foolish frustration, and despite how well-insulated the cabin is, it’s not immune to the Arctic freeze, even if it is spring. I’m not sure how much longer I can endure this.

Where are you, Micah?

I stare longingly outside, waiting for Micah to come back. He said he was going to come back by dusk. And after managing to sleep for a few fitful, nightmare-induced hours this afternoon, it’s now well past nightfall, the long shadows in the room causing my mind to play tricks on me. The buildup of worry inside me intensifies with each passing moment, like at any minute, my body might explode.

I have no choice but to put aside the throbbing pain and focus on what I can control, which is turning my mind off and numbing myself to the pain, like Micah taught me.

The problem is that I have to pee so badly that it stings, and I’m not sure what kind of robot I’d have to be to ignore that kind of discomfort. I clench my legs together in a desperate attempt to hold it until he comes back.

I refuse to piss myself or endure that kind of humiliation. He’d come back to his girlfriend lying in a puddle of her own piss. But worse? I’d be lying in it and smelling like it. I underestimated how kinky he was, but I doubt he’s into that. He would never look at me the same again.

I let out an audible chuckle… or maybe it’s more like a psychotic laugh. After everything he’s done to me—the manipulation, the control, the possessiveness—all I care about is whether he will fuck me again.

That is how good Micah Matei is.

As I sit pining over him, I twist and contemplate a dark thought…

What if he doesn’t come back?

The way the wire is positioned on my wrist, I could easily keep digging it into my skin and sever the vein until I bleed out. It would be a quick death and has to be better than this.

I blow out an icy breath.

He will come back; he promised he would.

A gust of wind sends a chill through the room, and the door shutters. Micah didn’t leave me with any heat or bother to light a fire, like the fucking gentleman he is.

I shiver, sweat, and cry, realizing that he isn’t coming back. Because he’d be here by now if he were—I can now only assume he’s dead.