2. Lily
LILY
O hmygod ohmygod ohmygod.
I thought being snatched up in a wire snare was the absolute worst rotten cherry on top of a shitty cake of the last forty-eight hours of my life.
When rope bit into my calf and the pain went white-hot, until I thought my skin might peel open, I may have prayed for a quick death.
But apparently, that wasn’t the worst of it. There was more to come.
There was him .
The monster who charged out of the trees.
A giant.
Bare-chested, scarred, sweat-slicked muscle on top of muscle, a massive axe held like an extension of his arm.
He didn’t rush to help me. Didn’t even move at first. He just stared, silent, eyes dark as the mountain behind him.
And when he finally spoke—“ You’re trespassing ”—the sound vibrated down to every single bone in my body. A voice made for threats, for orders, for warnings you ignore at your own risk.
And now here I am.
Dragged like a sack of flour through the woods, over his shoulder as I kick and shout. I can’t pound my fists effectively because I’m still tangled in his rope like some poor animal.
His body feels carved out of stone. He doesn’t even grunt. Just keeps walking, each stride eating up the ground until we break out into a clearing and the cabin rises out of the shadows.
If I imagined a safe place out here, this wouldn’t be it. It’s the stuff straight out of a B-horror movie. Logs weathered gray, chimney smoking and traps hanging like trophies on the walls. An ominous dark cabin that blends into the darker trees and whispers danger, not sanctuary.
He kicks the door open, hauls me inside, and sets me down none too gently on a rough-hewn chair. I try to bolt, but his hand—huge and hot and larger than a dinner plate—presses me back down with an implacable demand. A command he reiterates with a feral look from dark eyes.
Two seconds tick by. Five.
Then he straightens and stalks across the room, finds a metal box, and comes back, tugs it open and takes out gauze and antiseptic.
Now he kneels in front of me, first cutting away the rope, then starts cleaning the wound on my calf in silence.
And I can’t stop staring.
I’ve seen men this big only on TV.
Wrestlers tossing each other around like ragdolls. Back when I was single, I’d watch sometimes, secretly fascinated by their size. Of what one would look like next to me. Dominating me with their size. A secret size kink I’ve told absolutely no one.
But none of them ever looked this terrifying. Or this…fascinating.
He’s even bigger up close.
Even sitting like this, my head barely reaches his chest. His hands—God—one of them wraps fully around my leg, holding me steady while the other dabs at the rope-burned cut. There’s a veritable landscape of scarred knuckles and veins running like rivers up his thick forearms.
I should be terrified. I am terrified. But somewhere beneath the panic is something else, something I refuse to name.
All I know is that his touch is sparking electric currents along my nerve endings that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with…with…
I shift, attempting to distance myself both from him and from that horrifying tingle between my legs.
“I…thank you for cutting me down, but as soon as you’re done, I need to g-get going.”
His nostrils flare and his hand tightens just a fraction on my flesh.
“You can’t just—keep me here,” I whisper, testing my voice. Testing the situation.
Again he doesn’t answer. Just keeps tending my cuts.
But when I wince, he freezes, his chest rising and falling heavily once, dark eyes fixing on my face. Then, clenching his jaw, he moves the cotton slowly over my skin. I don’t wince this time, and he seems to breathe out. Heavily.
“Are you going to kill me?” My throat feels tight.
Nothing. Just the swab moving, steady as his breath.
“I didn’t mean to trespass, okay? I was just?—”
His eyes flick up. Black and bottomless. My words tangle and die in my throat.
I swallow and drop my gaze to stare at the floorboards.
They’re splintered, weathered, and sturdy. Immovable, just like him.
Dear God, how did I end up here?
If I didn’t fear dissolving into hysteria, I would laugh. Long and hard.
Because isn’t this me, all over again?
Driven to over-accommodate. The harmony-keeper. Approval-seeker. And when that didn’t work? When I had no choice?
Driven by desperation.
I ran because I couldn’t take one more day of my ex, Brandon, telling me I’m nothing without him, of his sharp smiles and tighter fists, of watching the business I built with my own hands—our flower deliveries, our little shop—turned into his weapon to keep me.
You’ve got no family, he’d sneered often enough until it became a nightmarish echo in my head .
No one but me.
No one who’d care if you disappeared.
So I disappeared.
I was professional enough to finish transforming the Hutton’s wedding venue into the vision of pink and white the bride-to-be wanted.
Then I calmly got into my car, heart in my throat and backpack stowed in the trunk.
And I drove away.
Unfortunately, I had to ditch it when I thought Brandon scented my trail. I tossed my phone into a trucker’s trailer at a rest stop and walked until my feet bled, lost my backpack when I ran from what looked like a mountain lion.
Then I kept climbing until I couldn’t breathe.
Straight into this nightmare.
The beast before me finishes cleaning the cut, wraps it with careful precision. His touch is rough but steady, like he’s done this before. Then he rises, towering, and my pulse jumps when I have to crane my neck back to look at him.
That moment in the woods flashes again in my mind—me on the ground, him looming above. His shadow swallowing me whole. The way my stomach flipped, not just entirely from fear. From a tingling in my blood I didn’t want to know or name.
I press my thighs together, furious at myself as the tingling returns, stronger than before.
No.
I will not think about how gruffly sexy he is.
I will not think about that voice, those hands, the way he looked at me like I was prey. I most definitely will not imagine standing next to him, comparing our sizes, how he would need to pick me up to…to?—
God, Lily! You were on the vergeofgetting engaged three short days ago. You saw the ring buried in Brandon’s sock drawer. Wasn’t that partly why you ran?
He turns without a word, crosses the room, and slides a heavy bolt across the cabin door.
I flinch at the sound, then swallow when the meaning sinksdeepinto my heart and skin.
“Wh-what are you doing? You can’t do this,” I snap, forcing some heat into my voice. “You can’t just lock me in.”
He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. Just moves to the window, pulls the curtain aside, peers out into the forest like he’s checking for more intruders.
I take the chance to glance around. For something I can use as a weapon if it comes to that. And I’m beginning to fear it just might.
But every single thing I can use is halfway up the towering wall, way out of my reach.
A place built for beasts or giants.
And while it looked small but solid from the outside, Irealizenow my first impression was deceptive. It’s much larger inside.
The stone hearth, rough shelves lined with jars, two rifles on the wall, and a dining table with four chairs pushed into the corner. I see an arch and suspect the kitchen is back there.
What I don’t see? A phone. A computer. Or signs of anyone else.
My gaze snags on the things lining up one side of the wall to the right of the hearth. More traps again—steel teeth, coils, rope.
All the signs of a grumpy recluse who doesn’t look kindly on intruders.
My stomach drops.
There’s no way out. Not without attempting to get on his good side. A side I’m beginning to doubt he possesses.
But I can’t give up. I didn’t break away after three years of gaslighting and belittling…one long year after admitting I was throwing my life away on a man who didn’t deserve it, to fall into the clutches of another beast.
I drag in a shaky breath. “What do you want from me?”
Silence.
The quiet stretches until my skin itches. Until I can’t stand it.
“Say something,” I whisper.
Finally, he turns. Those dark eyes pin me to the chair, heavy as chains.Moves slowly from my disheveled hair to my scratched calves and ankles and back again. Back and forth. Back and forth. And as he does, the dark spark turns into living flames.
My heart stutters and I can’t tell if he’s going to break me or…something worse.
But he doesn’t speak.
He just stares.
And the longer he does, the more heat coils low in my belly, and the more I hate myself for it.
I force my chin up, even as every instinct screams to curl in. If he thinks I’ll beg, he’s wrong.
“Fine,” I mutter, hugging my arms tight. “Stay silent. But you can’t keep me here forever. That’s not gonna happen.”
My voice sounds braver than I feel.
His mouth twitches.
Almost a smile. Almost a promise.
And God help me, it only fans the flames burning in my belly.
He stomps around the cabin for another five minutes, then my heart lurches when he goes to the door. The bolt slides open, heavy and loud.
Still, he doesn’t say a word, just throws open the door and walks back out into the clearing.
I wait a minute. Three.
Then I creep to the window, wincing at my body’s soreness, and press my palms to the glass.
He’s there, right where I first saw him through the trees, swinging that axe, splitting wood in clean, brutal strokes. That initial glimpse of him had made me forget to be quiet or careful, leading me to step right into his trap.
Then, as now, I’m held in thrall, my silly mouth gaping.
Because…heavens…his body is a machine, every line taut, every muscle flexing with obscene strength. Sweat glistens down his chest, catching the sun.
I don’t want to watch. But God help me, I can’t stop watching.
The sound of the axe sinks into my bones. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The rhythm becomes a drumbeat in my blood. My breath goes shallow, and that heat turns into a furnace, billowing between my legs.