Captive Souls

Chapter 5

Five

Knox

I ’d been given little notice to prepare a suitable location for this assignment. I didn’t know if that was yet another test from Stone or if he just didn’t give a shit. Or he understood that I was competent enough to do what was necessary in the time afforded. Not that I gave a fuck what he thought of me.

He’d told me he wanted her broken, helpless, with nowhere to turn but him.

Privacy was my number one priority. Complete isolation with no way to escape.

No TV. No modern luxuries. Although the cabin did have running water because I wasn’t that much of a masochist.

I thought I’d done a good job—that her being alone with me in woods that many people were afraid of would be enough. I hadn’t thought about what my reaction would be to being alone with her. Prior to this, people hadn’t elicited reactions from me.

Just Piper.

Watching her unravel in the car sent my skin crawling. It was difficult, watching her hyperventilate and grow smaller and paler.

I’d been avoiding her, a fruitless notion since we were in a cabin in the middle of nowhere together for the foreseeable future. My throat constricted, realizing that there was no escape from this, from her.

I longed for my knife, for the relief that would come from the warmth of blood spilling over my skin.

Soon , I promised myself. Soon, I promised the hungry beast inside of me.

Once night came, when she slept, then I’d get it.

For now, I focused on practical solutions, putting away the supplies I’d bought at the store, our last stop before we ascended the mountain. I expected them to last two weeks, at least. Then I’d reevaluate. Previously, I’d thought it was smart, having everything here so there was no cause for me to leave, inflicting myself on her twenty-four seven. Now I understood that was a mistake.

I’d felt her eyes as she watched me take things to and from the car. I hadn’t looked at her. She had already shown she wasn’t going to run, so I wasn’t concerned about that. Not that there was anywhere to run to. I’d selected this location for that exact purpose.

Not even Stone knew where we were. He trusted me that much. A mistake on his part.

Not that I planned on betraying him. But it was sloppy, overconfident for him to think I’d blindly obey him. Feral beasts bowed to no master. He’d learn that one day. I’d learn that one day.

As I was unpacking, she’d first walked around the exterior of the cabin, looking at things, running her hands along the long grass, picking flowers.

That gave me pause. She was an educated, smart, sane woman who understood the gravity of her situation. I’d seen the terror in her eyes, the gut-clenching fear.

Yet she was picking fucking flowers .

I tried my best to get her smell from my nostrils, to forget the way her shirt shifted with her breathing, the way panic had overtaken her body as we’d pulled up, how vulnerable and scared she’d been.

Wasn’t that the entire point of this? To scare her into submission?

Yet I’d brought her back from the brink. Given her my fucking name. I hadn’t planned on that. I hadn’t planned on having any interaction with her beyond what was completely necessary. Usually that wasn’t hard for me, distancing myself from human interaction.

It was impossible not to interact with her.

Weak , I scolded myself. Weak.

I’d rectify my mistake. Leave her alone. Shut her out like I had every other human before this.

Eventually, she made her way into the cabin, inspecting the bare space, trailing her index finger along the back of the old sofa in the middle of the room, poking her head in the bathroom then peering at the bed in the corner of the room. One room and a bathroom. Intimate. Uncomfortable. I’d planned it that way. So she couldn’t escape me. Resulting in me being unable to escape her.

I’d tried to ignore her, slamming the refrigerator shut as I put the last of the food in it.

But her voice, soft and throaty, punctured the silence I usually preferred. I was surprised to find myself thinking there would be no greater comfort than hearing that tenor for the rest of time.

“It’s going to be dark soon. We need wood.”

I stared at her.

“Wood?” she repeated when I didn’t reply. “It comes from trees.”

I wanted to smile. I didn’t know why. Nothing made me want to smile, certainly not half-ass sarcasm. But coming from her… Fuck . Never in my adult life had it been hard to control my expressions, my emotions. But with her, it took all my effort to remain emotionless.

“I’m aware of the origin of wood,” I replied in the tone I used with everyone. Flat. Threatening.

Her eyes glimmered with mirth she shouldn’t have been feeling while alone in a cabin with me, with darkness approaching. She should’ve been shivering in her ridiculous fucking shoes.

I hadn’t told her where we were going, what to pack for. That wasn’t my job. I hadn’t known what I expected her to be wearing, but definitely not a skintight pair of jeans that showed off her juicy ass, a faded Fleetwood Mac tee and leopard print sneakers. That had glitter on them. The attire wasn’t conventionally sexual, but regardless, I found it infinitely appealing.

“Excuse me.” She put her hand on her chest. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

Wrong move.

It brought my attention to her tits.

Small. Perky. Fucking perfect for her frame.

That withered thing inside of me that was desire woke up.

I struggled against the stiffening of my cock. It was a foreign feeling, more than unnerving to have no control over my own body. To experience such profound weakness.

“If you know the origin of wood, then you may understand we’re in the Appalachian Mountains in spring,” she said, thankfully unaware of my hard cock. “Daytime is still quite warm, but the nights will turn frigid.” She looked around the room. “Especially in something like this without the updates it needs.” She sucked her teeth. “I don’t want to be cold on top of being a captive. Therefore, we need wood for that.” She motioned to the fireplace. It took up a decent amount of space in the room, stained black and shrouded with cobwebs.

Though a lot of blood had pumped to my cock at that moment, I could still use my brain. She was right; we needed wood. I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t thought much about the logistics of any of this. I’d gotten food, rudimentary supplies, everything you technically needed to survive, but not the finer details.

Unlike me. Very unlike me.

Granted, my usual hunting grounds were decidedly more urban than this, but that wasn’t the excuse. It was her. It had been her since the moment I saw her. She had me off-kilter. Sloppy.

Her green eyes danced with amusement, but they were also penetrating, as if they saw right through me. Into my soul. But that couldn’t be true. I didn’t have one of those.

“There’s an axe outside,” she continued.

I hadn’t seen it.

Sloppy.

Very fucking sloppy.

I’d scouted the surrounding area, ensured that there was only one usable road in and out of the property, the woods dense and full of predators. Nearest neighbor was fifty miles away. I’d made certain that there was no way for her to escape, but I stupidly hadn’t taken stock of things that could be used as weapons.

She was 5′5′′ at best, one hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. Her eyes were wide and innocent, though she was full of curves and substantial—she looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly, let alone me. Even though I was holding her captive. Even though I was intending on breaking her like a broodmare.

But people were animals. And no matter how shapely her hips were, how soft her edges, how big her eyes, a cornered animal would attack. Always.

Part of me—that rotten, wrong, evil part of me—itched for her to fight me, to sink her fingernails into my skin, coat her hands in my blood.

“Do you know how to chop wood?” she asked, innocent as can be. But her lips were pursed in a way that made it distinctly clear she was trying to hide a smile.

It was almost as if she was … teasing me.

No one, not a single person who had interacted with me, had dared tease me. Except perhaps my brother, but even he was careful with his actions around me. He protected himself, cautious with his words. Even him—the one person on this hunk of rock who saw me as something more than a killer—knew to keep his guard up around me.

Piper, despite being my literal fucking captive, was not guarding anything about herself. This woman seemed to have absolutely no self-preservation. How she’d survived all these years was anyone’s guess. A trait that I should’ve found deplorable, not … endearing.

“I know how to chop wood,” I replied after a long silence she didn’t seem to be in a rush to fill. She hadn’t dropped her eyes from mine either.

Though I had lied to some of the most dangerous people in the world, had made them not so much as second-guess me, this woman seemed to see through me in a second. The tilt of her lips, the arch in her eyebrow, the overall victory glistening in her golden eyes.

I had never chopped wood in my life.

I had chopped up people, though, so I was sure it was a similar process.

“Okay, well… Even though I’m sure you’ll be excellent at chopping wood, I really need the exercise since it doesn’t seem like these accommodations feature a gym,” she explained, eyes sparkling playfully.

Again, my dick twitched at the teasing in her tone, the confidence in the face of her situation, the terror and panic of before nowhere to be seen. Piper was a survivor. She wasn’t weak, her strength unlike anything I’d ever seen. To cultivate a warmth inside of herself that resulted in her being able to find the will to smile in a situation as dire as this was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

She started toward the axe, but I stepped in her path.

She stopped, looking up at me. There should’ve been fear in her eyes. Terror. I could see shades of it now, but it mixed with that lightness that shouldn’t exist in my presence. My presence alone should’ve snuffed out every inch of light.

“I can’t let you use that axe,” I informed her. My muscles were taut, the effort it took to keep my form still, my expression blank, was more than I’d ever expended in a simple interaction.

She tilted her head to regard me. “Because you think I’ll try to hack you into little pieces and escape?”

I thinned my lips, answering her with a curt nod.

She laughed.

Laughed.

The sound warmed up the room that had previously felt frosty.

Her laugh cut through layers of steel and ice, penetrating right to the core of me, finding something soft and pliant, something I didn’t even know I had inside me.

Her face quickly turned faux serious, presumably because she realized I hadn’t so much as smiled. “I’m a little squeamish, so axe murdering is a little too grizzly for me,” she said dryly. “And the process of using an axe to cut up a human being sounds overly tiring. Especially since I doubt you’d go quietly.”

I struggled to keep my composure as she pointedly looked me up and down. Her eyes on me were a physical fucking thing.

Walking around each day, I felt lifeless. I knew logically that my heart was pumping blood to my limbs, my organs were functioning correctly, and I was medically alive. But despite that, I was sure I was dead inside, a sociopath. I didn’t feel things the way other people did. Nothing warmed me.

Except her smile.

Her laugh.

Her simple fucking gaze on me, bringing me to life. Like I hadn’t existed until she looked at me.

Whether or not she saw what she did to me was unclear. I hoped to fuck she didn’t because then I’d truly be fucked.

Apparently, she saw my silence as acquiescence since she skirted around me, grabbed the axe, hauled it over her shoulder and whistled as she exited the cabin, presumably to chop wood.

I didn’t stop her. Didn’t try to reassert dominance. A huge mistake since she needed to know I was the one in charge. But I was lost. I didn’t usually need to make an effort to exert dominance. I’d spent years, decades, honing myself into a weapon even the most obtuse people recognized and instantly submitted to.

Sure, I’d been challenged over the years, especially by idiots in Stone’s ranks, wrongly assuming my position was his right-hand, wanting to take that from me.

Few had tried to challenge me, and those who did had perished. The stories were now infamous in the ranks, and no one had dared go against me since. Not in a long while.

Except Piper. My fucking captive.

The low thumps coming from outside told me she was chopping wood.

I should’ve ignored it. Even if she accidently chopped a finger off. That wasn’t my problem. Stone hadn’t specified whether she needed all of her digits, though I supposed that he’d be unhappy to find her maimed.

He was all about appearances, so he’d want a shiny, flawless wife, which I understood he could get out of Piper. Once I sucked all the vibrancy and will to live out of her.

I sighed and went to the dirty window that looked out at the overgrown yard where I’d seen a stump the previous inhabitant had used to chop wood.

The place had been abandoned for years. In the scant amount of time I’d had, I’d scouted it then done my research on the locals. I’d found someone, recently out of prison—rape and aggravated assault—and had paid him handsomely to outfit the cabin with what was needed. Then, ensuring that he hadn’t had time to open his mouth about the job done, I killed him.

He’d done a subpar job—everything was still overgrown, and the linens for the bed looked cheap and worn. But he’d obviously gotten wood to be chopped, just not chopped it himself.

Something that would’ve irritated me if not for the vision out the window. Piper, fluidly moving the axe up and down, a thin sheen of sweat already shining on her brow, making her chocolate-brown hair stick to her forehead.

She was not petite, not with the hills of her curves. But her body appeared delicate, not seemingly strong enough to lift the axe over her head, let alone use it to cleanly chop wood in two.

But that’s what she was doing. With confidence that told me she’d done this before. I watched, fucking entranced at the window, like some voyeur.

I’d done basic research on Piper. Surface level. Her job—kindergarten teacher. Her finances—enough to pay her bills and survive in Manhattan. Barely. Her social life—friends, but none who would cause me trouble. No boyfriend.

I hadn’t had time to go further into her past, medical history, childhood, like I might’ve. It was all necessary. Information was power. If I was going to break her, I needed to know which tools to bring, which soft spots to probe.

I’d mistakenly assumed a kindergarten teacher who had lived her entire life in New York would easily crumble in the Appalachian Mountains.

I’d been wrong.

And watching her, the way she moved, still hearing her fucking laugh echoing through the empty parts of me, I knew I was in a lot of fucking trouble.

Piper

I was exhausted. Chopping the wood was a huge part of it. Despite my snarky comment, I was not a huge gym goer. I liked my runs. Pounding the pavement, the burn in my legs, the high in my blood, the fresh air in my lungs.

I ran daily. Which meant I was physically fit in the cardiovascular sense, at least. But it had been a long time since I’d chopped wood. Luckily, it was like riding a bike. I’d gotten the handle of the axe, found the right angle, pressure and impact to slice the wood, but my shoulders screamed after an hour or so.

We likely didn’t need as much wood as I chopped. Or I told myself I wouldn’t be there long enough to need that much wood. But the only other option was to either wander around the woods or stay in the cabin with Knox.

The latter wasn’t a possibility. I couldn’t. His presence overwhelmed the small space, suffocating me. He scared me. A lot. Which was his intended purpose, I assumed. But more than that I was … curious about him, something inside me responded to him. The darkness seeping from him.

One thing I did not need to stoke was some kind of fucked-up Stockholm syndrome.

By the time the sun had completely set, I was soaked in sweat, the crisp air chilling me down to my marrow. The pile of wood beside me was impressive and my entire body groaned with exertion.

Not just from the chopping, but because of the tense way I’d been holding myself since seeing Knox in Central Park. My nervous system had been in a state of fight-or-flight, so it was inevitable that I would crash.

I snatched handfuls of fitful sleep during the drive, but never relaxed enough to let myself be pulled into a deep state of unconsciousness. Not with Knox a few feet from me in the car.

It took all my effort to drag myself into the cabin, dim light pouring out of it. It was force of will alone that allowed me to carry in some wood.

The small space smelled of food, Knox’s back to me at the stove.

The sight made my step stutter. Well, that and the exhaustion.

It was such a benign, domestic task. A human task.

The sight shouldn’t have been shocking, but it was as if I’d walked into the cabin and saw a grizzly bear holding a spatula in front of a sizzling pan.

My captor was cooking. For us, presumably. Or maybe not. Maybe his goal was to starve me. Force me to watch him eat.

Maybe that was Stone’s plan to get my submission.

My stomach growled and turned at the same time.

Right then, I had resolve. Even if I’d had nothing but processed gas station snacks since … breakfast this morning.

Despite the scant amount of substantial nutrients in me, I was certain I’d be able to withhold. That I’d be able to starve rather than relent.

But then I thought. Remembered. What starvation felt like and how vastly it differed from simple hunger.

I’d felt it once in my life, the memories were faded because of my young age, and I suppose my subconscious, trying to protect me from the horror of it.

The details were hazy, but I remembered the pain. The desperation. How I’d turned into an animal, tearing apart old cracker boxes to find stale crumbs that I would then split between Daisy and me, always giving her the larger portion.

I’d been a child then. Helpless. This would be different.

But would it? I was essentially as helpless as a child right now.

I tasted the acidic tang of bile as I considered this. The sharp taste brought me back to my body, to where I’d been standing in the middle of the room, staring at Knox, covered in sweat, holding a pile of wood. I glanced to where I should put it, if only to escape his gaze.

Apparently, he’d turned at some point as he was now looking at me. There was a flatness, a deadness in his expression that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

His eyes were deep, unyielding and … soulless. It was like there was nothing human or soft inside of them. Yet I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward them, toward him. One that I’d told myself was a figment of my traumatized brain. I was searching for redemption in this story, in this man, that maybe if we had a connection, he wouldn’t hurt me. He was watching me so intently because I was his captive, not because he felt anything toward me. I reminded myself of that.

I swallowed knives at the thought that I was stuck in a one-room cabin with him for … however long. However long it took me to decide that marrying Stone was preferable to being here with Knox.

I quickly averted my gaze. “I’m going to have a shower.” Why I felt the need to tell him this, voice it to him almost as if I was asking for permission, made me rageful. I hoped that the cabin had hot water. The chances were slim, but a girl could hope. Even if it was safe to say hope was dead there. Knox had trampled on it with his loafers.

He didn’t say anything. Not even a hint of a gesture to acknowledge that I’d said anything. That further served to amplify my rage. Though I wanted to scamper off to the bathroom with my tail between my legs, I gritted my teeth and stood my ground, lifting my eyes up to once again meet that soulless stare.

I counted to ten in my head, holding it, unmoving, remaining silent. It wasn’t exactly a challenge because I knew I’d lose any kind of staring or menacing competition with him. It was more of a statement. That I wouldn’t wither under his gaze like a flower dying from lack of sunshine.

I might’ve looked like a delicate flower, but my roots were hardy, unyielding. I didn’t wear my strength on my sleeve like he did, but it was there, deep under the surface.

I would survive this. Him.

It was a promise I made to myself in those ten seconds.

Then, with my head held high, chin tilted upward in defiance, I marched to the bathroom.

It was only once my clothes were stripped off and I was under the spray of water that was somehow gloriously hot when my strength started to wane.

As my muscles loosened, fatigue flooded my bloodstream.

Why did I think I could handle this?

I had to work up the strength to schedule my dental cleanings.

The water rained over me, washing away my tears.

It was the first time I’d cried since I was taken. Not that there hadn’t been opportunities for me to indulge in a sob fest. Yet no matter how much I wanted to, I would not cry in front of Knox. He would not see that. He would not get that.

I gave myself a minute. A minute curled up at the bottom of the shower, stifling my sobs with my fist lest he hear them.

And once the minute was up, I was out of the shower, the biting air prickling against my skin.

My first instinct was to rush into my clothes, get comfortable, warm. But I needed to get used to discomfort. Needed to relax in the frigid environment.

So I squeezed my eyes shut and stood there, dripping on the bathmat, shivering, for another minute.

My clothes were as practical as you could get for someone like me—someone who loved color, who taught children for a living and expressed herself through clothing. The worn jeans I dragged on were covered in painted flowers, all in different colors, some fading from wear.

I put on a tight, basic tank, not bothering with a bra since I was slinging on a bright-pink, loose, knit cardigan over top.

I wanted comfortable clothes, eager for my PJs, but Knox was out there still. I couldn’t be waltzing around in PJs with fruit all over them.

Not that my regular clothes served as any kind of armor. They communicated just who I was—a kindergarten teacher who didn’t take life seriously, loved pink and flowers, and who was an easy murder victim.

Methodically and slowly, I towel dried my hair, trying my best to prolong the process by putting in my conditioning products, curl-taming sprays, brushing it one hundred times exactly.

Why I’d thought to bring my entire toiletry cabinet to my kidnapping was anyone’s guess, but I was glad to have my creature comforts.

Eventually, I had to leave the bathroom, as much as I wanted to live in there. My stomach was informing me of how hungry I was, and the scent of dinner coming from the nearby kitchen was making my mouth water.

On bare feet, I trod on the well-worn rugs—scattered across the wood floor—to the dining table in the middle of the room. Knox was already sitting there. There were two plates on the table.

He’d cooked for me too.

Huh.

I guessed he must’ve wanted me alive for the moment. He wanted me alive in general. Healthy, Stone had said.

My molars ground together at the thought of it. I was basically a pig getting fattened up for slaughter. But even that wasn’t enough to kill my appetite.

Though it evaporated as soon as I was brave enough to pull out the chair and sit in front of the food Knox had cooked. How I didn’t recognize it by smell was confusing. My senses must’ve been scrambled.

I stared at the plate of meat. Charred and steaming and vaguely sickening.

There was a hunk of bread beside it, and that was it.

I looked from Knox to the meat, but he was already eating, obviously not standing on ceremony. I was surprised he was even sitting at the table with me. It implied some kind of civility that didn’t exist between us.

Instead of speaking, I took a piece of bread and nibbled on the edges. Yes, I was still starving, almost deliriously so, but the smell of the meat was putting me off.

No, that wasn’t it. I’d been a vegetarian for my entire adult life, and I’d never been sickened by people eating meat in front of me. I didn’t have a holier-than-thou attitude about it either. If someone wanted to eat meat, I was fine with that. I didn’t make my preference their problem.

So no, it wasn’t the meat.

It was the predator sitting there, eating it. Blood dribbled from the middle of the steak as he speared it with his fork before putting it to his mouth.

He chewed with his mouth shut, used a knife and fork and had good table manners. Except for the fact that he was blatantly ignoring me, as he had since I walked in the door with the wood.

That should’ve made me thankful. Being out of this man’s line of vision or attention was good for me, it was the only way I was going to survive.

Wasn’t it?

What was the path to my survival? Yes, if I survived this cabin it would be great, but it would only be to pass me over to another death sentence. I’d die before being forced to marry Stone. I couldn’t run without Daisy being hurt or killed.

The scant amount of bread in my mouth turned to dust.

I’d been so lost in my thoughts, everything around me had grown blurry. Even him, except now he was cut from sharp lines against everything else around him. My body felt like lead as his attention zeroed in on me. Then on the forgotten piece of bread in my hand.

“You’re not eating.”

I restrained a shiver over the sound of his voice in the quiet room. It was a cleaver cutting through everything.

Keeping my cool in front of him was paramount. I couldn’t show my discomfort. Therefore, I looked up and held his electric, cruel gaze.

“I don’t eat meat,” I informed him.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t stop eating either, chewing slowly as we continued to stare at each other.

“You do now,” was what he said once he swallowed.

The iciness of his tone was no match for the fire I felt inside at his words.

“I get that you’re under the impression that you have complete control over me since you took me against my will and have marooned me here in a cabin with you.” My fists clenched under the table, my voice steel. “And you may have control over those things, but you do not have complete control. I will not submit to your every will and whim. I may be your captive, but I am not your puppet.”

I considered myself an assertive person … in more of a passive way. I’d never really rocked the boat with friends, lovers, bosses. I shied away from conflict as a survival instinct since I knew what happened when life turned ugly. If there was any situation where I should’ve shied away from conflict, it was in that cabin in the middle of nowhere with a monster, yet I didn’t. I held on to what little was left of my agency, and I refused to let it go.

Though I was proud of my little speech, how strong and unyielding I’d sounded, Knox didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed. Or even mad.

Though the contours of his face stayed the same, I could’ve sworn he seemed … amused.

That only served to stoke the fire of my fury further.

But before I could do or say anything more, his utensils were on his plate, his chair was out from under the table, and the scrape of wood against the floor entered my ears.

I was moving.

Caged in by him. His hands were on either side of my chair, his thumbs almost brushing my thighs. His body surrounded me, his heady, masculine scent, face inches from mine.

My entire body tensed, and my head throbbed with terror.

He’d never stopped being dangerous or deadly. Even when doing something as benign as eating. I’d figured he’d stop being deadly when his heart ceased beating. But part of me had gotten used to it. Or gotten used to the undercurrent of fear I felt in his presence.

But his entire energy had changed. This was not a passive undercurrent of fear he was eliciting. It was heart-stopping terror as his eyes held mine hostage.

Luckily, I had just emptied my bladder because if I hadn’t, I might’ve wet myself.

My eyes roved over his face, pale, high cheekbones, sharp jaw. His dark brow was heavy with a tiny whisper of a scar at the edge of his eyes, the one mar in the perfect features of his face. His eyes were glaciers, ice blue with a solid azure ring around them. Riveting, interesting, unique.

Knox leaned in even closer. For one insane moment, I thought he might kiss me.

It should’ve roiled my belly with disgust; instead, my heart merely thundered as my palms started to sweat. I squirmed for reasons other than discomfort, instantly forcing myself to ignore that. This was not the time nor the place to inspect my body’s highly inappropriate reactions to my kidnapper.

But he didn’t kiss me. His head shifted, barely brushing my cheek with his hair as his lips hovered over my ears. Though he was so close I could feel his energy imprinting onto mine, hindering my breathing, my heartbeat and ability to stay calm, he wasn’t actually touching me.

He seemed to be very careful to ensure that.

“In this cabin, in these woods, you are my everything. ” His whispered words were both a blade and a weight settling against my shoulders with their certainty. “You are my captive. My puppet. My toy. My pet. Your survival depends on me.” He paused, and I could feel his warm breath on my ear. It should’ve been icy cold for all the chill in his tone.

Yet heat surged through me.

Along with fury. Contempt. My hands bit into my thighs, digging into my jeans and the flesh beneath. Why didn’t I lash out at him with those hands? Rake my hands through that unmarked skin? Even though it looked to be made of stone, he was human. If cut, he’d bleed.

But I stayed where I was, an insect under his microscope.

“Your mental state depends on whether I feel like breaking you or not.” His voice was featherlight as his eyes seared through my very soul. “Which I will. It’s up to me how many pieces you shatter into.”

The silence that cloaked us was thicker than the starless night outside.

He hovered there for longer than was comfortable, bearable, before he finally straightened.

I’d hoped the way I stared at him conveyed the level of my hatred, hatred for his presence, his lack of a fucking heart. The fear he instilled in me. The paralyzing terror I’d promised myself a man would never elicit in me again.

“I know it’s a human survival instinct to deceive yourself into thinking you have control over your actions, surroundings or survival, Ms. Matthews. Most of the time, it’s just delusion with free will scattered sporadically. But none of that exists here.” He sat back down in his chair, casually resuming his meal as if he hadn’t just essentially threatened my life and mental health.

“Eat.” He stabbed the dead flesh with his fork, his eyes containing more intensity, more emotion, than I’d yet to see in them. “Or starve.”

A challenge. Posed as if he didn’t care if I withered away to nothing but a skeleton right in front of his eyes. My survival mattered that little to him. I mattered that little to him. He was a monster, dehumanizing me, turning me into nothing more than a … pet. Reliant on him for everything, down to food and water.

My teeth gnashed together until my jaw hurt.

A man’s pet I wasn’t.

I stood up and left the room without touching another bite, storming into the bathroom, slamming the door and sinking against it before dropping onto the floor.

The bathroom door didn’t have a lock. No privacy. No barriers from him. Not that I thought a lock would stop him anyway. An illusion of safety was all it would be. I needed to rid myself of all illusions.

I was not safe with Knox. That much was painfully clear.

He wasn’t going to rape or torture me; I took him at his word on that—as na?ve or stupid as that might be. I also took him at his word that he was going to break me.

Prior to that day, I would’ve said no man had that power, dumbly confident in my inner strength.

Yet right then, sitting on the bathroom floor, hyperventilating, never feeling more alone or hopeless, I knew Knox was going to ruin me.

It was just a matter of time.

And how many pieces he’d leave me in depended on how cruel he truly was.