The fear any normal person would have when they see a two-thousand-pound bull moose coming at them falls away and I take aim. Right for its heart.

I squeeze the trigger and the round blasts out, the kick powerful enough to make me step back before I can steady myself.

The beast roars in front of me and then stumbles and falls to its knees.

Garrett is there, gripping my arm.

“Nice going,” he says. “You almost fucked it all up by stepping on that branch.”

I look up at him, but he’s smiling. I smile back.

“Pain is in the mind. Just think of a good moment and go there—an alternate reality is not the worst way to go.”

– Sydney

This time when I wake, I’m tethered to the table thing again. My mouth is dry, my stomach is rumbling, and I need to go to the bathroom.

I close my eyes to go back into my memory of that day’s hunt. I didn’t even get to the good part. After we quartered the animal and carried it home, we stuffed our faces with meat for the first time in weeks.

But a sound wakes me back up. I can hear something. And I can smell something too.

Food. Meat.

Whoever this is must be a mind-reader.

No, Syd. They know how long it’s been since you ate, that’s all.

“Garrett?” The word comes out before I can stop it.

“Try again,” the deep voice says from behind my head.

I gasp in surprise.

“Not Garrett.” His boots thud on the floor as he steps out from behind me. It’s still dark, and I can’t see anything. But his hand brushes against my shoulder, and then he squeezes. I cry out in pain before I can stop myself. “You smell like piss.”

I don’t say anything as he lets go of my wounded shoulder and walks along the table. His fingertips stroke along my ribs and I realize my hoodie is gone. I’m still wearing the nightie Brett’s sisters gave me. And as soon as that realization hits me, my nipples perk up. His light touch pauses for a moment, like he knows. And then he rounds his palm and places it over my stomach. “Hungry?”

I close my eyes and hiss in a breath.

He moves on. His whole hand this time. He drags it down my hip and I can feel the heat of him even through my jeans. He pauses there, lingering on the bone that protrudes out, then slips his hand in my front pocket and pulls something out.

“Hmmm,” is all he says. He lifts the nightie up so my stomach is exposed and it’s only then that I realize how cold it is in here. When he places it gently over my belly button my whole body erupts in a shiver.

A whimper escapes.

“Why do you have an acorn in your pocket?”

His tone is hard. Like this is important. I can’t think of a single reason why this might be important, so I tell him. “It makes me feel better. I always carry it.”

“Everywhere?”

I nod.

“Hmmm,” he whispers.

I swallow hard and keep my eyes closed as his palm again rests on my hip bone.

“I asked you a question that you didn’t answer.”

My mind races. What did he ask me? I can’t remember.

“Are you hungry?”

I nod and he stays silent. But his hand is on the move again. He drags it down to the top of my thigh and stops one more time. His fingers spread and then his large palm stretches out. He will rape me. I know this as soon as I feel the tingle of his touch get too close to the v of my open legs.

“Get used to that feeling, Sydney. You’re gonna stay hungry for a while.”

I hold my breath to prevent the fuck you I really want to scream at him.

He leaves his hand on my leg for what seems like minutes. Like he’s waiting for me to cry out or beg him to stop. But I stay silent.

“Are you cold?”

I nod again, even though I know he’s gonna say I should get used to that too. I don’t know if he sees that movement, or feels it, or what. But he does not repeat himself. Instead he moves on. His fingertips trace down the inside of my thighs, a light touch that might be provocative and hot if I was not strapped to a wooden table being threatened with rape. He stops once more when he gets to my knee.

“Why are you wearing a nightie under your clothes?”

That is not a safe question, so I don’t answer.

This time his hand slides back up to cup my pussy.

I moan, but not out of desire. I moan because he’s threatening me without using words. Letting me know he is respecting my boundaries. But he doesn’t have to. “It was the night before my wedding. My sisters-in-law gave it to me to wear.”

“Was?” he asks in a curious tone. “Was the night before your wedding? How long do you think you’ve been here?” I shake my head but he doesn’t accept my passive response this time. He unbuttons my jeans.

“I don’t know,” I answer quickly. “A few days ago? I was drugged.”

“Hmmm,” he says again, pulling down my zipper.

“Please,” I whisper, my heart beating so fast.

He pulls the fly of my jeans apart and slips his hand inside. “Please what? Please continue?” I shake my head quickly. “Please make it feel good? Please don’t stop? You’re gonna have to give me more than please, cowgirl.”

“Why are you doing this!” I scream it. There, he did it. He broke me. I give in. I can’t take it anymore. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I’m—

“Who am I?”

“Case,” I say immediately.

“How do you know that?” I can hear a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

“I don’t.” My voice trembles. “I just guessed. You sound like him.”

He lets out a little grunt. “Do you remember how you begged me that night, Sydney? Because I do. Did you think I’d save you, cowgirl? Did you think I was your hero in the dark? Did you think I’d take you home to your daddy?”

I did think all those things. I was desperate for them. “I’m so glad you left me. Leaving me was the best thing that ever happened.”

His hand slips inside the waist of my jeans. “Was it?” He tugs them down until they are at the top of my thighs and won’t go any further due to the fact that my legs are tied in an open position. He feels my pussy through the thin lacy panties. I instinctively clench my legs together and try to limit the space he has available down there.

He backs away, withdrawing his hand. But then I hear something being unsnapped, probably from his belt. There are a few more noises that I can’t place, and then he’s slipping his hand around my right ankle. His touch is soft. Softer than I expected. I stifle a whimper by biting my lip.

“You’re gonna want to hold still now, Sydney. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to cut you, but you have enough blood on you for now. So let’s try to get through this without adding much more.”

“What?”

A cold shiver erupts up my leg when the metal touches my skin. I hiss in a breath to stop from screaming, but I hold still. He cuts the denim starting at the inside of my ankle and slices it all the way up to my knee.

“Be very still now,” he says as he repositions the knife on my inner thigh. “You’ll bleed like a motherfucker if I cut you up here.”

I can feel it this time. Either he’s not careful or he’s doing it on purpose, but he cuts me over and over again. Poke after poke. I hiss out in surprise each time. He apologizes but doesn’t stop. By the time he’s to my crotch, I can’t hold it together.

I sob. My whole body shakes. The acorn he placed on my belly button rolls off me and thuds onto the wooden table.

He places a hand on my hip for a moment, and I force myself to imagine it’s a gesture of reassurance. This calms me and I take a deep breath. His hand moves away again, grasping at the open fly, holding it taut so he can cut.