Thorn leaves me there, bound and helpless on the bed. A couple seconds later, all the lights go out in the rest of the house, and I’m left lying there in the dark, my mind and body a confused mess after the last few minutes.

The storm in his eyes as he tied me up is an image I can’t get out of my head. And I’m angry at him, too. It’s not my fault he got dragged into this, and I don’t know why he has to be such a moody asshole about it. But mixed up with how mad I am at him is something else, something I have a hard time admitting even to myself.

I’m… attracted to him. Like, really attracted. So much so that I actually wanted him to do something to me just now. The more he tied me up, the more turned on I got. So that now, lying here in the dark, my body’s aflame with how much I want him to touch me. And I can’t do anything about it.

I writhe and struggle as an ache begins between my legs. Even in the dark, I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m even letting myself think these things. But the truth is, I can’t help it. I imagine what I’d do right now if I wasn’t tied up. Would I screw up my courage and go into the living room? Would I sit down on the couch next to him, and wait for him to touch me? Would I do more?

Bewildered, I realize that I’m wet between my legs. Practically soaking. I’m ready, so ready. For him.

And dying in spite of myself to know just how good it would feel if he started to touch me… and I let him.

The truth is, no man has ever given me the satisfaction I need. The few boys I’ve dated didn’t know what they were doing, and I was too embarrassed to tell them. The only orgasms I’ve ever had are the ones I’ve given myself. And right now, I’m dying to slip my trembling hand between my legs. To feel my slick heat, to slide my fingers through my wetness and touch myself where I’m aching for Thorn to touch me.

Frustrated and caught up in my fantasies, I squirm with need, in vain. I have to stop thinking about it. I have to think about something else.

But I can’t.

I don’t know how I manage to fall asleep, but eventually I do. My dreams are a jumble of images and sensations. Thorn’s face, his angry face, looms over me. Then he’s kissing me, his stubble scraping the skin of my face, and it’s rough and hard and perfect. I’m in his arms and I’ve totally surrendered to him, and I’m so happy because I can finally stop fighting, and because I know that any second now, he’s going to give me what I want, what I need…

The next morning, I start awake to find I’m already untied. I’m nestled under the covers in the fetal position, sunlight streaming in through the window. I was in the middle of yet another sexy dream about Thorn, and my body is abuzz with the longing that hasn’t gone away since last night.

My hands travel languidly down my body under the covers, making me shiver a little at the contact. I want to satisfy the ache, but opening one eye I see that the door to the bedroom is wide open, and I lose my nerve.

Closing my eyes again, I lie there and revel in the warmth of the covers, wishing I could just stay here all day. And actually, I suppose maybe I could. But unfortunately, I kind of have to pee.

I’m still wearing the same clothes as last night as I slide out of bed and go down the hall to the bathroom. I hear Thorn in the kitchen banging around. Defiantly, I close the bathroom door before he can tell me otherwise, and enjoy a rare moment of privacy as I relieve myself. I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths and give in to the reality of another day being cooped up with a man who hates me and excites me.

I finish up quickly and wash my hands, so I can leave the bathroom before he comes to check on me.

Thorn has already eaten breakfast by the time I get up, as I see from his dirty plate on the kitchen table. He’s nowhere to be found when I exit that bathroom, though, so I assume he’s gone outside. I find some cereal in the cupboard and pour myself a bowl with some milk. Then I sit down by myself at the table and start to eat.

He comes in just as I’m finishing up. Instead of saying good morning, he just nods. “There was coffee,” he says without preamble. “But you slept so long I drank it all.”

I frown. “I guess I must have been tired. What time is it?”

“It’s after eleven.”

“Eleven in the morning?” I squeak, and then I feel like an idiot, because of course he means eleven in the morning. But one corner of his mouth goes up in a reluctant half-grin. And then, even though I still feel like an idiot, I also feel just a little bit better, because maybe that’s a sign he’s not as mad at me this morning as he was last night.

“Yeah, that one,” he says. “Gorgeous day out, by the way.”

“Fat lot of good that does me,” I point out. “Since you won’t let me go outside.”

“Sure I’ll let you go outside,” he replies evenly. “Knowing you’re not likely to go far in stocking feet.”

“Really?” I ask, hating how excited I sound. It’s probably pathetic, but I am excited. Heck, doing anything that doesn’t involve sitting on my butt or being tied to a bed seems amazingly exciting right now.

“It’s cold enough you’ll want to bundle up a bit,” he says, but I’m already up and out of my seat. I go into the bedroom and put on three pairs of socks. I come back out in the living room and Thorn watches, a slight smirk playing on his lips, as I wrench open the door and step out onto the porch.

It’s only been a day or so, but it feels like I’ve been locked up inside for weeks. I’m not exactly the most outdoorsy person, but God, it’s so nice to feel the cold air on my cheeks. I pull the arms of my hoodie over my hands since I don’t have any mittens. Then, taking a deep, cleansing breath, I walk down the steps and out into the yard.

There’s not much of one, to be honest: it’s mostly just a small patch of low grass. The house is surrounded on all sides by taller grass and weeds. I take a few more steps, then turn around to look back for the first time at the house that’s been my prison. When we got here, of course, I had that damned hood over my head, so I’ve never actually seen any of this. To my surprise, it’s actually sort of… quaint. It’s the kind of place I can almost imagine people renting for a romantic weekend away from it all. The dark wood siding makes the little cabin seem warm and inviting. My God, there’s even a little table and two chairs on the front porch. It would be the perfect romantic spot to have a nice cup of coffee outside on a cool morning.

I step around to the side of the house. To my surprise, about fifty yards away, there’s a small river running past. It’s beautiful, the cold water sparkling fresh and clean in the midday sun. I take a few more steps toward it, wishing the water was warm enough that I could jump in — even though I’ve never swum in a river in my life. I laugh out loud at the image, and how weirdly happy it makes me to think about it. And then I remember I’m still a captive here. And that this river, beautiful as it is, isn’t meant for me.

Thorn is still in the house. I’m surprised he’s not hanging over me like a hawk, watching my every move. I take a few more steps toward the river. Thankfully, it hasn’t rained in a while, and it hasn’t snowed yet. So the ground is hard, and fairly dry. The sun warms my face and the back of my hoodie. It’s chilly out here, but really quite nice, with almost no wind. It’s nice enough that I could stay out here for a long time, just watching the river. Or go for a walk along the shore.

And it’s not even noon. I glance up at the sky, noticing there are no clouds at all. It will probably be like this for hours.

And Thorn isn’t watching at all.

I walk a little more quickly, toward a bank of trees now. My feet protest a little at the branches and small rocks I step on, but it’s not too bad. Almost without even deciding to consciously, when I get into the tree cover I start to half-jog, then to run. My gut tells me to follow the line of the river — that there’s got to be another house on its banks eventually. And Thorn wouldn’t expect me to go this way, would he? He’d probably expect me to go toward a road. If he didn’t see which direction I was walking, he’ll never know.

He’ll never know.

He’ll never know.

The sentence becomes almost a mantra, a silent prayer I repeat over and over to the rhythm of my steps as my feet fly over the dried leaves and through the brush. I try to run as silently as I can, at least until I think I must be completely out of earshot of the cabin. Then, I let go and start sprinting, flying through the trees with my head down so I won’t be blinded by the branches.

I’ve never run so fast in my entire life. My still-swollen knee sings from the effort, sending needles of pain jolting through me with every footfall, but I ignore it. After a few minutes, my breaths start to turn ragged, labored. I pump my arms and run faster. My legs fatigue as I run out of stamina, my lungs tightening, screaming for me to stop.

I hit a large rock with my right foot, wrenching my injured knee to the side, and can’t suppress a yelp of alarm as I fall hard to the ground. Panting, I reach for it and try to massage it with my hands. It hurts, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like anything’s seriously wrong. If I wasn’t on the run, I’d sit here for a few minutes until the pain goes away, but I don’t have that luxury. My heart hammering, I get up painfully, favoring that leg, and continue on, limp-walking as fast as I can. The trees are getting thicker now, anyway, and it’s harder to find my way through them. I duck and dodge branches as I go, snagging my hoodie on a few along the way. I’m sweating now, my hair plastered to my forehead. I want to take the hoodie off, but I’m only wearing the tank top underneath and don’t want to chill myself.

I peer through the trees along the shore, trying to see whether there’s any glimpse of a house, or at least a road up ahead. Thorn told me there was nothing for twenty miles. I think he told me that just to discourage me, but still, I have to be prepared. This time of year, the sun sets just after five. So I have a little over five hours until night comes, and the cold with it.

I try not to think about what it will mean if I haven’t found civilization by then.

Still, the thought is enough to spur me on. I trudge through the trees, my initial adrenaline trickling away. My knee is beginning to hurt less now, but my stockinged feet are beginning to feel the cold. There must have still been some dew on the ground, as wetness is seeping through the layers, to my dismay. I curse Thorn under my breath for not allowing me shoes, but then I realize this is exactly why he didn’t, and actually feel guilty for a second that I lied to him.

Thorn’s face appears in my mind, stony and tense. If he’s realized yet that I’m gone, he’s probably furious right now. My stomach drops a little bit, even though it’s ridiculous that I would care at all how he feels about me. He hates me regardless, I tell myself. And why would I even care about that? He’s just a hired thug for my father. If it were up to Thorn, this would all be over and he’d never have to see me again. I welcome the anger that surges in me at the thought. I know I need to fuel it, that it will give me strength. Thorn’s only angry because I’m making his job harder. Well, fuck him. He doesn’t care about me at all. This is enemy against enemy. May the best —

Strong, brutal hands catch me on my left side, tackling me almost to the ground. I scream in terror, then in fury when I realize who it is. “No!” I shout as his arms fold around me in an iron grip so tight it pushes the wind from my lungs. Blindly, I try to kick at his legs, but he’s on top of me, pinning me immobile before I know what’s happened.

“You stupid bitch,” Thorn hisses down at me, his face contorted in fury. “You fucking stupid brat.”