Within minutes, the man’s asleep, snoring softly. As though I wasn’t even here.

For some reason, the most infuriating part of all of this is being left here in the dark. Like I’m some sort of inanimate object. I sit, seething, imagining all sorts of revenge that I will exact on him once I somehow get myself free. Experimentally, I wriggle my hands and feet, looking for any looseness in the ropes, but it’s no use. Clearly he knows how to tie a knot that won’t fail.

Minutes pass. Then more minutes. I don’t know how long I wait, listening to his snores and the sound of my own breathing. My butt falls asleep, and I shift uncomfortably and try to wake it back up.

As mad as I am, without an audience for my anger, it kind of starts to dissipate after a while. This is the first time since I was abducted by Dad’s men that I haven’t been mostly occupied by fighting back fear and dread. I take a deep breath and look around at my surroundings. They’re mostly obscured by the dark, illuminated only by the small amount of moonlight coming in through the windows. I squint over at the small kitchen, and then look around at the living room with its threadworn furniture. It would almost be quaint and cozy here, with the right company. And if I wasn’t being held against my will.

My eyes drift back to the man asleep on the couch. Even in sleep, his body still seems vigilant, somehow. Aware. As though he’d be up and ready to fight in a split second at the slightest sound. In the pale moonlight, I contemplate his features. The dark, heavy brows. The long, straight nose. The shadow of a beard framing sensuous lips. He’s extremely handsome, in a rough, unpolished way.

When he’s awake, the man’s eyes are dark, brooding. Haunted, almost. He is clearly angry that he has to watch over me. He doesn’t want to be here.

That makes two of us.

I know nothing about the man except what the rockers tell me on his cut. Like the other two men who brought me here, he’s wearing the colors of the Lords of Carnage MC. I don’t know anything about them, except that they’re a rival club to the Death Devils. I sure as hell didn’t know my dad was friendly with them. I wish I knew why he chose them instead of his own club to guard me.

Probably just to get me out of Oz’s hair, I think bitterly. Out of sight, out of mind. He’s never been interested in being a father. He’s never really cared that much at all about my life. I imagine if I’d been a boy, maybe he’d have taken more of an interest. He could have brought a boy up to be part of the MC. He could have groomed him to be president of the club someday. But a girl? She’s just an inconvenience. Just someone to lock away and keep safe, so her priceless honor and purity will stay intact.

Snorting in disgust, I shiver and flex my muscles to increase the blood flow. As much as I’m able, I bring my arms closer to my body. It’s cold in here. I heard the heat kick in a little while ago, though, so I’m hoping it’ll warm up eventually. Glancing at the empty fireplace, I can’t help longing for a fire to cozy up to.

I wiggle my toes, and think about the socks on my feet. About the feel of the man’s hands on my skin as he pulled them on.

His rough hand on my breast as he searched for my necklace…

I shiver again, but this time it has nothing to do with the cold.

Somehow, I eventually manage to fall asleep in the chair. When I wake up, it’s light. There’s a mighty crick in my neck, so painful when I try to move it that I wince.

It’s warmed up in the cabin a little. And it smells good. Like bacon. Coffee.

Breakfast.

I blink my eyes open. The man is in the kitchen. He’s standing over the stove, in the same jeans as before, and a tight black T-shirt that reveals muscled biceps lined with tattoos.

Somehow he must feel my eyes on him, because he cuts his eyes over to look at me. Saying nothing, he merely nods and continues what he’s doing. My stomach growls loudly. I haven’t had anything except the apple to eat in over twelve hours.

Eventually, he opens a cupboard and takes out a couple of plates. He holds up a pan of what turn out to be eggs and divides them, then pulls the bacon out of another pan and puts the strips on a smaller plate. He carries them out to the table, sets them down, and looks at me.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asks without preamble. I nod my head. He goes back into the kitchen and pours two cups. He doesn’t ask if I take anything in mine.

When the coffee’s on the table, he comes over to me. I expect him to untie me, but instead he simply picks me up, chair and all, and carries me over to the table. He sets the chair down, roughly enough that my teeth rattle a little.

I snort in disbelief. “What, so you’re going to feed me?” I ask sarcastically.

“No.” He reaches behind me and unties my hands. When they’re free, he goes to his chair, sits down, and begins to eat without another word.

I snort again and roll my eyes, even though he’s not even looking at me. But I’m too hungry to protest or wait any longer. Instead, I grab the fork lying beside my plate and dig in.

I’ve eaten three pieces of bacon and most of my eggs before I know it. When I finally look up from my food, I see him staring at me, one side of his mouth twitching up just a little.

“Hungry, were you?”

I pick up the mug of coffee, savoring the warmth of it in my hands. I take a sip. It’s strong, and I grimace a little.

“You don’t like your coffee black?”

“I usually take it with milk,” I admit.

“There isn’t any,” he tells me. Then, grudgingly: “I can ask Gunner to bring some when he comes with some clothes for you.”

“Thanks.” I take another sip. This time I’m ready for the bitter taste. “So. Am I ever going to know your name?”

He shrugs. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t. Thorn.”

It feels like a little victory that he told me without a fight.

“Why the hell are you doing this, Thorn? You’re not in my dad’s club.”

“Because it’s my job,” he grunts.

“Why is it your job?”

“Because my president told me this is my job.”

“Why does your president care?”

“None of your business.”

“Dammit, this is my business. I’m the one who’s being held captive here!”

“Take it up with your father.” He picks up a piece of bacon, his face stormy. He’s clearly not going to tell me any more.

The rest of breakfast passes in silence. When I finish my coffee, I want to ask him for another cup. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of me talking first, so I don’t. Instead, I take turns pouting and glowering at him. He doesn’t even look at me.

When breakfast is over, Thorn collects the plates and silverware and takes them over to the sink. He dumps them in and turns on the faucet, reaching for a sponge on the counter. The sound of the water, plus the coffee I drank, wakes up my bladder. I try to ignore it, in vain. Sighing in frustration, I admit defeat and realize I’m going to have to talk first.

“I have to pee,” I announce.

Thorn turns off the water and comes over. Kneeling, he unties my feet and points down a short hallway. “In there.”

I don’t wait. Standing up, I try to ignore the pain in my legs as the blood rushes back into them. Hobbling a little, I pad into the hallway and find a smallish bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a tiny shower stall. I reach up to close the door, but a large, strong hand stops it.

“Are you serious?” I ask incredulously.

“No locking the door.” His deep brown eyes bore into me. “If you try to open the window, I’ll hear you. If you do anything stupid, I’ll have Gunner bring a bedpan and you’ll do your business out in the living room where I can watch you.”

I blanch. The expression on his face tells me he’s dead serious. Nodding, I wait as he takes his hand off the door and allows me to shut it. My hand lingers on the knob as I contemplate locking it anyway, but I decide there’s no point. This door is flimsy and hollow. If he wanted to break it down, he could do it with a single blow of his fist.

Inside, I pull down my panties and squat, sighing in relief as my bladder empties. As I pee, I look at the window. It’s small, but I could definitely fit through it. Maybe I can wait until Thorn lets down his defenses, and then…

“Hurry up in there!”

“Hold your horses!” I yell back crossly. “Asshole,” I mutter to myself. I finish peeing and wipe, then wash my hands and dry them on a worn, coarse towel hanging from a rack by the sink. I open the door and Thorn is standing right there, leaning against the jamb.

“Seriously, do you get off listening to women pee?” I ask sarcastically.

His eyes glint, their expression going from irritated to wolfish in a heartbeat.

“Do you want to get me off?” he asks, his lips twisting into a lazy, sexy smirk. “Because I can tell you how, Isabel.”

I know he’s just saying this to shock me into silence. But it works. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware that I’m alone in the woods with a man — a sexy, hard, dominant man — and I have basically no defenses against him. He could do whatever he wanted to me. If he wanted to. My pulse starts to race — partly from fear, but partly from something else entirely. Because the thought of Thorn doing things to me… dirty things… excites me more than I care to admit to myself.

“I don’t think my father would like that,” I croak.

“Your father might not. But you would, wouldn’t you, little girl?”

My mouth opens and then closes again. My face starts to burn. I slip past him, but his arm shoots out and grabs me by the bicep, pulling me back toward him.

“Wouldn’t you?” he repeats, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel the warmth of his breath.

“You’re a pig,” I whisper.

He laughs and lets me go.