Page 36 of Sanctuary

“I want to be able to touch you too,” I whisper, making my voice husky with false desire. “And… and... I can’t spread my legs for you if they’re tied together.” The lies taste like acid on my tongue, but I keep stringing them along. “Like you said, we’re alone out here. No one has to know.”

I see him wavering, lust battling with caution. His hands move to the zip ties on my ankles, hesitating. “You try anything,” he growls, “and I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

“I understand,” I murmur, trying to look submissive, pliant.

He produces a knife from his boot, the blade glinting in the firelight as he cuts through the plastic binding my ankles first. The relief is immediate, blood rushing back into my numb feet. He pauses, studying my face for any sign of deception. When he sees none, he cuts the bindings at my wrists.

I resist the urge to rub my raw wrists, and instead, I just sit there. Appearing weak, non-threatening, is crucial right now.

“There,” he says, tucking the knife away. “Happy now?”

I nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Come closer,” I whisper.

He leans in, his breath hot on my face, one hand still gripping his belt. I raise my trembling hands to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms. His eyes flutter closed for just a moment—a moment of vulnerability, of misplaced trust.

That’s when I strike.

My right hand shoots up, thumb driving hard into his windpipe while my left grabs the back of his bald head, yanking it down to meet my rising knee. The crunch of cartilage is sickeningly satisfying as his nose breaks under the impact.

He staggers backward, choking and sputtering, blood streaming down his face. I don’t give him time to recover. Five days of fear and helplessness fuel my attack. Ignoring the tremor in my knees, I launch myself from the chair.

We crash to the floor together, my momentum carrying us onto his duffle bag. I pounce on it, unzipping the zipper as metal instruments clatter around inside it. My fingers close around a scalpel just as Craven recovers enough to throw me off.

I hit the ground hard, the air knocked from my lungs as he looms above me, blood dripping from his shattered nose, rage twisting his features into something barely human.

“You bitch,” he wheezes, one hand at his throat. “I’m going to take my time with you now.”

In an instant, he’s on me, his breath hot and ragged against my ear, and I no longer have any fight left in me. His hands tear at my underwear, the lace biting into my skin before it finally gives way. He flips me onto my stomach, and I feel the cold hardwood floor beneath my cheek. He pins me there with his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair. His other hand fumbles with his jeans, the clinking of the metal buckle on his belt echoing in my ears as he struggles to free himself from his pants.

He forces my legs apart, and I feel the rough denim of his jeans. With a knee between my thighs, he pushes down, and I feel the hard floor on my thighs. His heavy breathing fills the air.

Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision as images of Connor, on our wedding day flit through my mind. I push them away and concentrate on a speck of dust on the floor, it’s so minuscule, but it’s something to focus on to block out what’s happening. I brace myself, waiting for the inevitable pain. But before he can thrust into me, a voice booms through the room, sharp and clear.

“Get your fucking hands off my wife.”

Chapter 18

Mia

The weight of Craven’s body suddenly vanished. I gasped, gulping air as I heard the sickening crunch of bone meeting bone behind me. Disoriented, I rolled onto my side to see Connor standing over Craven’s crumpled form, his face twisted with a fury I’d never seen before on anyone.

“Connor?” My voice was barely a whisper, disbelief mingled with an overwhelming feeling of relief.

His eyes find mine, softening instantly, despite the rage still emanating from him. “I’m here,” he said, quickly moving to my side, his hands gentle as he helped me sit up. “I’ve got you.”

He quickly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, then wrapped his arms around me, his warmth enveloping my shivering body. The fabric still held his scent, a comforting mixture of pine and something uniquely him that made me feel safer than I had any right to.

“Can you stand?” he asked, his voice low and steady despite the tension visible in every line of his body.

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure. My legs felt like water, my entire body trembled with the aftermath of terror and adrenaline. He helped me to my feet, keeping one arm firmly around my waist. “We need to go,” he said.

A soft groan from behind us froze us both in place. He pushed me behind him protectively as Craven stirred, blood bubbling from his broken nose as he struggled to regain consciousness.

“Go outside,” Connor urged as he snagged my pants off the floor. He shoved them into my hands while giving me a gentle push toward the door. “I’ll take care of him.”

I slipped my feet into the pants and pulled them up. “You come with me,” I pleaded, tugging on his hand. I took two hesitant steps, my body protesting after days of confinement. The cabin door seemed miles away, the promise of freedom just beyond reach. I turned back to make sure he was following, only to see Craven suddenly lurch upward with surprising speed, one hand diving beneath his jacket.

“Connor, look out!” I screamed.

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