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All traces of fear dissipated as familiar depression stole my desire to live.

But this time, I didn’t have Ciarra to pull me from the depths.

I had no one.

14

Gideon

Three full days of solitary confinement like I’d had my first week in jail—but in the dark like she fucking deserved—and Addilyn refused to give in to panic and tears. Refused to break down in an emotional rage.

Where the fuck she’d gotten her strength from, I had no clue. She’d always been a snobby, spoiled brat, so her quietness surprised me. Still, I sat in silence, telling myself I wasn’t in awe of her, choosing instead to focus on my rising anger over failing to break her. Watching as she attempted to amuse herself, same as I’d done during the long, lonely hours in jail.

Not once did she break down or scream for me to let her go to feed the need inside me. She didn’t even pound on the door demanding to use the bathroom. Instead, she took to the bowl I’d given her as though she knew the real reason I’d tossed it into her cell with her.

The night-vision camera only allowed me green and white video on the old iPad I’d gotten from Twinkie’s friend, but I still enjoyed the fuck out of seeing her on its screen. Watching her squat over the bowl to relieve herself. Wipe her pussy dry. Wipe the ass I wanted to wreck. Her mouth moved as though she conversed with herself, holding my attention.

I should have gotten a damn mic along with the camera so I could be entertained by whatever shit she spewed.

She shifted in her sleep, sometimes pulling up a leg and giving me a peek at her pussy.

Twice while sneaking in food, I studied her sprawled form in the light spilling through the open doorway.

Tempted to touch the swell of her tits.

Contemplating shooting my spunk all over her filthy body again.

But my toughness won out, same as hers.

I wouldn’t give in to my animal instinct to take. Seeing her break, the tears and pleading, would be worth it.

When not watching her and practicing self-control over wanting to jerk off, I read all the tattered western paperbacks Twinkie’s late uncle had left. Fed the fire. Cooked. Enjoyed the fucking silence and the wilderness stretching around us.

The snow stopped, and I trampled out into it sometimes for hours on end to fill my lungs, take in the mountains, and strain my muscles by climbing the hills beyond Twinkie’s cabin.

I turned the cell on once a day to check messages. Over a dozen from Lloyd, demanding answers, to know where we were, how long until he could have his time with her.

I only ever answered with one word: Soon.

With every day that passed, he grew more irritated, and I reveled in the fact he didn’t know where we were, would never find us unless I gave him coordinates or brought him to the cabin myself.

Making him powerless, knowing anxiety and stress battled in his gut, gave me the sweetest sense of satisfaction, but I would have more.

The anticipation of eventually watching the princess lose it to fear rushed through me like an addictive high I expected would surpass the pleasure I took from keeping Lloyd in suspense.

On day four, she woke, stirring but not bothering to right her shirt that had ridden up while she’d slept. Rather than roll from bed and seek out the food I’d left like she usually did, she stayed put.

Blinked in the darkness while I watched in green and white.

She stared, unmoving.

Minutes ticked by. A fucking hour. Still, she didn’t move.

She’d fucking broken, I realized with a scowl, but not how I’d planned or wanted.

She hadn’t gone down sobbing. I hadn’t managed to make her feel less-than. Sure, she’d flipped when I’d held her down in the snow, but her instinctive need to survive hadn’t taken over. Addilyn hadn’t lost her poise or her fucking spine in the way I craved.

She’d merely fucking caved to despondency.

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