Why? Why does none of this make any sense?

I sit up and get dizzy in the blackness with no reference point to concentrate on. I gather myself and wait for my vision to clear.

It never clears. So I close my eyes and swing my legs over. I don’t need eyes. What good are eyes in the dark? After a few minutes I reach down with my toe, noticing they are no longer warm—so that was not some freak accident of biology heating me up—and touch the rough concrete floor. I stand, sway for a moment as I hold onto the table, and then use it to walk to the end. It’s warm over here.

I drop to my knees and crawl forward, the heat building as I go. I get to a wall—not wood, but metal—and my whole palm flattens against it.

It’s a heater or something. About three feet wide and three feet tall. I press my whole body up against it and I can hear sound from the other side.

A fire. It’s a fireplace, only I’m on the other side of it. Separated by a sheet of metal.

But that is better than anything I could’ve hoped for. I sit there, willing myself to relax. He gave me heat. And water, I think as I absently log the sound of the drips on the other side of the room. Heat and water. And I’m clean.

He gave me three things. Which means he will give me more.

I have a little glimmer of hope.

A sudden grating sound shakes me from this fantasy I’m building and there’s a sliver of light as a tray is pushed through a plate-sized hole at the bottom of the room, where the sink is.

Food. That’s four things. And I didn’t do anything for these last two except wake up. I swallow down what that might imply, and crawl along the wall until I reach the tray. The meat is cold and the fruit is warm. But I don’t mind cold meat or warm fruit.

I take a few berries—absently wondering where he got them in the dead of winter—and stuff them in my mouth. They are not very sweet, but I don’t care. The raspberries are ripe and soft. They practically melt in my mouth.

The meat is gamey, but I like game meat. Have learned to like game meat after so many years camping with Garrett. It’s elk, I can tell. There’s not a lot of it, only a few mouthfuls. But it’s been so long since I ate, my stomach feels full when I finish. I force myself to eat the berries too—needing the vitamins they contain—and then I stand up and feel my way over to the dripping sink. I lean my head down and let it pool into my mouth until I can swallow enough to matter, then repeat this a few more times until I feel satisfied. I walk back over to the heat and lie down in front of it, listening for the crackle of wood.

What is he doing?

I ask myself that over and over again. But I already know the answer. He wants Garrett. Hell, I want Garrett.

No. You want Brett, not Garrett.

Is that true? Do I want Brett? What must he think of me? Running away from our wedding? Does he think I planned an escape? Does he think I’ve been kidnapped? Is he looking for me right now? Did he find my truck out there on the mountain?

There was blood in there. I crashed. So that’s why my body is so sore. Maybe it’s not from the hose? Maybe it’s from the crash?

I’m so confused. Why did I ever leave Brett? He was the only good thing in my life since Garrett left.

Case would kill him and you know this, Sydney.

Case would. I have no doubts now. I did the right thing by leaving. Right thing for Brett, anyway. Me? Not so much.

Case is going to kill me. Whatever kindness he’s showing me now is just a means to an end. He’s keeping me alive for his own purposes. He said as much. He hates me and he’s looking forward to my death.

And he killed my father.

Do I care?

No. No, that was another blessing in disguise. My father was a monster. If Case is the monster in the dark, my father is the monster in the light. Hidden by the brightness of his career, his money, and his status.

I let out a small laugh. “Not anymore, asshole.” Because he’s dead. I look around the room and see only blackness. But I can imagine it in my mind. I have a very active imagination. I can imagine my father writhing in pain on that table. Maybe he had the fire hose treatment too?

I laugh for real, picturing him getting one of his suits cut off him. Case slicing him up instead of poking. I mean, I’m young, and cute, and sexy. Even I know this. And my father is old, and mean, and ugly. Case would not be cupping his hand over my father’s private parts like he did mine.

Why did he do that?

He’s going to rape you, Sydney.

I take a moment to let that sink it. He’s going to rape me. I know it. I can feel it.

You can use that against him.

Maybe I can.

A door creaks open on the other side of the room and I force myself not to move. I stare in that direction. No light escapes, like it did when the tray of food was pushed through, so I can’t see anything.

But I can certainly feel him coming in. I can smell him too. And it’s not a rank smell. He doesn’t smell like someone who’s been camping in the woods for a few weeks. This cabin has a shower somewhere, because he just smells like a man.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” he replies.

“I can tell you everywhere I think Garrett is.”

“I know that, Sydney. But that’s not what I want. I want the place you know him to be.”

“I don’t have that information.”

“You do,” Case insists. “And I’m going to get it out of you.”

“And then rape me and kill me.”

He laughs and my skin prickles up and down my arms. He laughs again and the hair on the nape of my neck stands up. I don’t even have a word for how his laugh affects me.

Fear, that inner voice says. Terror.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“You’re afraid of everything, Sydney Channing. I’ve been watching you for eight years and never have I ever come across a weaker girl. I have known twelve-year-old girls who are braver than you are right now.”

“I’m not sure she counts.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you.”

He walks towards me in the dark and I realize he’s wearing night vision. Has been this whole time. Every moment I thought I was in the dark was a lie I told myself. How could he see me nod my head, how could he see I was wearing pretty panties, how could he cut my clothes off me if he wasn’t wearing night vision?

My stomach churns as his boots thud across the floor and then he’s there in front of me. Before I can scoot away, he’s pulled me up to him, holding me against his chest, squeezing my upper arms so tightly I know he’s leaving marks on my skin.

“There’s a huge difference between brave and stupid. You are stupid.”

“Why should I care if I’m stupid?” I ask him. His breath is hot and it floods across my face, smelling a little bit like raspberries. “You’re going to torture me, rape me, and then kill me. What do I have to lose by being stupid instead of brave?”

“Your fiancé,” he replies.

I have to admit, this catches me off guard.

“I know why you left. How many times do I have to say it? I own you. I own your mind, I own your body, and I own your future.” He pauses, like he’s thinking. “Or what’s left of it.”

I struggle to get away and he lets me slip out of his grasp. I back up a few paces, then trip over the lip of the hearth, falling back on my ass. I look up where I think his face is. “If I knew, Case”—I use his name. Isn’t that what they tell you to do? To make a kidnapper see you as a person instead of a target?—“I’d tell you. But I have no clue where Garrett is. I really thought he was dead. I really thought you killed him. I really—”

Case grabs me by the arms and pulls me to my feet before I can finish, dragging me back over to the table. He picks me up, sits me on it, still holding me tightly, and then leans down into my ear. “I know that’s what you think. That’s why you’re still alive.”