She couldn’t leave.

I knew that.

She was locked below. Completely captive. Her very existence relied on my generosity.

I could keep her for however long I wanted, or I could kill her and end the misery she’d created, or I could fuck her until I cured my sudden insanity.

Regardless if help did come for her, she was mine. Like I’d told her in the cell, this was her fault. She’d trespassed. So didn’t that give me the right to do whatever I wanted?

Seriously, what are you thinking?

I groaned and glowered at the shadows.

Keeping her was an inconvenience. Keeping her meant double the work, double the preparation, and a whole shit ton of personal pain.

But I couldn’t let her go, either.

No one could know about this place.

No one.

I sat up in bed, checking for the millionth time that the locks on my door were still in place and the warning alarm was still rigged against my window. Just because no one had come to find her in over fourteen hours didn’t mean they wouldn’t come. That they weren’t waiting for my guard to drop.

But that was the thing. I’d learned the hard way that to survive, you couldn’t stop looking over your shoulder. I’d been doing it for eleven years. I’d become a master at it.

No one would touch her without my permission.

Running my fingers over one of the three knives resting in grabbing distance, I glanced at the other two. One beneath my pillow, one on the floor, and one on my current book.

If more people came, I was ready.

And if they don’t?

If it’s just you and her?

Alone?

For days? Months? Years?

I gritted my teeth.

Then we’re both royally fucked.

Tonight had shown just how weak I was. Just how screwed up I’d become by denying natural urges. I’d broken within moments of being in that cell with her. I’d gone down there to demand answers, yet instead of a calm interrogation, I’d lost all sense of who I was.

I shattered every shred of discipline.

I’d become like them.

I drove my head into the pillow and bunched the sheet over my thighs.

Just because nightmares couldn’t find me didn’t mean the memories of what I’d done to her didn’t. They ignored my command to stay the hell away. They bombarded me with sensation.

Memories of how delicious she’d felt as I’d driven my cock against her came fast.

Her vulnerability made my balls ache to claim her.

And I knew, right down to my rotten soul, that the next time I saw her, I’d want more. I’d take more. I’d use her, with or without her consent, and that left me hard, hurting, and horribly eager to storm down the stairs and command her to her knees.

* * * * *

Standing in the kitchen, I fought against necessity and nastiness.

I was hungry, starving actually, after not consuming a thing yesterday. And if I was hungry, that meant my prisoner would be equally malnourished.

Which led to the dilemma I now faced.

If I fed her, that meant I intended to keep her alive.

If I didn’t, that meant I was destining her to die.

Both scenarios came with ramifications that I wasn’t prepared to deal with on an empty stomach after a sleepless night.

Stalking into the walk-in pantry, I grabbed the rest of the loaf of sourdough rye bread I’d made two days ago. Disformed and stale, it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. It was moderately edible, and for the past few years, that was good enough for me.

In the beginning, I’d eaten like a king.

The cellar once had another purpose instead of housing trespassing girls. It’d been teeming with food. Canned vegetables, huge sacks of rice and potatoes, barrels of sugar and salt, shelves upon shelves of chocolates, wines, and liquors.

There’d been enough rations to last almost four years. I’d stretched certain things, done without on others, and began the necessary shift from eating prepared grains and gathered ingredients into growing my own.

Thank fuck the owner of this place had entered the wilderness prepared. Once a year, they’d have supplies brought in. Huge crates of linen, soaps, juices, savory, and sweet. On top of all the frozen, smoked, dried, and packeted food, they’d imported seeds of every fruit and vegetable. Stocked the library with every book on horticulture, employed gardeners and chefs, and straddled the convenience of modern living with the old ways of cultivating the land.

Those deliveries had stopped long ago, and I’d learned how to stay alive through trial and error. My body had been used as a tester on more than one occasion, confirming what was palatable and what was not. And now, I’d become fairly proficient at providing for one man through four seasons.

I had a system in place.

Chores that needed to be completed each month. Checklists that couldn’t be ignored. And all that had now been thrown into chaos with an additional mouth to feed.

Wrenching open the ancient fridge that ran off hydropower thanks to the swift currents found in the cave system, I yanked out fresh strawberries, a bowl of crunchy snow peas, and a few sticks of last week’s celery.

Placing equal measure of food onto the fancy plates where the gold leaf had long since washed off, I tore up the rest of the bread and carried the two meals down the stairs and to the cellar.

The instant my bare feet landed on the damp concrete of the lower level, a chill shot up my spine.

The heat of the summer didn’t reach down here.

I was suddenly glad I’d slipped into my shirt and slacks, deciding clothing would be a better alternative than going to visit her naked. However, I hated these clothes even more than usual after last night. They were a reminder of what I’d done. The fact that I’d had to scrub away the stain of pleasure. That the slacks were still damp from coming against her—it all shouted a message that I wasn’t in control. Of fucking anything.

A pounding began in my head.

Just get rid of her.

Why are you feeding her?

Why are you delaying the inevitable?

Placing both plates on the ground, I pulled out the key and unlocked the padlock.

I had no answers to those questions, so I ignored them.

The faintest of scurrying inside made my ears prick. What had she been doing all night? Had she set a trap for me?

Rolling my eyes at my stupidity, I curled my hand around the handle. I should’ve checked her for additional weapons when I’d thrown her in here. I should’ve smashed that cell phone, regardless if it was completely useless. I should’ve stripped her down and investigated every inch of her to make sure she had nothing that could hurt me.

Yet another reason you should stop this nonsense and kill her.

You’re overlooking things.

You’re messing up.

Bending, I gathered up the plates before wedging my foot against the door. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m coming in.”

Kicking the door, I braced for pain or her attempt at escape.

Instead of her racing toward me with a knife or shoving past me to the stairs, she merely blinked from where she sat cross-legged against the wall. The cell phone with its pointless antenna rested beside her. I would’ve expected technology to have improved in the decade and a bit since I’d been gone from society, but judging by that piece of shit, it seemed as if the world had gone backward.

Stepping into her prison, I kicked the door shut behind me.