3. Winter

THREE

WINTER

T he first thing I notice when I regain consciousness is I'm not on solid ground. I dare to open my good eye and clamp my cracked lips together to restrain myself from screaming.

The dead driver stares at me.

His eyes are open and vacant; his body is tense with the early effects of rigor mortis.

As quietly as I can, I shift off the corpse. Moving is difficult with the restraints on my wrists and ankles. I can tell by the hazy sunlight coming through the windows that we've been driving for a while.

A frosty chill seeps through the cracks of the hatch door.

Goosebumps bloom on my arms and my naked nipples tighten to the point of pain in the frigid space. I can't recall anything after running into the street last night. Or was it even last night?

Stop thinking.

I squeeze my thighs together and choke back a sob at the familiar soreness.

What happened? What happened? Whathappenedhappenedhappenedwhat? —

Hunter, please find me. Please help me.

One.

One-two-one.

One-two-three-two-one.

I catalog my injuries. My face, I'm sure, is all busted. I try to move my jaw from side to side in millimeters of movement and nearly scream at the pain. It hurts like hell, but I'm not convinced my jaw is actually broken. Looking down at the rest of my body, I hold in a gasp when I see my chest and side are one massive bruise. Testing a deeper breath, I stifle a groan. My knees are bloody, as are my feet. Dirt covers my skin.

Hunter.

All at once, the slow realization that I'll have to escape Adam's clutches somehow locks into my consciousness. Alongside that thought is that Hunter doesn't know where I am. No one does. And while people most likely know I'm missing by now, how will they find me?

Will they find me in time?

I'm unsure if we've driven north or south, east or west. All I know is we've been driving for some time for the sun to have risen. We could be anywhere.

We begin to decelerate and then take a right turn. Tall leafless trees whip past the side window. I count the seconds in time with my heartbeat. Ten. Fifty. One hundred. Six hundred. Then the car curves and treks over bumpy terrain. Gravel.

We stop.

I still my body, imagining forcing the cells in my muscles to slow. When he opens the door, whipping frigid air into the already cold space, I pretend I'm dead.

"Wake up, princess," he says. He slaps me on my ass and unbinds my hands and feet. I let out a low, slow groan as I open my uninjured eye and look at him.

My head pounds and I feel like it could crack open any minute. Moving inch by inch as to not upset my wrecked, fractured bones, I sit up under the open tailgate of the Tahoe. I look past him. The trunks of thick, overcrowded trees surround our spot.

I don't see an opening within the tree line, even without foliage.

A sharp, icy wind blows through, disturbing the rotting leaves on the forest floor with a dry crackle against the frozen branches.

"Where are we?" I ask. My voice is hoarse and my teeth chatter against the frigid air. Forming words with my cracked lips feels terrible.

He smiles at me and doesn't respond.

"Come, princess," he says, stretching his arms to me. I fight my body to still instead of recoil—I don't want him to hit me again. Another blow might just kill me.

But when he wraps his arms around my body, carrying me out of the car wedding style, I want to throw up again.

The warmth radiating off him is salvation for my naked, abused, chilled body. I want nothing more than to flee from it.

"Welcome home, beautiful Winter." He rounds the car and presents a small hunting cabin that's seen better days. The uneven porch lists to one side, and part of the railing hangs off at the far end of the house. Piles of snow cover parts of the roof and the amount of it makes me wonder if the ceiling will cave in.

Still, he stomps up the small staircase and pushes through the threshold with flair.

The cabin is one big room. On the far wall is a wood fireplace that's covered in cobwebs. To the left is a small kitchenette with a sink, hot plate, and a fridge that looks like one in a hotel room. Off to the side is a narrow opening, and half of a chipped clawfoot tub and a toilet peek through the open doorway .

The uncontrollable tremors redouble, and my teeth vibrating together sends a renewed bolt of agony through me.

On the right side of the cabin, there's a mattress on the floor. The quilted blanket on the thin bed looks like a small animal chewed on it.

He drops me on the bed, and I scramble to sit up. My back hits the cold wooden wall.

"Adam," I say. "Please..." I don't know what I'm asking him for. Please let me go? Please don't hurt me anymore? Please call this whole thing off and bring me home?

Please kill me now so I can avoid what's coming next?

"I love how you say my name, princess." He smiles, and his face transforms. Many women would consider Adam to be a handsome man. His skin is smooth and creamy, like ebony varnish on soft pine. He has naturally straight teeth, and his face structure is strong and angular. He's tall, and he's always been muscular and lithe from playing basketball in high school. Now, his muscles are larger and more menacing from spending the last fifteen years in the penitentiary.

I look away from him. "Can I know where we are?" I ask in a small voice.

"Of course not," he says with a laugh. He moves over to the kitchenette. The taps sputter a few times before releasing a steady stream.

A stench rises from the fetid water.

"What's your plan, then? People will know that I'm missing. It won't take long for them to put two and two together and search for me."

"I know that," he says happily, like I just told him he has tickets to the NBA playoffs. He pulls a red rubber bag from a bucket to the side of the sink.

"They'll kill you when they find you," I say. I pull the blanket from beneath my bottom, trying to cover myself, and I cringe at the stained sheet beneath.

"Eh," he says, still smiling. "Some people will try to. But I've got protection now. I'm gonna get a new life, bay-bee!" He fills the rubber with water before capping it and putting it into the bucket. He smiles at me, his eyes roaming all over my face.

"Did you like the cookie?" He leans against the kitchenette counter, drying his hands with meticulous concentration.

"Cookie?" My lips go numb under his pressing stare.

He uses the tattered cloth to buff his fingernails, his eyes never wavering from me.

Don't look at me. Don't fucking look at me.

"Yes, Winter," he says, rolling his eyes. "You're so fucking rude sometimes. You kept going back to that café down the street from your apartment, so I thought you must like their food. I know you have a thing for chocolate."

I stare at him open-mouthed, and he shrugs as if he hasn't just admitted to stalking me.

He walks back over to the bed and sits on the edge. I pull the blanket higher on my body, up to my neck, covering my breasts.

He raises his hand and brushes it over my swollen eye.

"That's a bad one, yeah?" He runs his hands into my tangled hair, pulling at the roots, and tears spring to my eyes at the pain.

Even my hair is sensitive.

"I'm sorry to say it, Winter, but you look a mess."

I shudder. I hate that tears track down my face.

"Tell me about your little boyfriend," he says. The playfulness in his tone is a mockery—pretending as if we were really family and close enough to talk about things like boyfriends and relationships and love.

Fear and dread coat my mouth, tasting metallic.

"What do you mean?" I mutter.

"Aw, Winter." It takes a second for the searing agony to register as he wrenches my hair tight in his fist. "It's not a good look to play dumb, princess. "

He yanks my head back and I screech. Ripping the blanket off me, he wedges his body between my legs.

"Winter," he breathes into my neck. "Do you let him kiss you, Winter? Do you let him hold you?"

"Get off me—let me go!"

"Did you let him touch these?" He drags his hand down to my breast, palming it and squeezing it as if he aimed to rip the flesh away from my chest.

"Did you, Winter?" He squeezes harder.

"Please, Adam. Please stop," I say between broken sobs.

He beams at my terror. "Oh, but no, Winter. Because you let him touch you here, didn't you?" He breeches me with his fingers, pushing and stretching me with so much aggression I feel like I'm tearing.

I scream, my rage echoing off the walls and absorbed by the dead trees and silent snow.

"Scream, scream, Winter! No one can hear you!" He laughs, gleeful at my agony.

"Did you let him have what's mine?" With savage punches, he breaks my body, most of his hand tearing at my insides.

"Ad-am," I sob. I push at him, hitting him on the back, on the side of his head, kicking him, and thrashing in wild desperation.

"You did, Winter. I already know. You let him have something that wasn't yours to give. You are mine , Winter. But you must have forgotten." He lifts off me, but the reprieve is short-lived. He grabs my hair again, wrapping it around his wrist and leading me to the bathroom.

"Since you've decided to be a filthy whore," he stops at the kitchen counter, grabbing the bucket. "You've got to get clean." He throws me in the clawfoot tub, and I slip on the slimy mildew. Blood tracks down my legs. I scramble to run, ready to run and run and run away. He grabs me around the waist and bends me over his lap when he sits on the rickety toilet.

"Bad girls get clean," he says. Then he shoves the rigid plastic inside me. I grab at the floor, his legs, but he has me pinned to him, and my broken ribs protest at the movement.

A feeling of fullness expands within my womb. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes struggle to focus past the pain as he holds the red rubber bladder up and forces the foul water into my body.

He's cleaning me out. Literally.

"You've been bad, but we can make it right." He squeezes the balloon tighter, and the rush of fluid makes me groan in pain. "You're mine for the rest of your life. They may kill me, yes. But I get to have all of you until you close your eyes and leave this earth."

He rips the douche out of me and throws all of it into the dirty tub.

"Let's let it sit, princess. We've got to get you nice and clean." He rubs circles on my lower back, and I'm still with shock. I can feel the fragmented parts of my psyche shattering as the seconds tick on.

My stomach roils, and I know I'd throw up again if there was anything left for me to expel.

"I really hate that I have to kill you, baby. But there's only enough for one of us to survive out there, and, well, this is what you get, if I can be completely honest with you." One hand tangles in my hair.

He rubs my ass, causing me to clench. The pressure is unbearable, and tears leak out of my eyes.

Nothing feels real, but the pain anchors me to the moment. To the reality that I'm here, in this room, in this fucked-up place, with the man I hate the most.

"Do you think about our daughter?" Adam asks after a sharp, short inhale. He shifts to rub my thighs. They tremble. " I do. She'd be a teenager now. I wonder all the time what she would look like. It's a shame you couldn't keep her safe."

"I was a child." I spit at him, venom thick in my words. "I was a child, and you raped me over and over. Getting pregnant was a horrible result." I don't recognize my voice.

"We made love, Winter! What we did was love because you are mine!" He stands up and places me over the putrid toilet. "Release," he says. I'm helpless as tension leaves my pelvic muscles—they clench and unclench, and a rush of water exits my body.

"You're a rapist," I hiss.

"You're a liar, Winter! You love me. You want to be with me. You always sought me out. You wanted to be by me. You wanted it as much as I did." He slaps me across the face. Thankfully, it's on my good cheek. My body smacks against the linoleum floor, and I'm flipped to my back.

"Winter, why can't you be good?" He puts his hands up to his head. A dry raspy sound amplifies as he rubs his hands on his short, shaved head.

He drops to the grimy floor. Kneeling between my legs, he pulls me closer to him by my hips. "You just have to remember, Winter. That's all."

As his belt buckle clinks and I hear him unzipping his pants, I know this is it.

This is the moment I truly die.

Because no matter what happens after this, no matter when he does kill me, this is the moment where my soul gives up.

I stop crying. I stop feeling.

Hunter. I wish I could have had more time to love you.

I turn my head to the side, blind to his movements, the dank cabin, and the snowy forest as I stare at the cobwebs under the tub.

No one is coming to save you.

I let my soul fly away.