Page 29

Or maybe not. Maybe it’s the truth, buried under all this terror and filth and ruin.

“Come with me,” I whisper, trembling. “Let’s run away. Together. You and me. We can leave all this behind. Forget about it and start over. Just the two of us.”

“Oh, now I’m good enough for you?” His voice is ice. Sharp. Mechanical behind the mask, but so familiar I can feel it slicing straight through me. “Funny. Last time I checked, you were telling me how you wanted to be just friends.”

A sob rips out before I can bury it. “I was just confused.”

“You didn’t seem so confused the other night when your cunt was clenching around my tongue.”

“But I was ,” I choke. “It’s this place! It messed with my head! I thought you… were one of them—”

“No, Bunny.” His voice flattens. Deadpan. “Just like before. You had me and threw me away.”

Shit, I really did that.

I shake my head, tears mixing with the damp on my cheeks. “Ugh, I didn’t know what I wanted then! But I do now.”

His silence is louder than anything I’ve ever heard.

It’s crushing.

It wraps around my ribs like barbed wire. I’d rather he screamed. Raged. Did something.

Instead, he just sits there and stares like I’m a caged animal at the zoo.

And then, after what feels like forever, he moves.

Slowly, so fucking deliberately, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a phone. My phone.

My stomach drops as a fresh wave of horror settles into my bones.

“You didn’t know what you wanted?” he repeats, tilting his head. “That’s funny, babydoll, because you sure seemed to know what you wanted when you were sexting me every fucking night.”

My entire body locks up. Like if I don’t move, this won’t be real. But he’s so full of resentment I can taste his bitterness on my tongue.

He swipes.

And scrolls.

And scrolls.

Stopping briefly every now and then—which I know is when a naughty picture pops up.

And then, he reads.

My words. My late-night messages. My own voice reflected back at me in every filthy, desperate message I sent him.

“I want you so bad, Daddy.”

“You make me so wet.”

“God, I wish you were here… Inside me…”

“I can’t stop touching myself thinking about you.”

“Stop!” I scream. My voice is broken glass. “Stop it!”

But he doesn’t stop.

He just grins beneath his mask. I feel it. Smug. Brutal. Vindicated.

“But you didn’t know what you wanted, huh?” he taunts. “So which is it, little bunny? Are you a liar?” His voice sharpens and he leans in with his forearms on his knees. “Or just a fucking slut?”

My knees give. I drop, sobbing now, ugly and loud and helpless. My body shakes and I hate it. I hate how small I feel in front of him. How exposed. How seen , in the worst kind of way.

He exhales like I’m an inconvenience. Like this isn’t fun anymore.

“Doesn’t matter either way,” he says, pocketing the phone. “Because you don’t get to decide what you want anymore. Never even considered I’d take what you owe, did you?”

My chest heaves. I can’t breathe right. “I hate you,” I slip up.

“I know,” he responds. No heat in it. No pity either. “And the feeling is mutual, baby.”

I make a frustrated noise, and all I see is red. I’ve never in my whole life felt this enraged… and powerless at the very same time.

“Now drink your fucking water,” he commands, low and final. No room for argument.

So I obey. I reach between the bars and pick up the cup. Because I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t.

The water is cool. Clean and fresh. Almost soothing against my parched throat.

And he just watches me. Quiet. Patient. Like he already knows he’s won.

I want to wipe that smirk off his face that I know is still there. At least I can do that.

“You know, I’m gonna need my birth control pills.”

It takes a second for him to process before he throws his head back and hollers in laughter.

God, I despise him.

A whole eternity later, the pressure in my bladder is a slow, insistent torture. I’ve been helplessly pacing the cage for what feels like hours, my bare feet padding against the rough wooden floor.

The need is bordering on unbearable, a hot, throbbing ache that makes my stomach clench. I glance at the bucket in the corner that’s keeping me company.

No. Thanks, I’d rather burst.

The cabin is silent except for the distant creak of wind through the trees outside and the occasional rustle of Ghost’s clothes as he shifts in that rickety chair of his, watching me like I’m some kind of fucked-up reality show.

Look! The Paranormal Bunny. She needs to pee. Isn’t that adorable?

“You gonna sit there all day?” I snap, losing my mind.

“Mhm.”

Oh, fantastic.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, then throw myself on the mattress and stare at the ceiling.

It takes only a moment to realize it was a bad idea. It’s much worse this way. I squeeze my thighs together so hard it almost hurts. Almost. The truth is, the pressure is toeing the line between agony and something… else. Something shameful that makes my breath hitch every time I slightly shift.

Oh God. Oh God, I can’t.

With all the dignity I have left, I stand back up and return to pacing.

His fingers tap lazily against the armrest in the rhythm of my footsteps. Like my suffering is just background noise.

I suddenly stop and grip the bars, pressing my forehead against cold metal. “Ghost,” I whine, hating how pathetic my voice sounds. “Come on. Please. You can’t just—”

“Can’t what?” His voice is lazy. Amused.

I grit my teeth. Asshole .

“I really need to go,” I try again, crossing my legs and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. It’s impossible. “Like, now .”

He tilts his head slightly as if he’s talking to a misbehaving pet. “Bucket’s right there, Princess.”

I glare at him. “I’m not using that thing in front of you.”

A slow, infuriating shrug. “Then hold it.”

Fuck you.

I know he’s doing this to humiliate me. To establish his dominance. And God help me, I won’t let him.

But another wave of desperation rolls through my body, and my hips rock forward, seeking relief that isn’t there.

The movement sends a jolt through me—sharp, almost electric—that pulses right between my thighs.

And the worst part? It doesn’t just hurt.

It feels… good. Not just the rush of release I would feel if I let go, but the tension itself.

The way my body clenches around nothing, the way my pulse flutters low in my belly, the way I’m so full it feels like I’ll rupture.

Like my body’s decided this is some kind of fucked-up foreplay.

Oh, no. Nope. We’re NOT doing this.

My breath stutters.

Ghost notices. Of course he does.

“Aw,” he coos, “Does it feel good, holding it like that?”

“Shut up,” I gasp, but my hips give a tiny, involuntary roll.

It’s degrading. It’s wrong.

And he’s enjoying this. My suffering. My squirming. My struggle.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please,” I whimper, gripping the bars so hard my knuckles whiten, and it’s pathetic even to my own ears.

Ghost exhales, a slow, theatrical sigh. “Pride’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Too stuck up to use the bucket but not to beg. Those pretty doe eyes won’t help you right now.”

“Just let me go outside. I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want after. I promise.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate? You’re already dripping on my floor.”

My stomach drops, and I quickly glance down.

Oh God.

A thin, traitorous trickle escapes, running down my inner thigh. I gasp, mortified, but it’s too late.

My muscles give out, and I can’t do anything to stop it. A shuddering rush surges through me as warmth spills down my legs, splattering onto the floor beneath me. The relief is euphoric, a full-body release that sends sparks up my spine and leaves me dizzy with my knees weak.

I slump against the bars, moaning softly, my face burning with shame. But beneath it? Something darker. It feels like I just came. Not in a sexual way—just that helpless feeling of completely losing control.

Terror comes next. I need a bath. Now .

Ghost stands slowly, stepping closer, his boots thudding against the floor. I can’t look at him. Because he’ll know. Can’t bear the sound of it—the steady, mortifying drip between my feet.

He stops just outside the cage, looming over me.

“Look at what you did,” he murmurs, voice thick with something between disgust and want. “What a filthy girl you are. I should make you clean it with your tongue now.”

“Go to hell,” I hiss, breathlessly.

“Too late.”

I should hate him.

I do .

But as he reaches through the bars and his hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, my pussy flutters.

I’m so fucked it’s not even funny anymore.

“Next time, use the bucket like a good little pet. Now sit in the mess you’ve made and think about your behavior.”

Then he turns and walks away, disappearing behind the front door. And a raw scream rips from my throat.

I’ve never been this disgraced…

Worse—a tiny part of me, buried deep and rotten, liked being owned.

The air inside the cabin is thick and stale, like breathing through a damp rag.

I sit curled in the far corner of the cage, arms wrapped tight around my knees, shivering despite the heat and humidity.

My skin sticks to the floor, sweat pooling in places I didn’t know could sweat.

Every inch of me feels sticky, grimy, trapped.

Time doesn’t move in here—it drips, like the condensation sliding down the rusted bars, bead by bead. The way blood would.

I’m not sure how long it is before I hear movement outside. Then smoke. Then the sharp scent of fat and blood being burned. Underneath it, the mouth-watering aroma of roasted meat.

My stomach growls, a sudden cramp of hunger tightening low and mean in my belly. I’m starving. It hits me all at once, the gnawing emptiness twisting in my gut.

The door creaks open, and every muscle in my body goes still the moment he walks in. It’s instinct now. Survival.