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They probably think I’m going to break. I bet anything they think I’m the idiot who spent eighteen months as Gregory’s pretty little trophy, locked away in his gated mansion while he built his political empire on bribery and shady-as-fuck deals, that I’m weak.

They’re wrong. So fucking wrong.

I survived my father’s abusive, unpredictable fists in these exact woods when I was ten years old. I’ll fucking survive Gregory Jones and his paid muscle tonight.

I peek around the redwood. Flashlight beams crisscross just thirty yards downhill.

“I see blood on the bark over here!” TJ shouts, his voice echoing in the woods. “He’s bleeding! He went up toward the old ridge trail!”

“Flank him!” Jake orders. “Kyle, take the left slope! TJ, cut off the top path! Don’t let that little bitch reach the old logging gates!”

Panic slices through me. They aren’t searching aimlessly anymore. They have my trail.

I turn and force my broken stride into a staggering run, pushing deeper into the woods where the redwoods grow so thick that the branches block out the sky. The ground slopes steeply upward. The air grows colder, sharper, crisp with the scent of pine.

Behind me, branches snap violently. Heavy footsteps charge through the brush. “There he is!” Kyle shouts.

A flashlight beam shines across the trees, landing on my back. I duck sideways just as Kyle lunges through the wet ferns. His fingers snag the material of my shirt. The fabric rips with a loud tear, yanking me backward.

Automatically, I swing my elbow back with everything I have left. It connects with Kyle’s nose. He grunts, staggering backward into the mud with a wet crunch. I scramble up onto my good leg, ignoring the fiery pain shooting up my left calf, and throw myself forward into the darkness.

“Get back here, you little slut!” Kyle screams behind me, his voice deadly.

Even though it isn’t that far away, I run for what feels like hours until I drag myself out of the dense brush onto a flat stretch of packed red dirt.

My boot catches on an exposed root. I hit the ground hard, skidding across slick, wet moss. Gravel slices into my palms. A ragged gasp escapes my lips as my ankle twists again, sending black spots dancing across my vision.

I’m in the center of the crossroads. Narrow dirt paths intersect here under the shadows of four massive, ancient redwoods. The trees arch over the clearing like something from a horror movie. This is where the old logging road dies off. Did my subconscious bring me here on purpose, or was it a coincidence?

Behind me, the flashlight beams break through the tree line. All three of them. Fucking fuck. I’m surrounded.

“Cornered like a little animal,” Jake pants. He steps onto the dirt path, his flashlight aimed right at my eyes. He draws a black pistol from his holster. “End of the road, Bellamy. Look at you. So pathetic.” Jake’s eyes linger on my body. He’s never been this cruel to me before.

“Jake, please,” I beg. He might be Gregory’s loyal goon, but I know he’s attracted to me. Maybe it’s enough for him to take pity on me. I lean forward, purposely letting my ripped shirt fall off my shoulder. I just pray that the drizzle and damp ocean air doesn’t make me look like a drowned rat.

Just as predicted, Jake’s eyes linger on my exposed skin. He places the gun back into his holster and begins to palm himself through his pants. Fucking pig. “You know, Gregory promised whoever caught you gets to fuck you first. He already called several of his buddies tonight. Looks like you’re finally not off limits.”

I blink, letting Jake’s words sink in. My heart hammers in my chest, even harder than before. “No,” I gasp.

Jake chuckles, waving a hand toward my pants. “Looks like you like the thought of me inside you. I always knew you were a promiscuous little thing.”

No. I shake my head, willing my body to stop reacting. Sure enough, I’m hard as steel. But it isn’t Jake, or Gregory, or any of the men here. It’s the fear. After my father died when I was nineteen, I made a promise to myself that I’d never let fear control me ever again. From that point on, my fucked-up brain decided to associate fear and arousal as the same thing.

But not like this. Never like this.

Only Gregory knew my little secret. It was fun when we first met. He’d toe the line of what was safe, but then one day he took it too far. God, I was so stupid.

Footsteps thunder up the main trail behind Jake. Expensive dress shoes crunch unhurriedly onto gravel.

Gregory.

“Did you catch him?” Gregory’s cold, cultured voice slices through the air. He steps into the dim light, handsome in his black peacoat. His face is relaxed, almost bored. Disgusted. Nothing like the man I fell for. “Eighteen months, Bellamy. Eighteen fucking months, and you still think you can run?”

I peer around before dragging myself to the center of the dirt intersection. My hands are bloody from the gravel.

“I gave you everything,” Gregory says, walking toward me slowly while his three goons stand guard. “Safety. Money. A life.” He ticks things off one at a time with his fingers.

Angry tears sting my eyes. I was never safe. Not with him. The bastard didn’t give me a life; he stole it.