Taylor.

There was movement, and I stepped closer, my heart starting to hammer. He’d been sitting there the whole time. Watching me. Why was he out of breath?

I fisted the pool cue in my hand as I approached.

“Ask me what I did,” he said. And then continued with a loaded tone, “Ask Rory what he did. The underwater wax museum at his parents’ lake house. It was soooo lifelike.”

A shiver ran up my spine. A wax museum? Lifelike. What the hell did that mean?

And then I saw him.

I dropped my gaze, seeing his cock in his hand as he jerked it.

I sucked in a breath, rearing back.

He stroked up and down, quicker and quicker, and then I spotted my blue panties.

They were wrapped around his dick as he masturbated.

My heart sank into my stomach, and I glared at him as he moaned, his eyes falling closed as my lace rubbed against his skin and the muscles in his arms flexed.

What the…? I stepped back, sickened.

“We want to leave,” he told me, “but we’ll never really be free, Emory.” He looked at me again. “You can take him home, but he can never go back.”

And he zoned in on me, jerking harder and harder. My stomach rolled, but I couldn’t move, completely paralyzed as I watched him.

Until he begged in a whisper, “Suck on your finger. Deep throat it for me. Suck it hard.”

I couldn’t make my legs move, and I didn’t notice I wasn’t breathing until my lungs ached.

I bolted from the room, hearing his deep, dark laughter echo behind me as I ran.

I wasn’t even sure where I was going until I found myself in the gym, ignoring Micah on the weights as I jumped on the treadmill, starting the machine and running in my bare feet.

I needed to run. I needed to be too exhausted to care.

Will gave him my underwear? I gnashed my teeth together, my nausea turning to fury.

Micah popped up his head, watching me for a moment, but then left the weights and started sparring with the dummy.

My body cooled with sweat, and I upped the pace faster and faster until I thought I couldn’t keep up just to work off the steam and worry and rage.

I wasn’t just going to sit here for four weeks.

I wasn’t going to count on anyone to protect me.

I may not be able to run, depending on the elements, so I couldn’t count on that as my only option, but I could do something.

Nine years ago, I decided to sit and wait. Ride it out and then run.

I wasn’t doing that anymore.

I hit the emergency Stop button and jumped off the treadmill, panting as I walked over to Micah.

“Show me some moves?” I asked, breathing hard as I removed my glasses.

He stopped and straightened, scowling at me. “Why would I do that?”

“What do you want in return?”

He grinned, and I arched an eyebrow at him.

I was pretty sure he didn’t want that.

“A sandwich,” he said.

I snorted, not missing the intended insult about a woman’s place.

But it wasn’t a horrible idea. I’d have an excuse to be in the kitchen with access to the food.

Even if someone kept an eye on me, I could hoard away something. It might come in handy if I needed to run or hide for an extended period of time.

“A Philly cheesesteak sandwich?” I clarified, upping the ante.

It wasn’t kosher, so I couldn’t eat it. It was one of the few rules I followed.

But I’d make it for them. That kind of sandwich would take longer than ten minutes to cook, giving me plenty of time in the kitchen.

His face lit up. “Really?”

I held up fists, widening my stance as my answer.

He smiled and took up position opposite of me, bidding me to attack. “Let’s do this.”

• • •

Two hours later, and I was sweaty and hot but not tired, strangely. I felt energized, and I wiped off my face to cover up my smile.

Incredible. Stranded for two days with five men—four of them strangers—and you’d think I would feel some danger.

It wasn’t that I didn’t. I just wasn’t unaccustomed to it. It was familiar.

I walked toward the door, glancing behind me at Micah and Rory wrestling on the mat. Micah pinned him down, laughing, but one look from Rory, and Micah let his guard down. The skinnier guy grabbed him, flipped him over, and tried to choke him, but they were both laughing as they tried to get a hold of each other.

I shook my head, continuing out the door. “Have fun, survive…”

And then I stopped, remembering.

The Lord of the Flies. A disturbing classic novel and one of the only ones I actually enjoyed in high school because it was so dark and…possible.

The boys who crash-landed on a deserted island without any adults had three rules. Have fun, survive, and…keep a signal fire going.

It only took a moment to decide. Shooting off, I glanced around me to make sure I was alone, and headed outside into the driveaway.

The empty fountain sat in the middle of the circular drive, and I looked overhead, seeing a clear sky for once.

I wasn’t sure this would last, especially if rain soaked the wood, but I had to try.

Gathering sticks, branches, and even twigs, I hauled armful after armful to the empty fountain and threw them in, creating a massive pile. I returned to the edges of the driveaway, gathering more, and built the pile higher, so it blazed bright and big, the light hopefully visible in the dark and the smoke visible in the day.

I ran farther to the tree line, picking up more kindling, and ran back, throwing it in.

But an arm shot out and grabbed my wrist.

I jerked my head, seeing Will in his jeans and T-shirt, green eyes void of the boy I remembered.

I yanked my wrist away and pushed him back. He grabbed my arm, and we both fought, me trying to escape and him trying to stop me.

“Someone is bound to notice it,” I growled.

“No one will notice it,” he told me, “and you’re mistaken if you think he’s going to let you light that in the first place.”

Struggling, I pushed him away from me, and he let me go.

Yeah, I know. It was a long shot, and maybe without Mommy and Daddy’s money, there was no point in them even trying to escape, because if they left here, they could only go home to the very people who sent them here in the first place. They weren’t going to give up their names, hide in Brooklyn, and be pizza delivery boys.

But I didn’t belong here. I had a job, and I didn’t need anything from anyone.

“What did you do to get sent here?” I asked him. “I mean, your parents actually sent you here? Aren’t you their favorite or something?”

He just held my eyes, refusing to answer.

It had been a while—maybe a year or more. Micah said Rory was the last new arrival seven months ago, and even he had already been home once, only to be sent back.

What was Will doing with himself? He was going to have the life.

“You’re twenty-six,” I told him. “What comes after this? Where do you go? Do you suddenly grow up?” I searched his eyes. “If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to. You do you, and I’ll do me.”

He stepped in, looking down at me. “I hear you’re making dinner,” was all he replied with. “We’re hungry now. Go cook.”