When I didn’t answer, he gripped my chin tighter. “Didn’t we?” he asked again, his voice harder and demanding I agree with him.

Though my arms were sore and tired from being held above my head, I lifted one and swung with as much force as I could. Adam caught my wrist before it landed its blow. That was the last straw, the last hope I’d hung onto. I was defeated and weak, a blip on my captors radar and nothing more. I never felt so helpless in my life. Adam gripped both of my wrists in one hand and slammed them against the wall above my head. I didn’t move as he shackled them again. He left the room, not saying another word, making sure to turn the light off as he went.

My mind was in a dark, dark place; one that I never visited before. It was filled with hatred, self-loathing, and a depression so great it ate away at me. I sat still, staring ahead into the darkness as I let all of emotion in at once. My wolf snapped and bit to break free. She was angry and just as rabid as I felt. Time slipped by at a snail’s pace. I sat in the same position staring ahead, dazed as I retreated to the dark hell inside my head. When his voice penetrated through the ugly emotions, it took me a moment to understand it was really there and not just me thinking of his words.

Anna, where are you? Answer me, Chante.

Hot fresh tears spilled over my cheeks, heating my cool skin. So this was the torture Adam planned to inflict on me, making me think he still loved me? It was worse than I expected, worse than any physical pain he could cause. This kind of abuse attacked my heart and my fragile state of mind. I didn’t respond.

Damn it. Anna, please answer me. Tell me you’re okay. I don’t care if you need space. I just need to know if you’re alright.

His voice wasn’t hard anymore. It sounded velvety soft and concerned. Reminding me how easily he’d fooled me.

You should win an Emmy, I responded.

Holy hell, Anna, where are you?

I tried to block out his voice. I wouldn’t play this game and lose what little bit of my mind I still had. That fantasy was dead.

*

The days dragged on and on and on. Adam and Eve visited me once a day either to bring me slop or to knock me around a little. I found myself hoping they’d put me out of my misery. But they were having too much fun holding me captive to grant me my wish.

Adam continued to speak to me telepathically, but I never responded. My body was weak from the lack of food. The last time I’d eaten was the last day I’d spent with the pack. I felt like crying, but I had nothing left to give. My eyes couldn’t shed anymore tears. My arms were numb, having been pinned above my head for who knows how long. I tried to flex my fingers, but I couldn’t feel them anymore. My body, which ran hot, was freezing and hurt from shaking so much.

Loud bangs and what sounded like growling sounded above me. I tilted my head up, studying the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if it was real or my imagination playing tricks with my mind. It wouldn’t be the first time since I’d been here. A similar noise traveled outside the door. Sickening cracks, snarls, and yelps serenated the small space. I watched the door in horror, afraid of what was coming. With one last feeble attempt, I pulled against my chains. They didn’t budge, not that I expected them to.

Something was thrown against the door, the metal to groan in protest. The handle jiggled, but the intruder couldn’t get in without a key. Crunching metal echoed a horrific sound and the door was kicked open. I screeched, moving as far away as my binds would allow. I tucked my head down, not wanting to see what was in the room with me. I just hoped it’d killed me quick.

When nothing happened, I looked up, peaking through the stringy strands of my hair. Enough light filtered through the door so I could see Adam. His face depicted disbelief and relief all in one. His eyes were wide, his mouth a hard line as he set his jaw. As soon as we made eye contact, he rushed forward. He fell beside me, his arms wrapping around my frame and bringing me against his chest. I wanted to fight against him, but I was too lethargic, too dazed, and too empty to care. If he wanted to play out this fantasy, at least I’d die with a happy memory—even if it was fictional.

His anger buzzed in the air like a downed power line. Reaching up, he clasped my restraints and tugged. The metal creaked, falling from the wall, my arms falling with it. Adam broke apart the manacles and freed my wrists. He still hadn’t said a word, just watched me as he rescued me from my prison. Once out of my chains, Adam scooped me into his arms, hugging me against his chest and whispering soft words I chose to ignore. I could lose myself in his embrace, even pretend he was the man I thought he was, but I could not listen to his lies. I tuned him out and inhaled a lungful of his scent. It’d been so intoxicating to me before, comforting me when I needed it, and seducing me when my body yearned for him. It still touched me, hitting that spot in my chest that fell for him. I hated it and loved it at the same time.

“Anna.” My name was a soft whisper on his lips, a declaration of passion that didn’t belong. I closed my eyes and devoured the sound of his voice, imagining that I made this hell up and when I woke, I’d be in my bedroom lying next to the real Adam.

“God, I’m sorry, so sorry,” Adam was saying, his voice pained and full of anguish I didn’t understand. Another round of loud snarling and cracks sounded. Adam set me down, pulling his T-shirt over his head, and helping me into it. As soon as I was covered, he lifted me again and we were moving.

I hid my face against his chest, not caring about the chaos around me. Adam’s arms offered a peaceful cocoon where I could lose myself in his scent and the warmth of his body.

A gun fired, its blast ringing in my ears disturbing my peacefulness. Something that sounded like a body dropped in front of us, and Adam stepped over, continuing our quick escape. Peeking through one eye, I looked up at him. His face was serious, hard, and full of worry. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he looked down, his blue eyes tinged with gold.

Adam looked away, focused on moving. Within minutes, he burst through another door and sunshine flooded my face, causing me to wince. Was the sun always this bright?

“This isn’t over,” a man’s voice called behind us. Adam turned, his fingers digging into my thighs as he held me tighter.

“You’re right, brother. This has just begun,” Adam replied icily.

Brother? Who was he talking to? Adam turned again, and out of curiosity, I peeked over his shoulder. My mouth fell open as I stared at a man who looked eerily similar to the man holding me. I doubled checked the face of the guy carrying me and then looked back at the man who stood off in the distance. They had the same blond hair and build. Adam called that man “brother”. Reaching a hand up, I cupped the side of Adam’s face, his eyes full of fury.

“Adam?”

“It’s me, Chante. You’re safe now.”

“You found me,” I mumbled.

“I told you that I’d always find you, Anna,” Adam said, repeating words he’d once told me. They were more than words, they were a promise, a declaration—a vow. Whatever predicament I found myself in, Adam would be the light at the end of the tunnel, guiding me home.

Chapter Twenty-five

“You need to eat more,” Elle snapped, eyeing my still full plate.

I’d been back home for a day, but had only been awake for three hours. Elle fixed me something to eat as soon as she knew my eyes were open. Her mothering ways were sweet, but annoying.

“I need to eat a little bit at a time, otherwise I’ll vomit,” I told her for the third time. I learned when I woke up I’d been gone for six days. The pack assumed I was dead, but Adam forced them to continue searching the mountain. From the looks of my friends, they hadn’t gotten much sleep in my absence.

“You look like you’ve dropped ten pounds,” Elle commented, closing her mouth when I frowned.

I hadn’t talked about my time as a prisoner. Speculations circled, I’m sure, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to correct them.

Elle and I glanced over when footsteps squeaked against the wood floors. Sawyer stood in the entry of the kitchen, a huge bouquet of colorful Gerbera daisies, carnations, lilies and greenery with a “Get Well Soon” Mylar balloon rising from the top.

“I didn’t think…” Sawyer whispered, his voice barely audible over the catch in his throat.

I bit my bottom lip to keep the sorrow off my face. I needed to be strong so they’d know I was fine…even if I wasn’t.

Sawyer walked over, holding out the flowers. I grabbed them and smiled at him. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” Sawyer’s eyes were wide, his mouth open, and his hands shook the tiniest bit. Without a word, he sat down at the kitchen table and stared at me in awe.

“I’m fine,” I told him. I had quite a few visitors and was good at lying. I sniffed the flowers, straining to keep the smile on my lips. It felt mechanical but I hoped it looked genuine.

“I’m…damn, Anna,” Sawyer said inarticulately, clearing his throat. “I’m happy you’re safe.”

“Thanks,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

“You said that already,” Elle reminded me.

I glanced at her and then back at Sawyer. They watched me, observing me with concern and embarrassment.

“I’m going to lie down,” I told them, using the excuse to escape the heaviness of their stares. “I really appreciate the flowers, Sawyer.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you need anything? Tea?” Elle asked as I got up.

“No, I’m—.”

“Let me guess, fine?” Elle provided.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Walking down the hall, I slipped inside my bedroom and closed the door. A couple vases of flowers rested on my dresser, accompanied by cards, and other various items. Joe got me a stuffed pig with a biker jacket that read “Born Wild”. I suspected it was the only presentable gift they had at the gas station. It made me laugh—at least internally. Walking over to my bed, I curled into the fetal position, hugging my pillow to my chest. I stared at the wall as thoughts occupied my mind, too many to sort through. Instead, I focused on the white noise of my inner, inquisitive voice, the questions fading into nothingness.