But running for it meant arriving back at square one. Still, my pride wouldn’t let me lay down without a fight. “My father will find me.”

He pulled out a carton of orange juice and turned around. “No one’s looking for you, so you might as well take a seat and get comfortable.”

I folded my arms. “You should know better. You spent enough time with my dad. You know how dogged he can be.” Especially when it came to his kids, Zach in particular.

Setting the juice down, he picked up a paper and shoved it across the table. Slowly, and with worsening dread gnawing my gut, I picked it up and read the headline:

Portland woman declared dead after car is found in the Columbia River.

I collapsed into a chair, thoughts buzzing in dizzying speed, and the paper fluttered to the table. Dad and I often navigated a rocky relationship, but even so, the news would devastate him, and Zach would go insane knowing I was gone.

Wait…he thought I was dead.

Seconds slipped by as the ramifications sank in, and I worked it from every angle. If he believed I’d been killed, then he’d have no reason to come after me, and no reason to go after Rafe.

But that still didn’t give Rafe the right to keep me here and torture me. “You have to let me go.” Surely, he didn’t intend to keep me locked in this cabin, or God forbid, the horrible cellar, for eight years.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said through clenched teeth, “so get that through your head.”

“The guy I remember would never do this.”

“The guy you remember is as gone as you are to the world.” He yanked me up by my wet hair. “You can either learn that the easy way or the hard way.”

“And this is the hard way?” I asked, flinching as his fingers tightened. “Kidnapping me? Stripping me? Locking me up?”

“You sent me to hell, Alex. I’m just returning the favor.”

He let go, and I sank into my seat again as his words echoed through my heart. “Will you at least give my clothes back? Please,” I begged, sliding my hands under my thighs, as the urge to cover myself nearly overpowered me.

His gaze settled on my breasts, and I felt my nipples harden. “I like the view. Eight years is a long time to go without seeing a pair of tits. You’ll get clothes when I’m good and ready.” He set a plate of food in front of me, and the smell of scrambled eggs, something that had always reminded me of wet dog when I cooked them, turned my stomach.

“I’m not hungry.”

He sat across from me, his own plate in front of him. “It’s not optional. Eat your damn food.”

Rage erupted from me, refusing to be contained, and I had to act, had to do something, if only to alleviate the madness festering inside me. I knocked the plate off the table, and though I was disappointed it failed to shatter, the way the food spattered the floor gave some satisfaction.