Page 80 of Lost to the Woods

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, armswrapped 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.

I hear his boots thud against the floorboards as he approaches. Then the clink of metal as something is placed beside the cage. I don’t move. I don’t even look.

“Still got attitude?”

I don’t answer. Not out of defiance this time, but because I don’t trust my voice not to tremble. I don’t want to give him that.

“Eat,” he orders. “Then, we’re gonna go wash you up.”

I sigh. Low. Resigned. I don’t even argue.

I reach for the plate and see a nice-sized chunk of steak. I have no idea what kind. Could be a deer. Could be a person. But at least he cooked it. A win is a win.

I tear into it like an animal, fingers greasy, meat juices dripping down my chin. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as he watches me quietly.

Always watching.

“Good girl.”

The key slides into the lock. A sharp metallic click. One turn, and the cage creaks open.

He grabs my upper arm—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind me I go where he says I go.

He drags me outside into the thick summer heat. The sun is low, but the air still clings to my skin like syrup. It smells like remnants of smoke and pine and him. The trees hum with cicadas, which stuns me for a second—the beasts must be far then.

The “shower” waits around the back of the cabin. The old wooden platform with rough planks, rotting a little at the edges. Above it, the rust-stained metal drum, patched with duct tape, sunlight glinting off the water inside.

I notice there’s a rug. A body wash—the same kind that I used at home, the expensive stuff. A toothbrush and toothpaste sit in a cup in the corner.

Then, the terror settles in.

Hepreparedthis for me.

How long has he been planning to kidnap me?

“Step up,” he commands.

I obey. I hate that I obey.

The wood under my feet is sun-warmed, almost burning, and the rope dangles beside me like a noose.

He yanks at it, and a brutal gush of cold water crashes over my head, drenching me instantly. I gasp, shoulders jolting. It’s not freezing, not really, but after hours in that cage, it’s a shock straight to the bone.

He says nothing as I stand there, shivering. The water drips from my lashes, my lips, the ends of my hair. My skin pebbles. My nipples harden. My thighs tense.

---