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“Ugh,” I groan, the familiar throb of pain stabbing me in the stomach. There go my plans for the day.

Saint and I were going to go to the shooting range today, but with the way I feel, I have a feeling I won’t be leaving the bed. And I was looking forward to going riding with Shepherd after.

It’s been two weeks since I was kidnapped. If I can even call it that at this point.

Most people who are snatched out of bed in the middle of the night would put up a fight, demand to be let go, and find a way out.

Me? Apart from giving the guys a piece of my mind on the first day, there hasn’t been any protest from me.

That just shows how sad my life was before they took me. It shows that I have nothing to fight for, no reason to get back to my life before this, and that I’ve just rolled over, accepting my fate.

Well, that's not entirely true. I have been hounding the guys to let me talk to Olivia. I know she’s got to be worried by now, it’s not like me to not at least text her, even when I’ve gone through my little moments of depression.

The guys told her I left, needed some time, but she knows me better than that. By now, she’d call bullshit and would have been trying to reach out to me.

I’m going to ask them to at least let me text her. They can read them before I send them if they want. Hell, I’d even settle for telling them what to text her for me.

It’s just something about the only person in my life believing I just up and left her that doesn’t sit right with me.

I’d deal with losing my job and my house, but never my best friend.

As for things with the guys, they’ve been good. Too good. And I don’t know what to make of it.

It’s like I’m just their roommate, not the girl they’ve been stalking and kidnapped.

They’re sweet, funny, and yes, very fucking crazy. The conversations I’ve walked in on, when they’re casually talking about murder or how Shepherd loves to discuss the details of his kills, are unsettling. Yet, they also make my pussy tingle.

I’ve debated on asking them if I could give my therapist a call, but I have a feeling they would tell me there’s no point because nothing is wrong with me and all the fucked up thoughts and feelings running through my mind are fine.

Nothing about the things inside my head are okay.

The thing is... I’ve never been more seen in my life than I have been with these three.

Okay, two. Because Maverick and I are still not on speaking terms.

Am I being petty about the no sex thing? Yes, but who the fuck does he think he is by controlling what I or his brothers do?

Am I—much to my dismay—listening to his fucking demand that I don’t touch myself unless it’s one of them? Also fucking yes.

And I don’t know why! Any time I go to relieve some of the pressure, it’s like my body just refuses to let me, his words creeping into my mind.

For some reason, the idea of disappointing him by disobeying him is what stops me. Because my stupid, dumbass wants to be a good girl. His good girl.

He hasn’t tried to talk to me, but that hasn’t stopped him from doing things for me. He makes sure to cook for me most mornings, and Saint likes to feed it to me. Something I never thought I’d like, but fuck me, do I ever love it.

He makes sure if I go outside, I’m wearing sunscreen and drinking enough water.

I hate that I love that he takes care of me. They all do.

And that makes this all the more fucked up because they’re supposed to be my fucking captors, not my boyfriends.

So why does the idea of them being mine excite me so much?

Because they are mine. They have been for years now. At least, that's what I’ve deluded myself into believing, even when I was with my ex. I prayed they would come back and save me.

I guess they did. They were just too late.

“Fuck me,” I groan, rolling over again as another wave of pain hits me.