Filthy Secret

SIX weeks passed with no signs of Lyra Casey.

LYRA

I have to get out of here.

I keep telling myself that. But each day that passes, the words lose their weight. It turns from a vow into a fleeting thought. Someday, it’ll

be nothing at all.

Six weeks, and though he still fucks me every day, sometimes just once, sometimes three or four times, I can tell Cade doesn’t want to “hurt” me. He reads me like an open book, knowing there are moments when I don’t want to participate-because it makes all of this real-and he cuffs me to the bed to use me like a toy.

Other times, he keeps me loose, forcing me to face the reality that as much as I hate this, I also can’t get enough of it. I clutch his shoulders or his biceps when he pins me against the wall in the shower. or sets me on the kitchen counter to push inside me. Other times when he has me in bed, or on the couch he built into the wall, I clutch his hips and hold on for dear life as he pumps and pumps until both of us are shaking. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s come before me, forcing at least one if not two orgasms out of me before he satiates himself.

There’s no hard evidence that a woman’s orgasm increases the chances of conception, but anecdotal is all he needs.

Besides that, I think getting me off gets him off. But I’ve never asked.

I have, however, asked how he plans to support himself (and me, since it’s clear he has no intentions of letting me leave). I suggested that he increase the flock of chickens he has so he can sell eggs-or get another goat and sell the milk. If I’m staying, I can help out. I have been helping. Putting grain in buckets to feed animals every morning before mucking the stalls the horses use wasn’t ever on my radar, but I find myself enjoying the tasks. I deeply enjoy the greenhouse he built. So much so that we’ve had little spats about how to expand it so we can grow more. Again, selling produce could be lucrative.

Cade only kisses my forehead when I bring this up, telling me not to worry. He’ll take care of me.

There are days we argue. Sometimes, it’s about the fact that I’m his captive and this isn’t some sweet love story we’ll tell our grandchildren someday. Those arguments usually end with me bent over whatever happens to be closest, getting mercilessly fucked until he forces me to come. A reminder that my body likes what he’s doing, that I like what he’s doing, even when I try to deny it.

I find myself wishing, again, that he was disgusting. Or cruel. It would give me a reason to fight. But he’s neither of those things. He’s caring. Devoted. Shockingly feminist. We don’t split chores according to traditional roles. He does the laundry; I work with the animals. He taught me how to chop wood. He taught me how to shoot a gun, though he took it away immediately after I was done.

Not that I could shoot him even if I wanted to.

This morning he lets me sleep in, and when I come downstairs and head to the bathroom, I find him waiting with a cup and a box of ovulation tests. My eyes widen as he holds it out to me, a little half smile on his face. I shake my head, a little incredulous.

“Cade, no.”

“I need to know.” He gives me a stern, yet hopeful look. “I have to go hunting soon to start stocking up, and I want to make sure we have sex around when-”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Lyra,” he says gently, moving forward to slip his arms around my waist and pull me into his chest. I let him because it’s useless to fight, and it’s cold this morning. His skin is warm and it’s too good to resist.

“You want this. I know you do.” He cups my face. “You used to talk all the time about-”

“Yes, I did. But think about this logically. The nearest hospital is what? Two hours from here? You want to get me pregnant and not have a doctor anywhere near by?”

“Pregnancy is normal, it’s not dangerous. Besides, Nika used to be a midwife before she moved to the states. She told me she’s delivered around

200 babies.”

Nika and Ivan. The older couple that lives roughly five miles from the cabin. They’re homesteaders, too. Cade does odd jobs and helps care for the cattle. They give him milk, beef, and let him grow crops on their land.

And apparently, she’ll be delivering this baby he plans to have.

I shake my head, undeterred. “Where would the baby sleep?”

“I can make a bassinet, and a crib later. If it’s cold they can sleep with us.”

“Where will the baby go when you decide to cuff me to the bed and fuck me?”

A wickedly handsome smile crosses his face. “Sweetheart. You know the bed isn’t the only place we can fuck.”

My eyes roll before I can stop them, and he gives my ass a soft pat. “Come on. You need to go in the cup so it’s more accurate.”

He offers it again, but I fold my arms over my chest. “Aside from how crazy it is that you are actively trying to knock me up, you’re just going to

leave me here while you go hunting? Completely defenseless?”

“It will only be for a day or two. I’ll leave you plenty of food.” He rolls his lips together and gives me a one shoulder shrug. “You… could come with me. You might have fun.”

Immediately I grimace, but the expression on his face makes me pause. It’s the same one he wears when he tells me he loves me. The same one he wears when we kiss. The one he wears after he fucks me within inches of my life. The sincerity in his eyes, the hope, it’s palpable.

For a second, I allow myself to entertain the image of me joining him, and how absolutely thrilled he’d be. Even if I was bitching and complaining the entire time, he’d find some way to make it enjoyable. He’d give me his coat, his hat. Whatever I wanted so long as I stayed out there with him. So long as I gave into this delusional life he’s created.

We’ve created. I’m an active participant in it now.

“Cade,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle. “We can’t stay out here.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and puts the cup and strips away. “I looked online. There are-”

“You looked online?” I ask, my eyes wide when he pulls out a phone.

“It doesn’t have service; I have a satellite phone for that. But I have WiFi.”

I want to be mad that he’s just now telling me this, but in the face of everything else I let it slide.

“Anyway, there are courses you could take to become a teacher. We could homeschool the kids, they’d have plenty to do out here. This isn’t crazy, Lyra. You’re happy. We’re happy!”

My lips are tight as I stare back at him, noting the pained expression on his face. I say nothing, and to my surprise he lets out a low growl and stalks past me. I watch him pull on his jacket and he steps outside, leaving the phone on the table. I stare at it, a battle rivaling world war skirmishes raging inside me.

This is my chance. I can’t call anyone, but I could log into my email, my social media. I could post my general location or use a map to pinpoint that and share it. I could signal the troops and somehow, they would come find me.

But that isn’t what I do. Instead, I pick up the phone and stare at the lock screen, trying my birthdate then the day Cade and I first met as passwords. The second unlocks the device, and I pull open the browser and type in my name, my heart starting to race at the number of headlines that pop up.

THIRD VIGIL HELD FOR MISSING DAUGHTER OF CASEY ANALYTICS FOUNDER MARK CASEY.

REWARD OFFERED FOR INFORMATION IN THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LYRA CASEY.

POLICE BAFFLED AS STATEWIDE SEARCH FOR MISSING BRIDETO-BE YIELDS NO CLUES.

BLAINE CALDWELL SPOTTED HAND IN HAND WITH IRINA

PONTAINE AS SEARCH FOR HIS MISSING BRIDE ENTERS SIXTH WEEK.

CALDWELL HEIR GRIEVES BUT TRIES TO MOVE ON AS NO SIGNS OF HIS BRIDE APPEAR.