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feast. Now tell me the truth—if I try to feed ya, you’re just gonna spit it out again, ain’t ya?”
    The dinner nodded and uttered a muffled curse.
    Abby smirked. “Not even if I was to stick your prettyfeet in a big pot of scalding water? That worked last time, didn’t it?”
    The dinner whimpered and looked at her through eyes shiny with fresh tears. She thought of the incident upstairs and felt a new surge of self-hatred. She balled a hand into a fist and drove it into the dinner’s flat belly, causing it to scream behind its gag and flail away from her. But there was only so far it could go. Abby moved a step closer and drilled another blow into its stomach. She listened to it sob and felt a tiny portion of her frustration drain away. She knew the feeling was only temporary, but any relief at all was a blessing these days. So she kept at it, slamming her fist into its midsection until it ceased resisting and hung slack from the chain.
    Abby watched it turn slightly in the flickering lantern light.
    The dinner had long, tapered legs, a slim waist, and large, plump breasts. It had a nice face, too, with big brown eyes, a small, straight nose, and pouting lips. Its firm, creamy flesh glistened with sweat in the lantern light.
    Abby placed a hand on its hip and caressed it. The dinner stared at her. Her hand moved from its hip, glided over its round ass, cupped its pert breasts, traced a slow, curving trail down its concave belly, and dipped between its legs.
    The dinner arched its back and moaned softly.
    Abby smiled.“You like that?”
    The dinner looked at her and said something Abby couldn’t make out because of the gag. Abby tugged the gag away and said,“What’d you say?”
    It heaved a big breath and looked her right in the eye. There was a surprising hardness in that gaze. A clear determination. This one’s spirit hadn’t been broken yet, which was kind of amazing. Usually they were gibberingidiots by this point, stripped of their sanity through torture and recognition of the hopelessness of their situation. “I said, if that’s the way you like it, I can show you some things that’ll rock your fucking world.”
    Abby chuckled. “I just have to let you down, right? Maybe sneak you out of here?”
    The dinner’s hard expression didn’t change.“Yes.”
    “Do you think I’m stupid?”
    “No. I—”
    Abby punched it in the stomach again, harder than before, throwing every last ounce of frustration and self-hatred into the blow. It blasted the air from the dinner’s lungs and left it gasping for breath. Abby put the gag back in place and hurried out of the cellar. She delivered a brief report to Carol Maynard—a stone lie about forcing several spoonfuls of gruel down the dinner’s throat—before returning to the sitting room and her rocking chair.
    She rocked and stared at the broken television screen.
    Her mind conjured new images for the empty screen, but these weren’t the usual cop-show and soap-opera scenarios. These featured certain acts involving herself and the outsider woman chained to a rafter in the Maynards’ cellar.
    She gritted her teeth and rocked.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Jessica Sloan ran for her life. She dashed past the still-kneeling Hoke and the Falcon and plunged through the line of trees at the far end of the clearing. Taking her chances out here in the woods was likely tantamount to suicide, but it was the only even remotely viable option available to her. She heard a second boom of the shotgun and ignored it. There was a chance the big gun would cut her down in her tracks, but a backward glance would doom her just as surely. There was only time for forward motion, for flight.
    She thought longingly of the Falcon for a brief moment, ached to feel the thrust of the roaring old V-8 engine carrying her swiftly from this place. But they would have taken her easily if she’d made a play for the car. She pictured it in her head. The convertible’s top was down. She could have