Drake's face twisted—anger flashing hot and raw across his features. He stepped closer to her—protective, possessive—his hand hovering near her shoulder like he wanted to pull her away but couldn't quite touch her yet.
"Camilla—don't worry about him," he said, voice low and urgent, eyes flicking to me with pure venom. "He's just a loser now. A desperate man with a few tricks and a big mouth. Have you found his supplies? Tell me you saw where he keeps it all."
Camilla shook her head—quick, frustrated, her thick thighs still trembling from the earlier abuse.
"I don't know…" she admitted, voice tight. "But he somehow has a comfortable bed inside that cave. And a lamp—working, bright, like it's plugged into something. He was just taking me to bring some food back… chicken fries, pizza, all that. Said it was a secret."
Drake's eyes narrowed—calculating, greedy, a flicker of triumph cutting through the anger.
