Greg seemed better the next day

The next morning, Noah had left once again. He knew it was risky to leave Olivia alone with the man, but he needed to maximise daylight, the dangers of scavenging at night too high.

Greg’s wound had gotten better and he had begun helping Olivia around the place. She didn’t mind, but there was an unsettling aura to Greg that put her on edge. She had a hard time trusting him, but he hadn’t given her a reason not to. Yet. Something about his demeanor made her wary, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Was it the way his eyes lingered a moment too long on her, or how he seemed to always find a reason to be in close proximity? Olivia wasn't sure, but she was determined not to let it cloud her judgment. She had a job to do—ensure their survival—and she couldn't afford to be distracted by her personal discomfort.

Olivia was in the kitchen, her fingers gripping her knife as she chopped up a meager collection of vegetables they had salvaged from their garden. The blade moved methodically through the rough, desiccated plant matter, the rhythmic sound doing little to calm the unease that had settled in her gut.

Greg sauntered into the kitchen, his presence filling the space in a way that made Olivia's skin prickle. His gaze lingered on her, an intensity in his hazel eyes that felt almost predatory. "Whatcha making?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble that did nothing to ease her nerves.

"Just a stew," she replied, keeping her tone light despite the tension in her shoulders. "It's not much, but it'll keep us fed for a while."

Greg nodded, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Smart thinking." His gaze flicked over her body, the movement fleeting but not subtle. "Noah's out again, huh?"

Olivia's grip on the knife tightened imperceptibly. "He'll be back soon. He's been out longer."

"Good," Greg said, his smile widening. "We'll have time to... bond. Get to know each other better."

The air seemed to thicken around them, the tension so palpable Olivia could almost taste it. She swallowed hard, pushing down the fear that threatened to crawl up her throat. "I should finish this," she said, her voice betraying the faintest tremor as she turned back to her task, her mind racing with thoughts of Noah's swift return.

As Olivia returned her attention to the vegetables, Greg stepped closer, the sound of his footsteps echoing ominously in her ears. The space between them diminished, the air thick with unspoken tension. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a primal instinct warning her of danger.

In an instant, he was on her, his rough hands grabbing at her waist, pulling her against him with a **** that left her breathless. His touch was rough, ****, his fingers digging into her skin as he pressed himself against her.

"Greg, stop!" Olivia gasped, her voice laced with fear and anger. She struggled against his grip, swinging the knife in her hand in a **** attempt to defend herself, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, his strong grip forcing her hand open. The knife clattered to the floor, the sound sharp and final, and her heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird.

"This could've been easy, sweet thing," Greg murmured, his breath hot on her neck. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, I'm not picky. And we got time before Noah comes back. We're gonna have fun either way." He spun her around, his calloused hands gripping her shoulders, and shoved her roughly against the counter. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her gasping for air, the world spinning around her.

Greg was upon her in an instant, his larger frame pinning her against the counter. One hand tangled in her hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, while the other fumbled at her clothes, tearing them away with brutal efficiency. Olivia fought against him, her nails raking across his skin, her feet kicking out wildly, but it was like fighting against a **** of nature. Greg was unstoppable, driven by a lust that bordered on madness.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice thick with desperation, but her words fell on deaf ears. Greg's mouth crashed against hers in a bruising kiss, his teeth nipping at her lips, his tongue invading her mouth. She could taste blood—hers or his, she didn't know—but she knew she had to fight, had to survive.