Chapter Three
Mia
Pain dragged me back first—sharp, stabbing through the base of my skull where Gabriel knocked me out.Cold came next, settling under my skin, deep enough to make my teeth ache even though my jaw didn’t move.Then I registered motion.The car rocked in small jolts, like we traveled over uneven ground.The darkness around me wasn’t absolute.My eyes adjusted enough to recognize the cramped space and the faint outlines of carpet and metal.
I was still in the trunk.
I tried to shift.My wrists refused to separate.Fabric circled them—not rope, something softer but secure.My ankles were bound the same way.My body responded slowly, like every signal needed extra time to reach my muscles.I pulled anyway, testing the restraints even though I already knew the answer.They didn’t budge.Friction burned my skin and fresh pain bloomed across my forehead when the floor jostled beneath me.
A bump in the road slammed the back of my head against the carpet.I bit down hard to stop a cry, swallowing air mixed with nausea.Tears slid out from the corners of my eyes, hot and instinctive.I wasn’t dead.I didn’t know why.I didn’t understand his plan, but something about that mattered.As long as I could feel pain, I was still in the game.
The car slowed.Turned.Stopped.Silence crept in behind the fading hum of the engine.Wind howled outside—violent, relentless.The entire vehicle rocked under its force.A storm waited for us out there.
A door opened.Closed.Footsteps crunched through deep snow, coming around to the back.My pulse hammered so hard my ribs hurt.The trunk latch clicked.Blinding white replaced darkness.
Snow fell fast and heavy, stinging my face and eyes.Wind ripped past Gabriel, whipping flakes sideways so thick his features blurred.A structure loomed behind him—a building smothered in snowdrifts, edges barely visible through the whiteout.
“Don’t scream,” he said.Calm.Detached.“No one will hear you anyway.”
Instinct raised my bound hands as far as the restraints allowed, but they stopped against his reach.His jaw tightened the faintest bit, then his gloved hands caught my upper arms, lifting me from the trunk with that efficient strength he used for everything.No hesitation.No cruelty.No tenderness either.I landed in the snow and my legs folded instantly.Hours without standing left my muscles numb and useless.
Gabriel caught me before I hit the ground.His arm locked around my waist, steadying me.I twisted, more reflex than strategy, but I had nothing to work with—no footing, weak legs, wrists useless in front of me.Snow soaked through my jeans and sent another blast of cold up my spine.
“Stop fighting,” he said.“You’ll hurt yourself.”
A jagged laugh tried to claw out of me—because the threat of me twisting an ankle didn’t exactly outweigh the part where he killed my family—but the sound died in my throat.
He didn’t wait for me to comply.He lifted me again, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, like carrying me cost him nothing.I pushed against him, a weak shove at best.He didn’t react.The wind roared around us and snow slammed my skin until I had to squeeze my eyes shut.My cheek pressed against his jacket again.His heartbeat stayed steady—slow, even—while mine scrambled for rhythm.
The walk through the storm stretched long, though it probably lasted under a minute.Snow reached over his knees as he trudged forward.Wooden steps creaked under his boots.A door rattled.A metal lock scraped.Hinges groaned.The wind vanished the second we crossed the threshold.
The silence inside hit harder than the storm.
My brain read dim shapes before my eyes fully adjusted.Shadows over wood.Furniture simple and purposeful.Supplies stacked in corners.A fireplace, cold but ready.Gray light filtered through shuttered windows, enough to outline the room.The stale air smelled like dust, dry wood, and pine from logs stacked near the hearth.
Gabriel carried me deeper inside before lowering me onto a heavy chair near the fireplace.Before my nerves processed sitting, he reached for rope.No hesitation.No explanation.He wrapped it around my wrists and the chair arms, firm but not cutting.I pulled hard anyway.The rope didn’t shift.He moved to my ankles next, replacing the softer bindings with rope fixed to the chair legs.When he finished, I couldn’t move anything except my head.
“Please,” I managed.My voice cracked.“Tell me what you’re going to do.”
He didn’t answer.He checked each knot to make sure the ropes didn’t cut circulation.The carefulness confused me more than indifference ever could.When he finished, he stepped back and looked straight at me for the first time since we arrived.Something flickered across his expression—gone so fast I couldn’t label it.
“I’ll build a fire.”No emotion.Just fact.
He turned away, grabbed wood from a stack, and arranged it in the fireplace with the same precision he brought to everything else tonight.Kindling first, then logs.Match after match until flame finally caught.Heat washed over my frozen skin fast enough to sting.I didn’t want to appreciate it.My body didn’t care what I wanted.
Gabriel moved from window to window, checking shutters and latches, then the door.A heavy metal bolt clunked into place.No exit from inside or outside.I was locked in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm with the man who exterminated my family.The realization pushed hard against my chest, drawing the edges of panic close enough to blur my vision.
Not now.Not here.
I forced in a breath.Counted to four.Held it.Released for four.Again.And again.The suffocating pressure softened.The room returned to focus.I stayed upright.
He finished checking the door and resumed his meticulous inventory—supplies, ammunition, water, equipment.Each movement calculated and efficient.Yet small things gave him away.The tension in his jaw every time he glanced in my direction.The faint tremor in his fingers when he placed the stack of firewood.The way he avoided looking directly at me unless he absolutely had to.
He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted to be.The knowledge didn’t make me feel safer—just aware.He could be conflicted and still kill me without hesitation.
When he finally stopped moving, he stood near the window, silhouetted against flashes of white from the storm.His shoulders rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths.He watched the snow.Or maybe he watched his reflection.I couldn’t tell.
I slumped back in the chair as far as the ropes allowed.My wrists throbbed.My head pounded.Every muscle hurt.Fear churned in my stomach, raw and constant.Beneath it lived something hotter—anger at my father for dealing with men like this, at Gabriel for killing my family, at myself for coming home, at all of it.
