Chapter Twelve
MARLOWE
The SUV hums along the empty road, the tires whispering against the asphalt in a steady, maddening rhythm. Thirty minutes of silence. No music. No voices. Just the low vibration beneath me, and the slow, torturous crawl of numbers on the dashboard clock.10:18 a.m.
My eyes latch onto it, desperate for something to ground me. Maybe if I stare hard enough, time will shatter and rewind, spit me out somewhere I can fix all this.
Is Arlene worrying about me? Did she go to my apartment and find anyone there? Is Joel on his way here yet? Is Taylor okay? Or is she…No. I can’t go there. I won’t go there.
My father…what if he’s already…Stop.
Panic claws at my ribs, my chest tightening like a fist is squeezing the air from my lungs. Every second that ticks by is another second wasted, another second I’m not where I need to be. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out the silence, but not the fear. Never the fear.
My heart won’t slow down. It’s thudding so fast I can’t catch a full breath, and my hands won’t stop shaking. Everything feels wrong. Too loud. Too sharp. Too much. My head drifts, as if it’s slipping free from my body.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to focus.
Five things I can hear. The hum of the car. My heart beating. The sound of the leather seats when I move. Bridger cracking his knuckles. Cody tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
Four things I can see. I open my eyes and name them in my head.
Distant mountains. The dark swirls of tattoos on Damian’s skin. Dark gray clouds. The horizon shimmering like a mirage, like none of this is real.
Three things I can touch. The rough denim stretched across my thighs. The smooth leather of the seat. The cold metal zipper of my hoodie.
Two things I can smell. The deep, rich vanilla of my shampoo. The fabric softer scent of my shirt.
One thing I can taste. Blood. I must’ve bitten the inside of my cheek. I let the copper settle on my tongue. Remember Lo, you’re still alive.
My breathing slows. A little. My hands are still trembling, but I’m not floating anymore. I’m in my body. I’m still here.
Then the sky grumbles, deep and guttural, thunder rattling through my ribs. Lightning slashes through the clouds, jagged and violent, veins of white splitting the darkness above. But there’s no rain. Not a single drop. Just the charged weight of the storm pressing down, restless, waiting, like the whole world is holding its breath.
A sign looms ahead, rising from the dust.Mountain Springs.Thick wooden planks, old and weathered, the letters carved deep and stained dark. It’s bolted onto poles that sink into stacked rocks, the kind of rustic, unshakable thing meant to withstand whatever the desert throws at it.
Cody turns there, guiding the SUV off the highway.
The pavement disappears in minutes, replaced by gravel and dirt. The tires crunch over the uneven road, dust curling in thick plumes behind us.
Then, a house.
It rises from the landscape like it was carved into the desert itself, a sprawling ranch-style home, warm wood and stone, wide porch, gleaming windows. Beautiful. Expensive. Is this where I die—without ever looking for what I came here for? Dread tightens, slow and deep in my gut.
The SUV rolls to a stop and Cody shifts into park.
Damian reaches over, his arm brushing against mine as his fingers find my seatbelt clasp. A slow, deliberate press, click, and the belt slides free. His body is close, too close, all heat and taut muscles. His breath ghosts against my cheek, warm, steady, but threaded with something dark. There’s no room for me to pull away. I’m already pinned against the door. Damian lingers, his hand gripping the strap of the seatbelt for a fraction too long, his mouth near enough that if I turned my head…No.
He finally leans back, his voice low, quiet, but edged with steel. “Get out.”
Bridger opens his door first, stepping out. He pulls my door open before I can react, before I can even think, and suddenly, he’s standing there, waiting.
My fingers twitch in my lap.
Every instinct screams at menotto move.
Bridger waves me out, and I hesitate for half a second before stepping down onto dry crunchy grass.
I don’t run. I don’t fight. Not yet.
