“Yeah, well, when we make promises, we keep them.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “So, will you trust me?”
And now someoneelse was going to die because of her.
Keely sat on the grimy kitchen floor, her wrists zip-tied behind her, trying to unsnarl the conversation she’d heard before being hit.
Her face burned, bruised and swollen, and it felt like her entire head had exploded—pow. She’d been out of it long enough for Sloan to have shoved her into the back seat of his pickup truck, bound her hands and feet, and carted her like a sack of potatoes back to the Thornwood slash Sorros lair.
Where they now waited for her, the scent of beer heavy in their rancid breaths, dark eyes peeling away any fragment of courage that remained in her body.
Sloan had carried her on his shoulder and dumped her on the floor of the kitchen, where he’d then berated them for her escape.
There might have been some shouting.
OhGod,please get me out of here.Because what other help did she have?
Sloan had told them not to screw it up—whatever that meant—and left.
So now, Thornwood sat on a green-patterned sofa, a pump-action shotgun over his knees, his gaze on her, holding a walkie. The other Sorroses had gone outside.
Her stomach growled. The sky a crisp blue outside, the sun fighting to pour into the grimy windows of the house.
“Alwaysknow your exits.”
Her father’s voice had been sitting in her head pretty solidly since her failed escape.“Eyesopen,ears open.”
She’d already scoured the room for exits. Front door, yes, but also a side door in the kitchen that led out the back toward the half-frozen river cresting along the rear of the property.
Between her and Thornwood stood a round table, a couple wooden chairs, and she’d spotted a poker by the stove near a stack of fresh-cut firewood.
The stove sent out enough heat now to turn the place warm, nearly hot, or maybe that came from her own adrenaline. Still, she had a plan.
Get out of the zip ties—her father had taught her that much.Then grab the poker, head out the back, and if she needed to, run for the river.
Or better, grab the keys on the table and make for the truck.
Preferably before whomever Sloan had called showed up to die.
Because of her.
Please let it not be Dawson.Because she had no doubt he’d show up, hands in the air, sacrificing his life for hers, and...
She couldn’t watch someone else she loved die.
The thought swept her up, heat coursing through her. And maybe it felt too early for love, but—and call her crazy—she’d spent the last two hours wondering what a new life might look like. Here in Alaska, or anywhere.
Most of all, with Dawson.
She never wanted a song to be real more in her life.
Maybe that’s what this trip to Alaska had really been about—finding the parts of herself that she’d silenced.
A crackle on the walkie, then a voice. “She’s on her way.”
She?
Thornwood got up, walked over to Keely, and looked down at her. “You’re not a big deal. You try to escape, you do anything to mess this up, and I’ll kill you.” His gaze bored down into hers.
She looked away.
