Mia
My feet hit the ground harder than I’d planned, pine needles crunching beneath my shoes. The drop from the bathroom window had been farther than expected, sending a jolt through my knees that I absorbed as quietly as possible. The flashlight Ryan had given me dug into my back pocket, a hard reminder of his instructions—use it only if necessary.
The night air hit my lungs like ice water, sharp and clarifying after the stale closeness of his room. My arms stung from yesterday’s scratches.
Southeast. Stay parallel to the road. Eight miles to town. Four to five hours moving carefully through the woods.
I could do this.
Three-quarters moon, just like Ryan had said. Enough light to see by once my eyes adjusted. The tree line beckoned, promising cover. Beyond that, the road that would guide me to town. To safety. To phone calls that would bring real law enforcement, not whatever game Ryan was playing at.
My legs trembled with each step, muscles still weak from yesterday’s panic attack and today’s self-defense training. But I kept moving. Freedom pulled me forward like gravity.
The smell of cigarette smoke stopped me cold.
I froze behind a thick pine, pressing my back against the rough bark. Voices carried on the night air—Snake’s distinctive rasp and Diesel’s heavier drawl. They were maybe thirty feet away, standing between me and the road.
“—still don’t sit right with me.” Snake’s voice, followed by the sound of a zipper. Taking a piss, from the sound of it.
“What doesn’t?” Diesel asked, his cigarette glowing orange in the darkness.
“Coop. This whole thing with the girl.”
My breath caught in my throat. I pressed harder against the tree, willing myself invisible.
“He’s doing what he said he’d do,” Diesel said. “You heard her screaming yesterday. Heard him knocking her around today.”
“Yeah, I heard it.” Snake zipped up, moved closer to where Diesel stood. “And that’s what bothers me. Six weeks, we’ve known Coop. His reputation is all business—that story about the witness in Billings? Said it was one shot, done. Those dealers in Bozeman? Claims he handled it quick and clean.”
“Maybe he just wanted to have some fun first.”
“Since when does Coop want that kind of fun? For over a month, the man’s been like a machine. All business, no emotion. Now, suddenly he’s possessive over some piece of ass?”
I peeked around the tree. The orange glow of Diesel’s cigarette moved as he shifted. “You think he knows her?”
“I think something’s off. Him wanting to go drinking in town? He never drinks with us. Always has some excuse. And out of nowhere, he wants to play buddy-buddy over beers?”
“Could just be celebrating. Man finally got laid after six weeks of nothing.”
“Or he was planning to let her slip away while we were all drunk.” Snake’s voice had gone deadly quiet. “You notice how he positioned himself in the vehicle? Always between us and her.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t like the thought of sharing.”
My stomach twisted into knots. They suspected him.
“What are you saying?” Diesel’s voice had lost its casual tone.
“I’m saying we check on them. Make sure she’s still there. If she’s not…”
“If she’s not, Coop’s a cop.”
“And we kill him. Slowly. Make an example of him for Oliver.”
“Oliver doesn’t like cops,” Diesel agreed. “Remember what he did to that DEA agent last year?”
“Took him three days to die. Oliver’s got a talent for keeping them conscious through the worst of it.”
They moved away, their voices fading as they headed back toward the lodge. I stayed frozen against the tree, heart hammering so hard I was sure they’d hear it.
