Lies. Because Benny was never real. The freedom he made me crave would have led me straight to Jackson. To this prison I’ve found myself trapped in.
My chest aches so badly it feels like I’m splintering from the inside.
“He told me everything,” Jackson goes on, smooth as silk, cruel as a blade. “The way you laughed. The way you cried. The way you sat on his lap and Jacob saw you. Now that—that was funny.... He gave me pieces of you long before I could ever touch you.” He leans forward now, elbows on the table, eyes burning into mine. “By the time I got out, Summer, I already knew you.”
My chest caves in. Every memory of Benny—no,Kurt—twists into poison. Every smile, every soft word, every promise he made me, it all unravels into lies.
“Good actor, isn’t he?” His smile sharpens again. “Tell me, when he held you, didn’t it feel like something was missing? When he came for you in the bar, didn’t it feel… rehearsed?” He tilts his head, mocking. “That’s because it was. He was a messenger. Nothing more.”
I can’t breathe.
The walls press in, marble floors gleaming too bright, chandelierlights blinding. My fork clatters from my hand and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
He leans closer, voice dropping, venom disguised as velvet. “And here’s the best part, Summer. He loved you, in his way. He thought he could have you for himself. Poor, stupid Kurt. He even asked me if I’d let him have you. I said no, obviously—he thought he could outsmart me. But you?” His gaze pins me in place, freezing me to my seat. “You were never gonna belong to that dumb fuck… or the sheriff, for that matter.”
The cook clears her throat in the kitchen, a nervous sound, but Jackson doesn’t look away from me.
“I don’t belong to anyone, I’m not a fucking possession. What is it with you… fucking… men,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “You all think you have some say over my life. Well, let me tell you something. Jacob is coming. He will kill you. And then he’ll take me home.”
Jackson smiles, wide and slow, like a predator baring its teeth. “You really are something.”
And I flash back to the night outside the bar. When Benny—no, Kurt—said exactly the same thing to me, the first night I met him.
Chapter 34
Tear Down The Gates
Jacob
The engines roar as both trucks tear down the road, headlights slicing through the dark. Mason’s behind the wheel of mine, his jaw set, eyes locked forward. The men in the back are quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, like it’s bracing for impact.
My fists clench so hard I don’t feel the split until I smell it—copper in the confined cab. Blood pools in my palm, runs sticky between my fingers, drips onto the floor mat. I don’t wipe it. I don’t fucking care.
“We’ll get her back,” one of the men in the back mutters. It’s Carter. His voice is low but certain, like he believes saying it enough will make it true.
I don’t turn around. My voice cuts flat, hollow. “You can’t promise me that.” A beat of silence.
Then Carter again, quieter. “But we’ll do everything we can. They won’t know we know where they are. Killing George… was a smart move.”
Mason snorts, almost bitter, breaking the tension. “Yeah, smart move. Except now I gotta clean out my fucking woodwork shed.” His knuckles tighten around the steering wheel, but there’s no heat behind the words. Just exhaustion.
“Send me the bill,” I mutter.
Mason’s hand leaves the wheel for a second, clamping my shoulder. “I was joking, Sheriff. I don’t give a shit about the blood. But if someone else could maybe pick up the fingers for me….” He grimaces, his face twitching like he’s actually picturing it.
A laugh bursts out of me. Short. Wrong. For a half-second, it almost feels good to let it out.
Then guilt floods in like poison.
What the fuck am I laughing for when Summer’s in Jackson’s hands, probably crying, probably screaming, probably already broken? I bite down hard, swallowing it, the taste of iron and ash thick in my mouth.
I press my forehead to the window, watching the blur of trees rush by. The vibration rattles my skull. All I can see is her face when she told me she loved me. That small, fragile moment when I thought maybe I could actually be worth something to someone.
The other truck trails in the dark behind us, headlights bouncing on the bends, never too close, never too far. A convoy without fanfare, the way it has to be. Jackson’s men could be anywhere— posted on a ridge, hiding in the trees, watching for patterns. And if they see us all together, it’s over before it starts.
Mason drives like the devil’s on his bumper, fists locked tight around the wheel, the veins in his forearms standing out in the glow of the dash. The road coils and jerks, blacktop snaking through the hills, each bend more angled than the last. The truck throws us side to side, but none of the men complain. The silence is suffocating, heavy with the weight of what we’re heading toward.
I keep my fists tight in my lap. The cuts send pulses of pain up to my wrists, but I need it. Pain keeps me steady. Pain reminds me of her.
