We drive in silence for several minutes, the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road the only sound between us.
“I know I’m supposed to believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I know?—”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles turning white.
“I don’t care what you believe,” he cuts me off, his voice carrying threat underneath the calmness. “I care that you’re still breathing.”
His eyes flick toward me.
“Out there, safe doesn’t exist. You might not like me. You might not trust me… but you’ll still be here tomorrow morning.”
I turn to the window. The headlights carve a thin tunnel through the dark.
The rest of the drive is filled with shadows and the hum of the engine, but his words linger. And the worst part is—somewhere beyond the anger and the fear—I’m not sure he’s wrong.
The trees thin out, and the headlights illuminate the pale siding of a house. The truck slows, gravel crunching beneath the tires. We stop at the foot of a sloping driveway. The house sits on the hill, two stories tall, with black shutters like closed eyes. No streetlights.No neighbors. Just a jagged line of pines slicing the stars into shards.
He cuts the engine and turns to me.
“You’ll have your own room,” he says softly. “Fresh sheets. Toiletries. Everything you’ll need.”
I don’t respond.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” he taunts, letting the title roll off his tongue.
My head snaps toward him. He’s looking down at my legs—slow, calculating—as if he can measure exactly how far they spread.
“You think a guest room makes this okay?” My voice trembles, but I force it through my teeth. “If you think I’m going to thank you for this, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
He doesn’t answer—just keeps his white-knuckled grip on the wheel.
“I’ve seen you,” I hiss, voice jagged. “Circling my house like a vulture. Turning up wherever I went. Watching me from the shadows. You think I didn’t notice? Hell, I was only eighteen when all of this started.”
He answers, voice low enough to scrape bone. “You think this started because I’m a creep? No, sweetheart, it started as protection. You were too pure—too fucking good for the shitshow that surrounds your father.”
The air shifts as he continues.
“I stayed back because of him. Because I owed him the decency of keeping my distance.”
His jaw flexes, something dark twisting in his voice.
“But that didn’t stop me watching you. Didn’t stop me wanting you. You kept walking around this town like you didn’t see me. Like you didn’t know what it did to me every time you were near.”
His hand twitches—like he’s fighting himself and losing.
“Truth is, you were mine the second you smiled at me across your daddy’s yard. And every day after that, I fought even harder to keep my hands off you.”
His voice fractures with fury and hunger.
“But now?”
He’s so close his breath heats my skin.
“They’ve handed you to me, and I don’t have to pretend anymore. You belong to me now. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every goddamn sin.”
With a single movement, he opens the door and drops from the truck. His boots crack against gravel as he glances up at his house—his fortress. I try my door, but it’s still locked. He looks back and smiles, then perches on the hood of his truck, mocking me.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” The scream rips free, tears at my throat. My fist strikes the dash so hard my knuckles sting.
