Sabrina understood why sleep deprivation was used as a torture tactic.
She was so tired she hurt. Physicallyached.Her bones cried. Her muscles screamed. And her eyes were so gritty she would not have put up a fight if someone tried to pluck them from her head and toss them on the ground.
Sleep. Darkness. Oblivion.
Nothing had ever sounded sweeter.
She longed for it the way she’d once longed for her parents to actually act…well…parental.If her mother and father had chosen their children over booze and pot and partying, maybe Cooper would not have fallen into a life of crime. And if he hadn’t fallen into a life a crime, he would not have partnered with Knox and the FBI on the sting. And if he’d never partnered with Knox and the FBI, he’d still be alive.
Still be teasing me about my abysmal taste in men. Still be randomly glitter-bombing my mailbox. Still be the first person I call when I’ve done something right and the last person who’d judge me when I’ve done something wrong.
Oh, Cooper…
Somewhere along the ride up Michigan’s coast, the shock of his loss had been replaced by a pain that was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It wasn’t simply an anguish in her mind; it was an agony that lived in her body. A deep, dull ache that radiated from her soul and mixed with her exhaustion until her limbs were leaden.
She’d spent the first couple hours of the trip carefully avoiding touching the big, brawny man named Hew. She’d already imposed upon his personal space enough.
She should’ve scrambled off his lap the instant her eyes opened in that pantry. But he’d been so warm, so strong—and his arms had been so comforting. Like a cat seeking the sweet warmth of a sunny patch, her instinct had been to remain exactly where she was.
She hadn’t realized she was taking advantage of the situation until she’d turned and caught him staring at her with a strange look on his face.
Not wanting tofurthertrespass upon his person, she’d hung on to the edge of her seat instead of him anytime they’d taken a corner or bounced over a bump. It wasn’t until they’d been forced to shake the police cruiser that she’d reluctantly snaked her hands around his waist.
But now? Oh, now she didn’t have the physical strength to worry about his personal space. Nor did she have the mental energy to care whether or not she was taking advantage of the situation.
He was the only thing keeping her on the back of the bike.
Her helmeted head rested between his mile-wide shoulders. She’d shoved her hands deep into the pockets of his thick leather jacket. And he supported all of her dead, drained, absolutely debilitated weight against his broad back.
She’d begun to give up hope they’d ever reach the cabin. Somehow, they’d slipped into an alternate reality where there was nothing but endless twists and turns on a road that reached to infinity.
The gravel beneath the rumbling bike’s tires crunched softly as Hew executed yetanotherturn. This one put them on a narrow country lane. Pine trees, tall and solemn, rose like sentinels on either side, and the absolute darkness of the night swallowed the world beyond the reach of the motorcycles’ headlights.
She lifted her chin slightly to get a better look at her new surroundings…and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Shadows darted between the trees’ pale trunks, fleeting and formless. Off to her left, she would swear she saw the glow of eyes—some night animal tracking their progress through its domain. Off to her right, a tree branch fell onto the forest floor, the bed of needles absorbing the landing and oddly muffling the sound.
Trees. Trees. Nothing but unlimited, eternal trees.
But then...
The forest gave way to a clearing. And in the center of that clearing, caught in the sharp beams of the headlights, sat a cabin.
It huddled low and furtive in the night. Its siding had grayed with weather and age, and its roof was overrun by thick, cloying moss. Not a single flicker of light showed in the dark windows that stared back at her like a pair of soulless eyes.
The air seemed to grow colder as they approached, as if the cabin exhaled a chill breath that crept across the little clearing and tunneled down the neck of her borrowed coat to nip with sharp teeth at the skin of her chest.
The front door was painted bloodred and reminded her of a closed mouth. She couldn’t shake the sensation that it offered no welcome, only a malignant invitation to step inside, to become part of the darkness that clung to it like a second skin.
Either she shuddered or gasped or Hew simply sensed her horror because he slipped his big, gloved hand into his pocket to squeeze her fingers.
Good god, Sabrina. Stop letting your imagination play tricks on you, she silently chastised herself.
This wasn’t a Stephen King novel. The things she should fear weren’t a haunted car or an alien clown. They werereal.
Her brother was dead. An entire cartel was after her. So was the FBI. And if she was to believe Knox and all the folks back at the motorcycle shop, that last thing was the most dangerous.
Hew cut the engine and toed out the kickstand. His helmet was unbuckled and off his head in one smooth motion. For the first time, she noticed the crescent-shaped scar on his temple—the smooth line was a silvery-white reminder of some long-ago injury.
