Suddenly, Ashleigh lunges forward before I can react, bolting into the forest that surrounds the cabin. Her feet slip in the snow, but she keeps running, desperate for her freedom. I curse under my breath and chase after her, the cold slicing through my wet clothes. She’s fast, but the snow slows her down, and I manage to catch her just before she reaches the treeline. I grab her arm, and she twists, wild and desperate, trying to break free, but I hold tight. Her breath comes in harsh, panicked bursts, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.
“Let go of me!” she shouts, kicking at my shins.
“Not happening,” I say, hauling her back toward the cabin. She fights me every step, but I don’t let her go. Inside, her body shakes from adrenaline and cold. I grab a length of rope from the sideboard and tie her wrists behind her back, making sure the knots are secure but not cruel. She glares at me, jaw clenched, breathing hard from the struggle. Her cheeks are flushed with anger and humiliation, but she doesn’t break.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her, voice flat. Still, she tests the knots, defiant as ever. But that’s twice now that she’s tried to escape me, and I’m not letting my guard down again.
“Scared of an itty bitty snowflake like me, are you? What a big, tough guy you are, tying up a young woman.”
“This isn’t for my protection, love, it’s for yours. You could hurt yourself, or worse, get yourself killed, before we can straighten this whole situation out. I won’t be getting the blame for any of this.”
She rolls her eyes, but the bravado seems forced. “Pfft. Yeah, okay. Like my father would really care about a little superficial damage.”
I level her with a look. “Or… maybe I find your temper quite the turn on. And maybe if you weren’t restrained, I might be tempted to tame that fiery streak in a very different way.”
That finally shuts her up, but there’s a twinkle in her eye, the slight tilt of her lips, unmistakable. She likes that idea, a lot more than I thought she would. I’m starting to think the bratty attitude that she fronts runs so much deeper than the surface. A naughty girl wanting to be put in her place.
How is it possible that she has such a pull on me already? I can feel her in my veins, lighting me up, making me feel more alive than I ever have before. The cabin’s shadows flicker across her face, highlighting the stubborn angle of her jaw, the glint of challenge in her expression.
“I’ll be out soon.” I scan her ropes and narrow my eyes at her, “Be a good girl, and I’ll untie you.”
Leaving Ashleigh alone, even tied up, still feels risky, but I have to get out of these wet clothes. I grab a change of clothes from the emergency stash in the chest of drawers and head to the bathroom at the end of the hall.
The bathroom is cramped, the mirror fogged, and the tiles cold under my feet. I peel off my damp shirt, wincing at the chill, and step into the steaming shower. The hot water hits my skin, washing away mud, sweat, and adrenaline.
For a few moments, I let myself relax under the spray, the tension in my shoulders finally easing. I scrub my hands, my neck, my face, forcing myself to focus on the simple, grounding rhythm as the storm rattles the windowpanes.
When I’m done, I dry off quickly and pull on the clean clothes. My reflection in the mirror looks tired, with a set jaw and shadowed eyes. I take a deep breath, then step back out into the cabin, ready to face whatever comes next—whatever new schemes Ashleigh has been plotting in my absence.
With the help of the shower, the adrenaline has faded, and the cabin has settled into an uneasy quiet. The fire in the stove snaps and pops, throwing jittery light across the room. I untie Ashleigh’s wrists and toss her a towel and a pile of clean clothes I found in the closet.
“Shower’s through there,” I say, nodding toward the small bathroom at the end of the short hall. She gives me a wary look, but takes the towel and clothes without another word.
I stand in the doorway as she walks past, watching for any tricks. She disappears into the bathroom, but leaves the door partly open—maybe to prove she’s got nothing to hide, or maybe she just doesn’t care if I look. Maybe it’s a reverse psychology tactic. But whatever her ploy, I feel confident that she can’t escape.
Through the cracked door, I catch a glimpse of her back as she peels off her shirt. The sight makes me freeze. Her skin is a map of old scars—some thin and silvery, others rough and angry—crossing her shoulder blades and spine. Ink winds its way between the marks: tattoos, intricate and bold, covering nearly every inch. For a moment, I forget to breathe. She’s been through hell and survived it, wearing her battles like armour.
Silently, I back away from the door, thinking about what I saw. The image of those scars and ink lingers in my mind, making me see her in a way I hadn’t before—fragile and fierce all at once.
With too much on my mind, I grab my coat and head out to the car. I keep my eyes on the front door of the cabin the whole time. As the only way out, Ashleigh would have to run right past me if she tried to escape again, for a third time.
I sigh, my breath coming out as a cloud amongst the cold air. There are so many questions and not enough answers. The obvious being, who is threatening Ashleigh’s life?
I have a hunch, but my gut rolls with the thought. I’m getting more convinced that I’m right with every minute that ticks by.
10
Ashleigh
Isit at the edge of the couch, the towel draped around my shoulders, hair damp and falling in tangled waves that drip onto the threadbare cushions. The cabin feels impossibly quiet after everything that’s happened—just the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the distant patter of rain on the tin roof. My limbs ache from the escape and the cold, and a bruise is already blooming on my hip where I hit the ground. I rub at it absently, pretending to focus on my split ends while really listening for any sound from Kaden.
He’s moving about in the kitchenette, his movements efficient and oddly comforting. The scent of pine and faint woodsmoke lingers in the air—there’s a fire crackling quietly in the stove, just enough to keep the chill at bay. I shiver anyway, nerves still humming beneath my skin.
Kaden’s voice startles me: “Do you want some coffee?”
I look up, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question after everything. He stands near the counter, framed by shelves cluttered with chipped mugs and mismatched plates. The softyellow light above the sink casts his features in warm golds and deep shadow.
“Do you have tea?”
