“It means,” Grant says, voice almost gentle, “that your boss did what he was told. He contained you. He tried to redirect you. When that failed, he helped us locate you. And now you’re contained.”
I lunge forward as far as the men holding me will allow. “Randy didn’t contain me. He betrayed me.”
Grant’s expression doesn’t change. “Betrayal is such an emotional word. He made a choice. We gave him options. He chose himself.”
I grit my teeth. “He’ll burn for it.”
Grant smiles. “Perhaps. But not today.”
The van takes a hard turn, and I slam against the side wall. My shoulder protests with a sharp pain. A man grips me tighter, fingers digging into muscle. I fight the nausea rising in my throat, forcing my mind to focus.
Airport.
Grant’s presence, the direction we’re heading, the way he said “contained.” They’re taking me out. If I go on a plane, I’m gone. No cell signal. No cameras I can access. No familiar roads. No chance of slipping into a crowd. Once the wheels leave the ground, I will become a missing person file. If I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky, I’ll become nothing at all.
The van slows, then turns again. Light flashes through the windows. A gate. A guard booth. The sound of a code being punched in.
My mouth goes dry. We’re at an airfield. A private one.
The van rolls forward and stops. The door slides open, and cold night air floods in, sharp and salty. I blink against the sudden light from the tarmac. A small private jet sits ahead, stairs down, engine humming. Its windows are dark. My knees threaten to buckle as they haul me out. I dig my heels in.
“Don’t,” I rasp.
A man yanks my arm. “Move.”
I twist, fighting, and catch Grant’s eye. “You’re going to regret this,” I say, voice hoarse.
Grant steps closer, calm as a man ordering room service. “Regret is for people with consequences.”
He leans in slightly. “You should have written a softer story, Ms. Sands. Something safe. Something pretty.”
My chest burns. “The truth isn’t safe.”
His smile is thin. “No. It’s expensive.”
They drag me toward the plane. The tarmac is wide and open. No one else in sight except the men around me. The air smells like jet fuel and night wind. The runway lights glow distant and indifferent. I scan for exits, for hiding places, for anything. There’s nowhere to go. One of the men pushes me up the stairs. I stumble, catch myself, and a wave of despair hits so hard I almost choke.
I think of Sin. The way he looked at me in the safe house kitchen, tired but steady. The way he kissed me like he hated himself for wanting it. The way his arms felt around me when I woke up, safe and warm, like nothing could hurt me. The way he said,Nobody touches you.
I swallow hard, throat thick. Maybe he’ll come. Maybe he’ll track us. Maybe Cal’s team will follow the lead. But hope feels thin out here, stretched over miles of darkness and corporate money. I’ve seen what money does. It buys silence. It buys lies. It buys time. It buys graves. And for the first time since this started, the fear isn’t just fear of dying.
It’s fear of never seeing him again. It’s fear of losing the one person who made me believe there might be an after.
I love him. The word sits heavy in my chest, shocking in its clarity. I love him, and I don’t even know what that means yet. I don’t know what we would have been when this ended. I don’t know if he would have stayed, or if his rules would have pushed him away.
But I could picture a life with him. Coffee in the morning. His quiet presence at my back. His smile that he pretends doesn’t exist. His hand on my waist as if he’s reminding me I’m real. I could picture it, and now it feels like a cruel joke.
They shove me toward the plane and I glance over my shoulder, hoping this won’t be it for me.
Sin, I think, fierce and desperate. Please be alive. Please be angry. And please come for me.
FIFTEEN
SIN
My lungs still burn from the gas. My ribs still ache where that boot caught me. My forearm throbs where the baton kissed bone. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is the empty space where Rowan was.
The parking lot behind the paper is quiet now, like nothing happened. Like a woman wasn’t dragged into a van and taken from me in the span of thirty seconds.
