Wait. Why was I imagining Dungar’s children? I shoved the thought away. This was my first day inLonesome Creek. My first day of what was supposed to be a fresh start, hiding from people who wanted me silenced permanently. Getting starry-eyed over the town sheriff, even if he was seven feet of muscled protection with surprising gentleness, was not part of the plan.
“Someone will realize we’re missing soon,” I said, changing the subject. I stood up from the narrow bunk and approached the bars again. “Hellooo!” I called out, wrapping my hands around the cool metal. “Anyone out there? Sheriff and deputy locked in their own jail! Could you help?”
Dungar joined me at the bars, his big frame making the cell feel even smaller. “Hello!” His deep voice boomed through the office and out onto the street, but the bangs and pretend shrieks of the fake staged robbery outside were still drowning us out.
We took turns calling for help as the sun slanted lower and lower through the front windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. My voice grew hoarse, and the same raspiness crept into Dungar’s smooth baritone.
“Maybe we should conserve our energy,” he said after another fruitless ten minutes of shouting.
I nodded, sinking back onto the bunk. My throat hurt, and a dull headache pounded behind my eyes. With the bathroom window open, Dungar had probably turned off the heat. Outside, the temperature had started to drop. Mountain nights got cold, even in summer.
“It’s getting dark.” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Yes.” Dungar’s expression remained calm, but Icaught the furrow between his brows. “The tourist activities usually wrap up around dusk. My brothers should realize I’m missing by then.”
“Should,” I said, the word sticking in my throat.
“Exactly.”
As shadows deepened around us, the jail cell began to feel smaller. I swore the walls inched closer, the ceiling lowering along with it. I stood up again, pacing the tiny space in three steps before turning back.
“Are you alright?” Dungar asked, tracking my movements.
“Fine. Just…stretching my legs.”
But I wasn’t fine. As darkness fell outside and the temperature continued to drop, memories I’d fought to keep buried began crawling up from where I thought I’d locked them inside. The walls of the cell turned into the storage closet of Blainsworth Industries’ executive floor, the place I’d hidden when I realized what the accounting discrepancies I’d discovered actually meant. The place where I’d crouched behind boxes of printer paper, hardly daring to breathe while Edgar Blainsworth himself stalked the hallway outside, bellowing for security to find “that nosy bitch” who’d peeked at his private files.
The click of the lock echoed in my ears again like it had back then. Not Billy’s innocent prank, but the deliberate sound of the security guard locking the closet from the outside while he went to report to Blainsworth that the floor was clear.
I was trapped in that closet for six hours before the night cleaning crew unlocked it, giving me enough timeto slip out of the building before Blainsworth’s men returned.
My breathing quickened as the memories sharpened. The walls weren’t just nearer, they were closing in. The air grew thinner, harder to pull into my lungs. I could almost smell the sharp scent of toner and cleaning supplies, hear Blainsworth promising what he’d do to me when he found me.
“Riley.” Dungar’s voice came from far away. “Riley, what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. My chest constricted as if steel bands were tightening around it. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I pressed my back against the cold wall, trying to ground myself in the present, but the past had its claws in me and would not let go.
“Can’t…breathe,” I gasped.
Suddenly, Dungar was there, his large frame blocking out everything else. His hands, so big they could easily crush me, gently cupped my shoulders. He didn’t grab or restrain me, just provided a steady anchor as my world tilted on its axis.
“Hey, breathe,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The word penetrated the fog of panic. I focused on his face, on the genuine concern in his eyes. He was real. This was real. Not the closet. Not Blainsworth.
“That’s it. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Dungar said, demonstrating the breathing pattern himself. “You’re in Lonesome Creek. You’re with me. Nothing can hurt you here.”
The absolute certainty in his voice made me want to believe him. I followed his breathing, matching the steady rhythm until the vise around my chest began to loosen.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered once I could speak again.
“Don’t apologize.” His thumbs made small, soothing circles on my shoulders. “Confined spaces can be difficult, especially when—” He stopped himself.
“When what?” I asked, my voice still shaky.
His expression softened further. “Especially when you’ve been through something that makes you feel trapped. I don’t know what happened to you, Riley, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know that as long as I’m here, you’re safe.”
The simple promise nearly undid me. I’d been alone for so long, carrying my fear like a second skin, that the thought of sharing the burden, even for a moment, felt overwhelming.
