The landscape gradually changes from fields to dense woods. The rising sun casts long shadows between the trees, reminding me of Lakeside, which in turn reminds me of Nash.
I wrestle him out of my head, focusing on the present and the eerie chill sliding down my spine as the woods close up around us. The gas station feels like a distant memory now. We must’ve left it at least an hour ago.
Matthews’ silence doesn’t help me relax, but I fight my unease, forcing a long breath past my lips. We’re clearly not heading home, and the sudden change doesn’t bode well. It means my dad’s scrambling for a safe hiding place... proving he can’t keep me safe.
He already tried.
He already failed.
Nash was at Lakeside when I arrived, waiting.
Matthews takes a left turn, navigating a mile of woodland road until the trees part, revealing a massive, sprawling mansion set in a clearing. It looks more castle than home; an old stone fortress. It’s neither as foreboding as Lakeside nor as big, but I guess it could easily house a college... or a recovery center.
“What is this place?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
I scrutinize the opulent windows and immaculate front lawn punctuated with rose bushes.
Jonathan doesn’t answer. Keeping his eyes forward, he pulls the car up to a wrought-iron gate that slowly slides open. Once he’s parked near the grand entrance, the mansion looms over us. Two Rottweilers round the corner, barking furiously, their deep growls making my skin prickle.
This isn’t a college. Not a recovery center, either. I doubt either would have such huge guard dogs.
A group of men spills through the main door, all tall, bulky, dressed in black, and... armed.
“Where are we?” I demand, my voice cracking like eggshells, heart clawing its way up my throat.
Reality blurs with a vision of Rhett Willard’s murderous face as he pulled the trigger, and the gun in Nash’s glove box. I turn to Matthews, and the words I wanted to yell evaporate when our eyes lock, his brimming with guilt, apology, and fear.
He’s every bit as scared of this place as I am.
The next thought hits me harder than a freight train—I’m not going home. This isn’t another hideout... and I’m definitely not safe.
“I’m so sorry, Hailey,” Jonathan whispers. “I... I had no choice.” His features soften, eyes heavy with regret. “They won’t hurt you. They just want the evidence.”
“Evidence?” I echo, confusion knitting my brow. “What evidence? I don’t know anything about any evidence.”
Matthews exhales deeply, his hands still clutching the steering wheel. “Alex’s files. Everything he gathered. The case he was working on... he infiltrated Rhett Willard and the information he collected...” He glances at the men grouping outside. “They think you know where it is.”
I barely hear him over the barking dogs and my pounding heart. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I’m trapped inside Jonathan’s car, behind a towering fence. Those dogs would bring me down before I even got close to the locked gates.
“They?” I spit out, swallowing around the bite-size lump lodged in my throat. “Who arethey?”
Matthews glances at me again, then quickly looks away. “Try to remember what Alex told you. If you give them what they want, they’ll let you go. They promised,” he mutters, like he’s convincing himself as much as me.
“Who are those people? What if I can’t remember? What then?”
He doesn’t reply, staring into the distance. He flinches when the passenger door opens and strong hands drag me outside by my arm. Pain screams from my hip as it connects with the gravel before I’m yanked up by rough fingers tangled in my hair.
My vocal cords are tied, fear ripping through me, so potent I taste the bitterness... and Matthews sits there, watching with a pained expression as my arms are twisted back.
“Careful, Jax,” a man says, appearing in front of me. He’s looking over my shoulder at the one holding me still. “We can’t break her.” He runs a calloused hand down my cheek, his nostrils flaring. “But we can have some fun.”
Jax snarls behind me, yanking me so close his groin juts against my ass and bile leaps up my throat.
“Don’t get excited, Jax,” someone hollers from the small crowd. “Darius already called dibs.”
“That I did,” Darius admits, licking his lips as his gaze roves my figure.
He takes me in like an item on inventory, assessing my worth and judging whether I’m a threat. There’s something chilling in his hollow gaze... almost like he’s decided my fate and is simply reveling in the lingering suspense.
