6
ROWAN
The road unspooled in front of me, but I barely saw it. My hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles pale, breath shallow. Once I got in my truck, I knew I couldn’t go to the Kings and ask for help. I told myself that it felt too much like begging, but I wasn’t sure I believed that. So instead of driving to the Kings clubhouse, I drove to check the south fence line again. I’d told myself I needed to get off the property for a minute, to clear my head, and stop imagining shadows where there weren’t any.
But the truth was simpler and uglier. I’d panicked.
The moment I’d hung up the phone, the silence in the house had closed in like a fist. Every creak felt wrong. Every window felt like an eye. I’d lasted maybe five minutes before grabbing my keys and walking out the door.
Running, if I was honest.
I hated running. But worse, I hated that someone had made me feel like I needed to run from my own home. Running me from my own land. Land that had been passed down to me by my parents. The very last thing they had ever given me.
The wind rattled the truck as I turned onto the old service road that cut through the back of my land. It wasn’t a road most people knew about. Hell, half the time I forgot it existed. But today, something had pulled me toward it. Instinct, maybe. Or fear wearing the mask of instinct.
I slowed down when I reached the ridge. From here, you could see most of the south pasture. The shed. The tree line. The stretch of land where the fence had been cut.
Nothing moved, nothing chased me.
I let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. I needed to get a grip.
I reached for the door handle, ready to step out and take a proper look around, when I heard a low hum of a vehicle. The sound grew louder, coming from behind me.
I lifted my head and checked the rearview mirror, watching as a dark SUV crawled up the service road, dust curling behind its tires. There were no plates on the front, and the windows were tinted too dark for the law.
My pulse kicked in hard and before I knew what I was doing I shifted the truck into gear, ready to turn around. It was automatic, this feeling that I had, despite the vehicle driving towards me at an almost leisurely pace, like whoever was driving had all the time in the world. I hit the gas and my truck lurched forwards and the SUV accelerated suddenly, closing the distance faster than I expected it too. Way too fast to be anything but aggressive.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe. I could back up or I could cut across the ridge. My mind cycled through various options and then suddenly my phone buzzed.
I glanced down at the unknown number and my stomach dropped, though I wasn’t sure why, other than because of the previous call I’d had.
The SUV flashed its headlights once, signaling for me to pull over, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that was happening. I was an unarmed woman on a lone stretch of land with nothing around for miles.
Instead, I put the truck in reverse and hit the gas, tires momentarily spitting out gravel in every direction as I backed down the ridge. The SUV followed, keeping pace with me, steady and deliberate.
“Come on,” I whispered to no one, gripping the wheel.
The road narrowed behind me until I couldn’t outrun them backward any longer. I needed to turn around. I needed to…the SUV honked its horn once. Not loud, and not aggressive. Just intentional enough to get my attention and keep it.
My breath hitched as realization hit me that they weren’t chasing me, they were herding me.
I slammed on the brakes, dust billowing around the truck. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the SUV through the windshield.
The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. It was a different man from earlier. He was tall and broad, wearing a plain black jacket and blue jeans. His hands were empty and his posture relaxed, like he was greeting a neighbor instead of blocking a woman on a deserted road, and yet there was something utterly terrifying about him.
He lifted one hand in a slow, almost polite wave, and gestured for me to wind my window down on my aging truck, and I did so with shaking hands.
“Rowan Hale,” he called, voice carrying easily across the distance. “We should talk.”
Every instinct in me screamed to get out of there, but I knew better than to speak right now. Right now, I needed to listen. To take in what was happening and to figure out what the hell was going on.
The man smiled faintly, like he could already hear the refusal in my silence.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, his smile falling and his dead-eyed gaze pinning me in place. “It’s about your father.”
My blood went cold as he took one step closer.
“And the problem he left behind.”
