“Where’d he go?”
“Some dive club downtown. I tracked him there after he peeled out from the airport. Found him with some dealer.”
“Fuck,” Ian bites out, shoving his hand under the buff to feel Reth’s pulse.
“He was out of it, man. Some drunk fuck bumped him, and Reth put the guy through a table. Dealer tried to step in, and Reth snapped his wrist, then his nose, then keeps swinging until the bouncers piled on. I dragged him out before the cops rolled up. He was still throwing punches. Took three of us to get him in the car. He fought the whole way. Wouldn’t stop until I clocked him cold.”
“You hit him?” I snap, and Andrei looks at me like it’s the first time he notices that I’m here.
“It was either that or sedating him. And since I didn’t know what he took, I decided to knock him the fuck out.”
“Good call,” Ian states. “Help me get him in the shower.”
They carry him up the stairs, and I stand frozen in the middle of the room, listening to their heavy footsteps until they fade and the house swallows itself in silence.
That’s when I see it.
The front door. Wide open.
My heart slams so hard, making it impossible to breathe. Outside, a black SUV sits crooked in the driveway, driver-side door still ajar. I’m willing to bet the keys are still in the ignition, too.
This is my chance.
No Reth. No Ian. No locked doors. No one to stop me.
This could be over. Right now. Today. Police station, bus station, airport—doesn’t matter. Freedom is twenty steps away. Twenty fucking steps. All I have to do is walk.
My legs move before I’m ready. One foot. Then the other. The floorboards groan under me, each creak like a warning I pretend not to hear.
My mouth is dry as ash, my pulse pounding in my throat, in my ears, in my fingertips. I’m shaking so hard my knees threaten to buckle, but I keep moving—slow, mechanical, like someone else is pulling the strings.
“You gotta trust him.”
Ian’s voice slices through the noise in my head.
“Somehow, you became a weakness to him.”
Another step, and my bare toes brush the threshold. The breeze hits my face—pine, diesel, open air. Freedom smells like possibility and terror all at once.
“You’re the only fucking thing left that makes him want to do more than just existing.”
My hand lifts toward the doorframe. Fingers hovering. Trembling. One push, and I’m gone. One sprint, and I’m in the driver’s seat. One turn of the key, and this nightmare ends.
But my hand doesn’t move. I have no idea if it’s cowardice or something more masochistic, but Ican’tmove. I just stand there, breathing winter slow and shallow into my chest. There’s a part of me that’s already in that car, halfway down the icy road, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. But the rest of me is here, ankles ringed with an invisible leash, but it’s made of something that isn’t fear. Not anymore.
I have no idea when it happened, but something deeper has taken root. Something stronger, something that was planted the night he gave me a blanket and silently turned up the heat so I wouldn’t be cold. It started growing when he pulled the sheet across my shoulders while he thought I was asleep. It spread faster, deeper, the day he gave me a bedroom I’d only ever dreamed of having. And its roots anchored hard that morning in the seasons room, pressed against the wall, when he whispered against my ear like a confession he couldn’t take back.
“I’ve never been a threat to you.”
My heart expands, and something inside me slides into place and locks—something that’s been the wrong shape…until now.
My fingers curl into a fist against the frame. I could run. Ishouldrun. But I don’t, because it’s no longer about survival. It’s about…what if?
What ifhe’s telling the truth?
What ifheisprotecting me?
What ifI leave and never know why he built a house that feels like mine?
