“I’m riding with one,” he says.
Some of the tightness in my chest eases.
“Bring her back safely.”
“I will.”
The line cuts.
I keep moving.
The van stays boxed between the SUVs like whatever is inside matters.
She matters.
Too much already.
That should piss me off.
Instead, it settles in my chest like something inevitable.
I think about the second she looked at me.
About those green eyes finding mine in that room.
Something in me locked on and never let go.
That should have been nothing.
It wasn’t.
And now I am here, following her into the dark like there was never any other choice.
The road narrows.
I stay on the van.
The trees close in thicker there. Fewer lights. Fewer houses. More room to do ugly things where nobody hears.
The convoy slows at an old service cabin tucked deep in the trees, half hidden behind pine and scrub. One light burns over the side door. Another hangs crooked above a detached shed. The place looks dead except for the vehicles.
I kill my engine a good distance back and coast the rest into shadow.
Front SUV parks first.
Rear one swings wide.
The van settles in the middle.
Four men get out.
Then a fifth from the cabin.
Big bastard. Beard. Gun at his hip. The kind of man who thinks hurting people makes him important.
They open the van.
One of the guards drags her toward the door. She stumbles on the way down, knees almost buckling under her. He catches her by the upper arm hard enough to bruise and yanks her upright.
