Once I’m armed, Carter and Brandon will back off.
I know the layout of the stables because Brandon and I have shared a few illicit encounters here. The last time he chased me, he pinned me to the hardpacked dirt floor and kissed me like he needed me more than his next breath.
I grit my teeth against the fresh agony of the memory.
My heart is in my throat as I run frantic hands over the aged wooden wall, trying to find the latch for the tack room door. Splinters prick my fingers, insistent sparks of pain that sharpen my fear.
The rusty metal latch is cool beneath my palm, and I fumble in the dark until I manage to wrench it open.
The gun is in a locked trunk that used to hold grooming gear for the horses that are long gone. There’s no way I can break into it in the darkness.
I lurch toward the far side of the tack room, where I know there’s a kerosene lamp on the old desk that hasn’t been used for admin in years. I pray that there are still matches in one of the drawers.
I grab a handle and wrench the top drawer open, cringing at the grating squeak of protest. Silence isn’t an option. All that matters is getting to the gun.
I claw at the bottom of the drawer until my fingers find the matchbox. I grab it and reach more carefully for the kerosene lamp—I don’t dare break my only source of light.
My hands shake. It takes me three tries to strike the match, and I release a soft sob of relief when it ignites. I touch it to the wick and quickly replace the glass covering.
If the boys arrive at the stables, they’ll likely see the glow and know I’m here. I have to move faster.
I dart to the trunk and set the lamp down on the ground. The padlock comes into sharp relief. It’s looped through a thick metal latch that’s firmly screwed into the wood.
I have no idea how to pick a lock. I’ll have to break it.
There’s an old, heavy horseshoe mounted on the wall, hanging upside down for good luck.
I’ve never needed luck more in my life.
My fingers close around the cool steel, and I smash it against the latch. The loud clanging sound reverberates in my ears.
I swallow down the surge of panic and strike again, single-minded in my determination to get to a real weapon.
My knuckles cut against the latch, and my skin tears.
Wood crunches and snaps around the screws that secure the lock in place. More splinters pierce my hand as I continue to pummel it. With each blow, the latch separates from the trunk a little more.
“Karolina…” Carter calls out my name in a singsong tone.
The door to the tack room bursts open, and I scramble back. Before I can get to my feet, he’s on me.
Years of ballet have made me strong, but Carter is so much bigger than I am. His body weight smashes into me, driving the air from my lungs. My hand shoots out, fingers curved like claws. My nails rake across his cheek, scoring crimson lines from his temple to his jaw.
He curses and reels back, giving me precious inches of space. I wriggle away and press my palms to the cool earth. Before I get upright, Carter’s hand fists in my hair. I shriek as he drags me back beneath him. He flips my body over with rough hands, and pain explodes through my skull when he backhands me.
The world flickers from warm yellow to black and back again. My ears ring, and I’m stunned into stillness for precious seconds.
Carter grabs my wrists and pins them above me. It’s so similar to how Brandon has trapped me in the past, but the little thrill of consensual fear I experienced with him is a burst of debilitating terror now.
I was so stupid to love him. To let him chase me and ravage me in the woods.
My heart tears open on a scream, and I thrash in Carter’s cruel hold. His fingers tighten to a vise around my wrists, hard enough to make my delicate bones ache.
Brandon calls my name again, closer this time.
He’s coming for me.
In mere minutes, I’ll be at their mercy.
