Chapter 4
Four
“Some cages don’t come with locks; they come with choices never given.” – Aria Boschett.
The sharp crack of a gunshot splits the night.
I don’t stop. Adrenaline floods my system, fueling my legs as I crash through the underbrush.
I don’t look back. I can’t look back. Every breath burns, my lungs clawing for air, but survival is the only thing that matters now.
My only focus: putting distance between myself and the men hunting me.
I silently thank Hayden for tripping and falling.
That cheating bastard might’ve just done one good thing in his miserable life.
I have a head start, and I refuse to waste it.
I run faster, my chunky fall boots not slowing me down.
The chill night bites my lungs. I can’t remember the last time I ran, but I push forward.
Branches tear at my arms, and my footing slips on the uneven ground.
My dress catches on twigs as I shove forward, deeper into the thick forest. I thought that was it for me when Cyan wrapped his fingers around my throat, that he would squeeze the life out of me right then and there.
But unlike Hayden, I knew better than to beg.
That man is a monster; there is something wrong with my danger meter.
How could I have been attracted to him when we met at the festival booth?
I pause against a thick tree trunk, gasping for air, my heart hammering in my chest. Think, Aria.
I need a plan. A safe place. A way to call the sheriff.
But my phone, damn it. It’s buried deep in my bag.
If I take it out, the light will give me away.
A sound. A rustle in the underbrush. My heart slams against my ribs.
Shadows twist around me, stretching long beneath the moon’s eerie glow.
A twig snaps... closer this time. I bolt.
I don’t see the fallen log until it’s too late.
My foot catches on the uneven bark, my body pitching forward.
A strangled yelp rips from my throat before I slap my hands over my mouth, muffling it.
I hit the forest floor, landing hard on my side.
Pain explodes through my side, shooting down my leg.
My tote cushions part of the fall, but the silence is shattered. Shit… shit… shit.
“I heard something over here!” An unknown gruff voice says, too close for comfort.
“She can’t have gone this far,” another mutters, the irritated bite in his tone unmistakable, Troy.
I press into the dirt, my pulse hammering in my ears.
My dark green dress clings to me, blending into the foliage.
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
Then, a sound from deeper in the woods. An unearthly howl.
A high, agonized wail that echoes through the trees.
“What the fuck was that?”
A pause. “Could be her. Maybe she ran into something, maybe an animal.”
I hold my breath as their footsteps recede. I wait. One minute.
Two minutes, then more until all that remains are the sounds of nature, and one of those sounds I recognize; it’s what made me fall in love with Crescent Bay.
I push up onto shaking legs, my ears straining for the rhythmic crash of waves beyond the trees. The ocean... the beach. Hope flickers.
I force myself into motion, stumbling forward, my body aching with every step.
I nearly cry from relief when the forest ends, giving way to a narrow, steep trail leading down the hill to the beach.
Digging into my bag, I take out my phone.
“Motherfucker.” My shattered phone stares back at me, unusable.
I must be the unluckiest person alive. There’s no way to call for help.
The path to the beach looks uneven and unsafe, but I’m not about to stand here waiting to be captured.
I don’t hesitate. I dig into my bag, grabbing my flats, kicking off the chunky fall boots.
I’m not risking a twisted ankle now. At least the moonlight is illuminating my way.
With each step I take closer to the shoreline, my mind is a jumbled mess.
Cyan’s grip on my throat still haunts me.
My hand brushes over the tender skin. Icy dread rolls over me at the thought of his suffocating grip.
My panic surges anew. Clutching my large tote close, my footsteps quicken as I stumble toward the beach.
When I finally reach the sandy bay, I peek behind me hoping no one is following, thank goodness only the shadows of tall trees follow me.
My body begs to stop. To rest, but I can’t.
Seeing the pier, the strip of buildings at the far end of the beach.
A few dim lights glow. Please let something be open.
I stagger onto the pier, my breath ragged, my body screaming with exhaustion.
Crescent Bay, once my haven, now feels like a trap.
The strip is silent. Every storefront already locked up tight.
Even the bar is closed. No late-night diners, no drunken locals, no help.
Just me, the cold slap of ocean air, and the hollow thud of my heartbeat.
Bang! I jump, spinning toward the noise. My heart skips a beat. A door slams open against a wall. Light streams from the open door into the side alley. A woman steps out, holding a garbage bag. I don’t think. I run toward her. “Help me! Please help me!”
She stiffens, her grip on the bag loosening.
“Whoa. Hey. Hold on.” She squints at me in the dim light, assessing me and taking in my disheveled state.
She steps forward, lowering her garbage bag.
I glimpse her face; a jagged scar sliced along her left cheek.
She’s older, maybe in her late fifties or early sixties.
She’s old enough to know trouble when it comes running straight at her.
“H-help me, please.”
Her sharp eyes scan the darkness behind me, then flick back to my face, cautious. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to hide.” My voice cracks. “There’s a man, Cyan, and his gang. They’re after me.”
Something shifts in her gaze. Her fingers relax around the bag. “Come inside. Now.”
She grabs my wrist, pulling me through the back entrance.
The door clicks shut behind me, the scent of grease, salt, and stale beer hitting my senses.
The seating area is dark, quiet... chairs stacked on tables, the bar wiped clean, a flickering neon sign hums behind the counter, casting erratic shadows.
“This way,” she motions for me to follow her, leading me into the dimly lit hallway behind the bar.
“I’ll call the sheriff.” I nod gratefully for her help.
The woman opens another door, ushering me inside, and follows me in, locking the door behind us.
Looking around the space, I see it is an office. “Name’s Rosa, by the way.”
“Aria, thanks for helping me.”
Rosa glances down and reaches under her desk, brings up a bottle of water, and shoves it toward me.
“Drink while I call Sheriff Bob directly.” I didn’t even realize how thirsty I was until I took the bottle and twisted the cap off, drinking down all the water.
Rosa dials. I listen as she mutters to Sheriff Bob.
My name. Cyan’s name. She hangs up. “He’s coming. ”
Resting the empty bottle on her desk. “Thanks so much for helping me.”
“Aria. In this town, we’re family, and family loyalty is important.
” A tight nod is all I manage. Rosa’s words hold such conviction that my own responsibilities towards my Nonna flood my mind.
My grandmother was always there for me; she sacrificed everything to raise me when my parents.
... I shudder to think what will happen to Nonna if something happens to me tonight.
Family is everything. The words hit hard.
Family. I should call my sister from another mother to give her a heads up on the shitshow I’ve found myself in.
Tasha will know what to do. Hayden knows where I lived.
What happens if Cyan goes to my home? I need to warn Tasha.
“Can I make a call?” Rosa hesitates, then nods, handing over her phone as she glances at the door.
Just as I reach for it, Rosa’s elbow knocks the stack of papers on her desk, sending them flying to the floor.
“Oh crap, I just sorted these bills.” She bends down to pick up her scattered papers, and I get off the chair to assist her.
Just as we finish picking up the papers, the phone rings, and we both go silent.
Rosa grabs her cell, answering. “Bob? Okay, I’ll open the door.
” Relief rushes through me as Rosa, with her cell at her ear, leaves to open the door.
Sheriff Bob enters, Rosa trailing behind him. The door clicks shut; he listens as I spill everything: Cyan, Hayden, the attack, the chase. Bob nods, scratching his mustache while taking notes.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here,” he motions for me to follow.
I don’t hesitate. I cast one last glance at Rosa, expecting relief, but her smile is tight-lipped, strained.
We exit through the back, stepping into the cool night air.
The alley is silent except for the distant crash of waves.
Bob walks briskly, leading me to his patrol car parked at the end of the alley.
The sight of it floods me with fragile relief.
His black-and-white cruiser is a symbol of safety. A barrier between me and Cyan.