Chapter Twelve
Addison
I stare at the one percent left on my Kindle’s battery, berating myself for not charging it before I left. It’s been over an hour since Rowan went on his strange journey, and my entertainment is dying.
“Please, no,” I groan as the screen goes black, and I'm left with nothing to distract myself with.
I was given specific instructions not to go outside, but my charger is in the truck. For once, I find myself wanting to be Rowan’s good girl and wait for him like he asked.
I really am weak.
He’s unraveling me so fast that I actually want to make him happy. It’s just so hard to pass on that crooked smirk he gives me when we challenge each other. If I do stay in the room like he wanted, I’ll probably be rewarded with another.
But I’m really bored, and I’ll only be a few minutes. I can scope out the parking lot and make sure he isn't lingering around before I grab my stuff and head back for the room like I’ve been here the whole time.
I hop down from the bed before pulling on my shoes and taking the stairs down to the front room of the inn. The sky outside the tall windows looks haunting and dark as I search for any signs of life. I’m left staring beyond the trees, my imagination running wild as I swear I see something run past.
I place my hand on the glass, squinting my eyes as I scan the forest, but there’s nothing there.
“What are you doing up?”
I whirl around, startled by the hostess sitting behind her desk.
Was she there before?
“Um,” I mess with the sleeves of my long shirt, a sense of foreboding prickling my neck. “I just needed to grab my charger.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder toward the parking lot.
The hostess stares at me for a long moment before shrugging. “The weather is bad. I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
Distantly, the rolling of thunder booms, but there’s something else in the mix. A sharp crack in the night that sounds far too close for my liking. Again, I turn to the window, blinded as lightning strikes, illuminating the treeline.
I swallow, the fear in my gut churning unpleasantly. “I’ll be quick.”
The hostess sighs before grabbing a folder and standing from her desk. “I tried to warn you.”
I watch as she dips off into a connected room and closes the door behind her. When she’s gone, I finally feel like I can breathe.
“Okay, that’s not creepy,” I say to myself before walking to the front door. I peep out the glass and make sure my travel companion isn’t loitering around. Only the stolen truck is parked in the lot, making a little of the fear ebb at the realization that besides our cryptic hostess, it’s just us.
“Quick and out of sight,” I give myself a little pep talk before pushing the door open and running headfirst into the rain.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I fumble for the truck’s handle. When the door opens, I thank whatever force in the universe made Rowan forget to lock it as I clamber into the passenger side. The dark leather is soaked as I place my knees on the seat and slam the door behind me.
I shuffle through the bags in the back seat, swearing when I don't find my small satchel that I keep my chargers in. “Where did he put it?”
I sit back, sighing as I slap my hands on my thighs. The toolbox and my totes catch my eye through the back glass, and I hang my head. “Of course.”
I brace myself before throwing the door open again and jumping down onto the gravel. I land in a puddle, and water splashes as it soaks through my tennis shoes. “Great!”
I quickly grab the bed of the truck before hoisting myself over and nearly fall into the back of it. I’ve never been graceful, but this is starting to really piss me off.
“If it isn't back here, I’m drowning myself,” I mutter as I pop open the first tote.
I keep the lid closed as much as possible as I riffle through everything.
When I only find a few house decorations, I slam it closed before grabbing the next one.
I do the same, only to come up empty-handed when I slap the lid closed.
“Please tell me he didn't leave it in the other truck,” I beg as the glistening silver toolbox catches my attention.
He did unpack something. Maybe it’s in there?
I’m also curious. It’s been eating away at me to know what he was doing out here in the rain. I glance around to make sure I'm still in the clear before grabbing the latches on the metal box and flicking them up.
I open the top and heft it up before staring down into the darkness. I grab my phone out of my pocket, covering the screen with my hand to minimize water as I turn on my flashlight.
I stare down into the toolbox, the world around me going silent. The water becomes a distant hum as I stand immobilized.
Everything looks neat and tidy, but that isn't what’s so terrifying about my find. It’s the stack of thick, purple rope, the various guns lining the bottom, and a few knives that look like they’ve been through wear and tear, strapped to the walls that have my hackles rising.
Lightning strikes, the sound cracking like a gunshot as everything floods back to me. I fall onto my ass, rocking the truck as I backpedal until the contents of the toolbox are out of sight.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!” I panic, my chest rising and falling rapidly as my breath comes in quick pants.
My eyes scan frantically for anyone, and I lock onto a figure stumbling through the treeline.
I sit up on my knees, my heart pounding as I watch the man brace a hand over his stomach.
He’s wearing some dark jeans and a button-up shirt tucked into the waistband.
Dark hair falls over his face, but I can’t see his features from this distance.
It isn’t Rowan.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
My mind is racing, but one thing is for sure. He tried to tell me, and I didn't fucking believe him. I’ve been sitting beside a murderer this whole time! I can't even think of the things I've done with him. The laughing, joking, and sweet moments all seem like one big lie.
I’m fucking spiraling when I should be running. My fight-or-flight response is delayed by the turmoil I feel. All my life, my mother drilled safety protocols and self-defense into my head. She taught me to trust when things felt off, and I didn't listen to myself.
I knew things were fucked. The weak explanations and Loxley’s reluctance to tell me anything should have been my biggest indicators that something was wrong.
I didn’t put my trust in Rowan, but it felt nice to know I wasn't alone in this.
I had someone there for me when I needed them most. I put my safety in his hands, and he played me for a fucking fool.
Betrayal lances my chest, but I shake it off as my skin begins to tingle with electricity. My adrenaline is urging me to make a choice.
Priorities, Addison!
I have to get away. There has to be someone willing to help me.
The man stumbles closer to the inn, and I climb down with shaky limbs. When my feet crunch across the gravel, his head whips up to me. He’s only a few feet away, and I open my mouth to speak, but stop when he moves his hand.
I notice the blood too late. His shirt is soaked red with a horrible gash that looks like someone tried to saw him in half. When his arm falls to his side, his entrails burst through the jagged flesh, and he falls to his knees with a sickening gargle.
My mouth opens on a scream, but only a weak whimper comes out as I watch the man fall forward, his head scraping over the parking lot. His back rises and falls unnaturally, as if it’s a reflex rather than him.
I can’t move. Not even when his blood begins to pool around the rocks, making rivets that flow with the rainwater.
I’m stunned and petrified.
Everything around me sounds like too much and not enough at the same time. I’m not in my body anymore.
The water soaks me to the bone, but I can't stop staring at the man lying deathly still. It’s as if my mind expects him to just jump up and announce it’s all a prank, but that never happens, and I'm left gawking at a corpse.
There’s a distant scream that shakes me to my core.
It echoes through the forest, and I finally blink as I take a few slow steps back.
I force myself to look away from the man, closing my eyes as tears well.
The bridge of my nose stings, and all I can do is shake where I stand.
Sobs wrack my body, but I attempt to stay quiet while I weep.
I crouch down in the rain, wiping my tears as I try to get a grip long enough to fucking breathe!
“Come on,” I suck in a breath, placing a hand on my racing heart. Bile begins to rise, but I fight it as I take deep gulps of air. “You have to move, Addison—”
There’s another scream. It’s a deep, horrified sound that bounces through the trees.
I shiver, trying to stamp down the fear threatening to pull me under. Going into shock will make me a target. I have to move.
I have nowhere to go, and probably no one who will listen to me, but I have to try. I have to get someone’s attention.
I stumble towards the truck, not sure what my plan is. I eye the toolbox, swallowing down my apprehension. At a time like this, my mother’s first rule comes to mind.
Always have the upper hand, Addison. Whatever you can find, use it.
Years of trips to the shooting range have led me to this very moment. I always thought my mom was being overprotective when she taught me how to fire a gun. Now, I’m praising her as I hoist myself into the back and observe the artillery at my disposal.
Finally, something I can fucking work with.
Morgan Bright taught me to be self-sufficient in difficult situations. This is the first time one of her insane, made-up scenarios has come to life. While it took me some time to remember what was instilled in me since I could walk, I’m glad it’s kicking in now rather than not at all.