Chapter Sixteen #2
Church gave a grim nod and stepped into the basket.
Crew’s heart hammered as he engaged the hoist controls, lowering Church into the storm, watching the basket swing disappear and knowing it swung like a pendulum of hope and terror.
Below, the earth shifted again and the slope unraveled.
Crew stared down at it, throat tight, every prayer he’d ever laughed at bleeding out of him now.
Please.
Let us be in time.
* * * * *
The storm screamed around the cabin like it wanted in.
Fern’s wrists were bound in front of her and her calves braced to the chair legs with thin ropes. Looking down, she noted that they weren’t tied very tight or even knotted. Reed never expected her to escape the zip-ties so hadn’t bothered securing her legs better.
Her advantage.
Pulse pounding, she watched Reed step out onto the porch with her phone in his hand. Rain slammed into him sideways, soaking his jacket even more, but he didn’t seem to notice. His shoulders were relaxed with his goal in sight—destroy Crew, and her in the process.
He put the phone to his ear.
Fern leaned forward instinctively, straining to hear his words—but the storm tore them apart before they reached her. Wind howled through the trees. Rain battered the tin roof so hard it rattled her teeth. Whatever Reed was saying, it was being swallowed whole by the mountain.
But she didn’t need to hear him to know.
Reed was calling Crew.
Her chest hollowed out, everything inside her washing to gray. She wanted Crew more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life—but if he came, he’d be walking straight into Reed’s trap. And Reed wasn’t thinking beyond that moment. He wasn’t thinking about consequences or escape.
He was thinking about revenge.
Fern forced herself to breathe.
Her wrists burned where the single, thick zip-tie bit into her skin. She shifted her hands slightly, testing the tension of the plastic, feeling how tight the tie was cinched.
Too tight to slip over her hands. But not tight enough to be hopeless.
Chris had taught her this cruel lesson without meaning to. Not with instructions. With necessity.
There had been nights she’d had to get free without waking him. Without angering him. Without making it worse. When he woke and found she was free, she showed him the scissors on the floor and told him he drank so much, he didn’t remember cutting the bonds.
She’d learned how to use bone instead of flesh that cut easily, how to twist at the narrowest point and how to endure pain long enough to find the right leverage.
She swallowed hard and began to work the zip-tie against her wrist bone, slow and careful.
Outside, Reed laughed into the phone, the sound broken and half hysterical, snatched away by the wind.
“Come and get her,” he sang.
Fern’s stomach clenched.
She focused on the zip-tie.
Twist. Pull. Breathe.
Pain flared sharp and bright. She welcomed it. Pain meant progress.
She focused inward, her shoulders slumped as she worked to weaken the zip-tie. If Reed glanced back now, he’d see what he expected—a woman broken and afraid.
Her hands trembled, but she kept working.
The plastic creaked just a little.
Reed shifted on the porch, turning slightly, rain flattening his hair to his forehead. Fern stilled completely, heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.
He didn’t look back.
She exhaled silently and twisted again, harder this time.
The zip-tie gave with a faint pop.
Fern bit back a gasp as her hands came free. She didn’t waste a second celebrating.
She rubbed her wrists quickly to get blood flowing, eyes darting to the chair near the table. It was solid and heavy.
Reed’s laughter drifted in again, distorted by the storm. “Come and get her, Wolf.”
Fern moved.
She wrapped both hands around the back of the chair and lifted it just as Reed crossed the threshold, rain dripping from his jacket, his mouth curved in something like triumph.
“You don’t get to—” he started.
The chair connected with his shoulder and head in a brutal crack.
Reed shouted, stumbling back, shock ripping across his face.
Fern didn’t wait to see if it was enough.
She ran.
She stumbled into the storm, rain instantly plastering her clothes to her skin. Wind slammed into her hard enough to steal her breath and nearly knocked her off her feet.
She kept moving.
She sprinted toward the trees, boots slipping in mud, branches clawing at her arms and face. Her lungs burned. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like it might tear loose.
The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and a low, ominous rumble rolled through the earth.
Oh god.
The mountain was shifting.
Panic scrabbled up her throat—but then she heard it.
Not thunder or wind but a deep, mechanical roar cutting through everything else.
A helicopter.
Fern skidded into the clearing and looked up.
The chopper hovered above the trees, dark and furious against the storm, rotors slicing the air as if daring it to fight back harder. Relief hit so fast and so hard her knees nearly buckled.
Crew.
A voice boomed from a loudspeaker, distorted by wind and rain but unmistakable.
“FERN! I SEE YOU! CHURCH IS COMING FOR YOU!”
A sob erupted out of her chest.
“I’m here!” she screamed back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m here!”
Something dropped from the helicopter—a dark shape swinging wildly beneath it.
A basket.
Fern’s stomach flipped.
The basket swayed violently as it descended, the cable whining under strain. The wind battered it mercilessly.
Upchurch.
Fear punched through her relief. She’d dragged them into this. All of them.
The ground shuddered again.
Reed bellowed behind her.
She spun just as he burst from the cabin, rage twisting his features, eyes wild and unhinged. “You don’t get to leave!” he bellowed, charging toward her.
Fern bolted for the basket.
It swung past her, just out of reach.
“Jump!” Upchurch yelled from above, his voice raw but steady. “You’ve got to jump!”
“I can’t!” she screamed back, terror freezing her limbs. It was too high. Too far.
The mountain answered for her.
A deafening roar split the air as the slope beyond the cabin gave way, a wall of mud and debris tearing loose and charging downhill like a living thing.
“Now!” Upchurch bellowed.
Fern didn’t think.
She hurled herself forward just as Reed lunged for her, his yell cutting off in shock as Upchurch leaned out of the basket and caught her arms in an iron grip.
She screamed as he yanked her up, pain flaring through her shoulders as the basket swung hard, nearly ripping them both loose. Reed’s fingers brushed her boot, slipping away as the basket surged upward.
The hoist engaged. The cable pulled them skyward.
Fern clutched the basket, sobbing as the ground fell away beneath her, mud and trees and chaos swallowing the space where she’d stood seconds before.
They slammed into the side of the helicopter as the basket reached the door, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Hands grabbed her—strong and sure—hauling her inside.
Crew.
His hand closed around hers, pulling her into the opening as Upchurch shoved her from behind.
The door slammed shut, and the noise dropped to a dull grumble.
Fern collapsed into Crew, shaking violently.
“You’re safe,” he rasped, leaning into her too. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She broke then, clutching his jacket, pressing her face into his chest as he guided the helicopter in a lethal fight out of the storm.
She’d known he would come. Not because he was fearless. Not because he was whole.
But because he loved like this—without hesitation. And he would never leave anyone behind.
And in that moment, with the storm still raging and the man she loved solid against her, she knew with absolute clarity that this was the man she was made for.
And she would spend the rest of her life showing him how much he meant to her.