Chapter 13
Eli
Is it cops? The real owner of this place?
I have no idea, but Cesar hasn’t disappointed me yet, so I crawl away from the ladder he’s pushed back in after me and reach into the toolbox resting next to the trapdoor.
My fingers tighten on a wooden handle, and moments later I pull out a hammer with a flat face on one side and a claw on the other.
It’s the same one Cesar used to hang up our Christmas decorations.
I don’t think I could efficiently defend myself with it, but its weight still feels reassuring, so I take it with me.
I regret leaving my gun downstairs, but it can’t be helped now.
There is a small window in the roof, overlooking the front of the cabin and the driveway, and what little light it lets in reveals the massive amount of dust floating around me.
Its dense cloud contaminates each inhale, but sneezing would reveal my presence, so I pull up my T-shirt to cover my nose and shuffle forward.
I pop the window open almost all the way just before the roar of not one but two cars dies.
My hand freezes in the air, as I worry the men exiting the two vehicles in a hurry might spot me, but they are all focused on Cesar, who steps from the shadows of the roof’s overhang as if he were expecting guests.
One of the vehicles is a bright yellow SUV, the other—a red truck.
Neither looks like a police car, since even plain-clothes officers tend to drive vehicles in neutral colors.
For a moment, I hope it’s a group of tourists who’ve gotten lost in the woods after taking a wrong turn, but if that were true, they wouldn’t all step out at the same time, nor would they come so uncomfortably close to Cesar.
Paranoia weaves itself through the folds of my brain, because what if the cops have tracked us down somehow?
No, that doesn’t make any sense either, since none of the men are openly holding firearms. Not to mention that considering the high profile of my case, wouldn’t there have been a helicopter landing here as soon as the police figured out where we are?
Maybe they aren’t here about me? After all, this is Cesar’s place, and with the aggressive edge to the movements of the strangers, I’m suddenly terrified they’re going to take him away from me.
It’s selfish, I know, but I can’t deny that the thought is there.
If those people are cops, I could take all the blame and deny Cesar had any knowledge of my crimes, but what if—
“We couldn’t reach you for almost two weeks,” a man in a blue winter jacket says, standing just two steps from my man. “Have you been watching the news at all?”
There’s anger in his voice, and I hug the hammer to my chest.
“My phone got fucked, and there was no way to leave this place until today, because of all the snow.”
One of the men, a tall redhead, takes a sharp step forward and doesn’t collide with Cesar only because the stranger who spoke first stops him by extending his arm.
“So you spoke to Mr. Sullivan, broke your phone immediately after that, and then buried yourself here? You really expect us to believe that?”
Sullivan.
A name that makes my mouth dry, yet Cesar’s calm as ever. “Let him go, Lyle,” he says, gesturing at the redhead in a way that oozes familiarity. “I actually have very valuable information.”
The body language of the men transforms, visibly relaxing, but I’m struck by the sudden realization that Cesar might not be on my side after all.
He’s admitted working for Sullivan, those men clearly know him, and what if he’s kept me here to further his position in their ranks?
It wouldn’t have to stop him from fucking me while he waited for the snow to thaw.
And I let him.
I started having… feelings for him, because who wouldn’t when he treated me better than anyone before him?
How could I have been this naive when I’ve only just met him?
Typical. I always get in too deep, too fast, and choose the wrong guys.
“Since when are you the information guy, huh?” the one called Lyle asks as the redhead gravitates toward Cesar. “We’re here because you can gut ten armed guys stuck in a room with you. Sullivan might be dead, but you will continue doing as you’re told.”
It’s such an offensive thing to say. Cesar’s angry—I can see it in the way he squares his shoulders—but just as I expect him to drag Lyle by the collar, he swings his right arm, and the axe he used to cut our firewood with splits the head of the man standing farthest away from him.
Air gets stuck in my chest when Cesar’s other hand swipes close to the ginger’s throat, and the front of the poor bastard’s white jacket changes color to a bright red.
I can’t fucking believe this.
This man, who saved me from the police, and who was inside my body this morning, is a dangerous maniac. He didn’t kill the policemen who accosted me back in town, just knocked them out, but the sight of blood spilling on the snow makes my stomach revolt. Cesar is so calm and collected about this.
My palms sweat around the hammer. Despite the compulsion to shrink and disappear from sight, to trust that this is only a glitch, and that Cesar’s true self is the man I’ve spent the past weeks with, turns out I actually have some self-preservation instinct.
Below, Lyle spins out of Cesar’s way, and with the four men below locked in a chaotic fight, I grab the lower edge of the open window and take a step onto the ledge outside.
I know it runs along the whole roof, and with the snow now only a thin layer, I might be able to move to the back of the cabin and disappear.
“You fucking feral monster! No wonder Sullivan kept you on a leash!” Lyle yells, and I can’t help but look back. Even if I made such a bad romantic choice, my heart screams not to leave.
I turn my head in time to spot Cesar grabbing the head of another man and slamming it against the hood of the car so hard blood spills over the polished yellow.
When the guy waves toward Cesar, trying to grab him, Cesar pulls his head up and slams it into the car again, somehow with even more force.
This time, the guy slides off the vehicle and into the snow.
Is this really the man I’ve fallen for?
But if he’s doing this to protect me…
Lyle takes a step back and fiddles with something in his pocket, his face redder than the blood surrounding them. It must be a gun, but the other goon next to him is faster. As soon as he pulls out a firearm and aims, Cesar is on him, a wolf cornered yet fighting with his teeth bared.
The gun goes off, my heart stops, but Cesar manages to kick it away in time, so he’s not shot. He uses his bulk to throw himself at the shooter, and as soon as Cesar has him on the ground, he grabs his head and twists it with a crack. There’s no hesitation. He’s done this before.
Cesar turns to Lyle, bouncing back up, but the stranger pulls out a… piece of paper? He’s standing with his back to me when he reads out a nonsensical combination of words.
Cesar freezes.
Then drops to his knees in the wet mud.
“That’s more fucking like it, you murderous dog! You will do as I say!” Lyle yells, breathing hard, and leans forward, placing his hands on his thighs. He was terrified. But now he isn’t.
He pulls out a gun.
What did he do to Cesar? My man is panting, covering his head with his arms and rocking back and forth like he’s having a panic attack or some kind of PTSD reaction.
All because of something this fucker’s said?
The cold air fills my lungs as I inhale and squeeze the hammer. Maybe I have a death wish when it comes to the men I pick, but I’m not leaving him.