Chapter 26 #2
It’s just past dawn now—gray light leaking through the living room windows, dust motes spinning in the tired air.
Riot sits hunched over the kitchen table, fingers twitching restlessly against his coffee mug.
Ash and Jace are slumped nearby, eyes red and distant.
Macee’s passed out on the couch, hugging Sawyer’s favorite hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.
Micah’s still at his laptop, headphones on, chasing leads I’m believing aren’t even real. He hasn’t looked away from the screen in hours, and I’m afraid that if I ask him for an update, he might finally snap.
Silas paces the front hall, phone pressed to his ear as he barks at some detective. The entire house is waiting—everyone holding their breath, ready to explode.
I run a hand through my hair, jaw aching from how hard I’ve been clenching it. I keep replaying every conversation, every small moment that led up to this—every chance I missed keeping her close. I’m barely keeping my emotions in check; on the inside I’m raging.
My phone buzzes. False hope slams through me as I snatch it up—just another message from Dex’s group.
“Anything?” Riot asks, his voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just Dex checking in again. Nobody has seen a van. Nobody’s seen her.”
Riot’s fist thuds against the table. “She’s out there, Jasper. We’re gonna find her. We have to.”
I nod, but it feels hollow. “We’re running out of time.”
The room falls silent again. The only thing louder than my heartbeat is the rage in my chest—boiling, waiting, desperate for someone to blame.
If I get her back, I swear I’ll never let her out of my sight again.
RIOT
I can’t take it anymore. Sitting here, staring at the same four walls, breathing the same recycled air that still smells like her shampoo, her laughter, her life.
My knee bounces under the table so hard my coffee nearly spills.
I catch Jace glancing over at me, eyes rimmed red, but I can’t even muster a joke for him. Not tonight.
All this waiting feels like death by a thousand paper cuts.
Every five minutes, I’m checking the porch, the driveway, the yard. I try to help Micah, but all those screens make my eyes hurt and my heart pound. I need action. I need to do something, anything, or I’m gonna crawl out of my skin.
I shove the front door open, cold air slapping me awake.
The sun’s barely up, the world all blue and silver and empty.
I stalk the property again, boots crunching through last night’s frost, flashlight trembling in my hand.
I check the edge of the woods, the barn, the ditches.
I keep yelling her name, voice hoarse, knowing she can’t answer but hoping she’ll hear me, anyway.
Every bush, every rustle, every shadow makes my heart jump.
I replay every late-night walk we took together, the way she’d look over her shoulder and smile, daring me to keep up. I remember her calling me hers.
I choke back a sob.
I will not cry.
It’s just my voice echoing back at me, sounding scared and small. But I don’t care who hears. I’m not stopping. Not until she’s home, not until she’s in my arms and I can finally breathe again.
I punch a fence post, knuckles splitting, pain sharp and welcome. I shout her name again, voice cracking with something dangerously close to tears.
If you can hear me, Sawyer, hold on. Just a little longer, Hellcat.
I’m coming, I promise.
SAWYER
I don’t remember falling asleep, only waking up in darkness. My neck is stiff. My hands and feet ache from the cuffs. My throat is raw and dry, but the panic has dulled. Just enough to let me think.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hours? A day? It all blurs together. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but it’s not as sharp as the fear.
The room is still, the only sound my shallow breathing and the faint rattle of chains as I tug—careful, quiet, testing every link and bolt, searching for even the most minor weakness.
A voice—distorted, mechanical, more machine than man—cuts through the silence like a knife.
“You won’t be able to break out of those, baby girl.”
His laughter follows, warped and cruel, filling every corner of the room.
My whole body locks up, but I don’t scream. I don’t make a sound. My heart’s thudding so hard I can barely breathe, but I force my head to turn to the chair in the corner.
And there he is.
The mask gleams in the half-light, his body sprawling in the same chair as before. He’s been watching. Waiting. Maybe the whole time. I never heard him move. I never even knew he was there.
He cocks his head. “Don’t bother. You’re not getting out. Not unless I want you to.”
The chains bite into my skin as I curl tighter, eyes fixed on him, refusing to show how scared I am.
“Don’t worry, Sawyer. You’re right where you belong.”
His modulated laughter crawls under my skin, but I lift my chin, forcing my voice steady even as my hands tremble.
“I don’t care how many locks or chains you use,” I say, my voice scraping up from somewhere deep. “Someone’s coming for me. When they do, you’d better hope they get to you before I do.”
The mask tilts as if he’s surprised, maybe even amused. “Is that so?”
I glare, refusing to drop my gaze. “Yeah. And you’d better pray I never get my hands free. Because if I do, you’ll find out just how much damage this ‘baby girl’ can do.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming on the armrests.
“That’s the fire I always loved about you, Sawyer… But let’s see how long it lasts.”
I look away, trying to ignore him and act like I’m bored and unbothered.
His boots thud against the wood floor, coming closer, each step scraping against my skin like a warning. I force myself not to flinch, not to look, not to beg him to stop. If I can hold still—if I can just pretend I’m not here—maybe he’ll get bored, leave me alone.
But then I feel his gloved fingers graze my ankle. I jerk my leg away, chains clanking, disgust and fear twisting inside me.
“You were always so beautiful,” he says, voice distorted but unmistakably hungry.
“Don’t touch me.” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but the venom in it is all real.
He cocks his head, mask shining in the dim light, the knife flashing in his hand as if he conjured it from thin air. “What are you going to do about it, pet?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m still staring away, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. Then his hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking my head around until I forcefully meet his masked gaze. The blade presses against my neck, cold and sharp, a promise of pain.
He leans in, voice trembling with rage and need. “I will do whatever the fuck I want to you. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. If I want to fuck you in these chains, I will. If I want to cut you up into pieces in these chains, I’ll do that too.”
The pressure of the knife burns. My breath stalls in my chest. But I keep my chin lifted, my eyes defiant even as tears sting them. If he’s going to hurt me, I want him to see that I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me beg.
But inside, I am screaming.
Inside, every inch of me is praying for Jasper, for Riot, for anyone.
Inside, I know I have to survive. I have to outlast him.
The blade at my throat bites in, not quite breaking skin, but close enough to make me go still. Terrifyingly still. I feel his breath, hot and shallow behind the mask. I can’t tell if he’s grinning or snarling, but the violence in his hands is unmistakable.
He traces the edge of the knife slowly down my neck, letting it drag along my collarbone, then down my arm, leaving a burning trail. My whole body trembles with rage, terror, and another unfortunate reaction that I’m trying to ignore. I don’t give him my tears. I won’t.
His gloved hand tightens in my hair, yanking my head back so I’m forced to see the black eyes staring out at me from behind the mask.
“You’re not going anywhere, pet. Not until I say so. Not until you remember who you belong to.”
He presses the knife flat against my cheek, cold steel and cruel intent, just shy of actual pain. “You want to be brave? Go ahead. Scream. No one will hear you. Beg me for mercy, and maybe I’ll be gentle. Push me, and I’ll carve my name into your skin just so you never forget me again.”
My heart is practically on the verge of exploding. I want to spit in his face. I want to bite, kick, fight until there’s nothing left of me, but I’m chained. I’m helpless. My voice wavers, but doesn’t break.
“You can chain my body, but you’ll never own me. They’ll come for me. They’ll find you. You’re not as smart as you think.”
The mask tips, like he’s studying prey he plans to break. The knife trails lower, slicing the hem of my tank top just enough to show he could do anything, at any second.
“We’ll see, Sawyer. We’ll see who breaks first.”
He lingers too close, too hungry, feeding on my fear, on the tiny flicker of defiance I refuse to let die.
And then, just as suddenly, he yanks the blade away and storms out; the door slamming so hard it rattles the walls.
I collapse against the mattress, shaking so hard I can barely feel my body. My skin still burns where the knife touched me. Every muscle aches from the fight to stay strong, but my mind spins with questions.
Again.
He said again.
Who is he? My thoughts race—Blake? But how? He was always a coward, a parasite, not a mastermind. How could he possibly pull this off, slip past everyone, make me vanish? Is he really that obsessed? That angry?
A shiver of panic crawls up my spine. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer.
And then I hear it.
Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming back.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Please not again. Just give me a minute. Please…
But the door creaks open, and I hear the unmistakable scrape of his boots across the floor.