Chapter 27
JASPER
The sun is just barely up, gray light spilling across the floor. I haven’t slept, just drifted in and out, every time waking up hoping I’d find her curled up between us like always.
But she’s not here.
She’s nowhere.
Riot and I both ended up in my bed anyway, neither of us saying a word. We just needed it. Her spot in the middle is empty, but we each lie on our sides, facing it. The sheets still smell like her. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it’s just another morning after a long night on the road.
But it isn’t.
She’s gone, and the world’s gone cold with her.
We don’t talk. There’s nothing to say. Every breath feels like a prayer, every heartbeat a question with no answer.
Then the door bursts open. Silas stands in the doorway, eyes burning, adrenaline in every word.
“We have something.”
Both Riot and I freeze. For a second, I think I imagined it.
But then we’re moving—fast, clumsy, not even bothering with shoes. We scramble out of bed, hearts pounding, and tear down the hallway toward the living room.
The place is a mess of laptops, maps, phones, and coffee cups—a war room if there ever was one. Everyone’s awake now, eyes wide, hope and fear mixing in the air as Silas calls out to Micah.
Micah’s hands are flying over his keyboard. “Cameras. North side of the county. There’s a late-model white van that matches the tire treads from our drive. I just pulled a plate off a traffic cam at 2 a.m.”
Riot’s voice is rough, desperate. “Can you trace it? Can you get us there?”
Micah nods, eyes wild. “I’m trying. Give me five minutes.”
Hope, raw and sharp, slices through the numbness.
If there’s even a chance—
I’ll burn the world down to get her back.
The living room is electric—everyone glued to Micah’s laptop, hope and adrenaline making time blur. We barely breathe as Micah follows the van’s trail, cursing every time the signal blips. Riot and I hover behind him, fists clenched, hearts pounding.
Then the back door bangs open. Dex walks in, Shade and Milo right behind him, Dex clutching a plain white envelope in his hand.
“We found something outside,” Dex says, his voice low, eyes wide. “On the table by the kitchen door. It’s addressed to you and Riot.”
Micah shakes his head, panicked. “That’s impossible. I was watching the cameras all night. No one came near the door.”
I snatch the envelope from Dex’s hand, ripping it open with shaking fingers. Inside is a single photo—a grainy shot of Sawyer asleep on a narrow bed, her hands and feet shackled, her face pale but unmistakably alive.
My world narrows to that image. The chains. The helplessness. Her.
Riot grabs the photo, eyes wild, knuckles white. His whole body shakes as he flips it over. Scrawled in sharp, angry handwriting is a single sentence:
She was never yours.
Riot’s voice breaks, pure agony and rage. “That sick fuck. He’s taunting us. He’s been right fucking here.”
Ash curses, kicking a chair. Jace is pacing, fists clenching and unclenching.
Micah’s already diving into the feeds, voice shaking. “This isn’t possible. Someone hacked the cameras and looped the feed. He’s watching us. He knows exactly what we’re doing.”
Silas puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “He’s not a ghost. He made a mistake, leaving this. We can use it.”
But all I can see is Sawyer—trapped, afraid, still fighting to hold on.
And the promise blazes hot in my chest:
You’ll never keep her. Not from me. Not from us.
Riot slams his fist into the wall, voice breaking. “We’re coming for you, Sawyer. Just hold on. We’re coming.”
SAWYER
I’ve completely lost track of time. My mouth is dry, my body aches. Sometimes I think I hear the guys’ voices, just a memory replaying in the dark. I try to convince myself I’m alone, that he’s gone, that maybe I’ll wake up and this will all be a nightmare.
My skin prickles. My chest tightens. The little hairs on my arms stand up, every instinct screaming danger.
I force my head up, swallowing hard, eyes scanning the dim corners of the room.
At first, nothing.
Then, movement—a shape in the darkest corner.
He’s there… Sitting in the chair again.
So still, so quiet, I wonder if he’s been there the whole time, watching me fall apart. My skin crawls at the thought—how many times did I let myself cry, thinking I was alone?
The silver and black mask glints as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, head cocked like I’m an animal in a cage he’s trying to decide how to break.
There’s nothing human behind that mask, just the cold calculation of a predator.
My heart thuds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I want to scream, but I can’t make a sound. My voice is lost somewhere deep inside, knotted up with panic.
He’s watching.
He’s waiting.
And I realize he wants me afraid.
He’s feeding on it.
I refuse to give him what he wants. But the fear is a living thing inside me, gnawing, growing, curling tighter with every second I spend under that mask’s gaze. I try to focus on the faces I love—Jasper, Riot, Macee—but it’s so hard to hold on to light in all this darkness.
All I can do is hold on.
Hold on and hope someone’s coming.
Please, someone…
He stands without a word, every movement deliberate and slow.
The mask gleams in the half-light as he crosses the room, stopping at the foot of the bed.
Both gloved hands settle heavy on my ankles, the weight like shackles all over again.
I flinch, instinct taking over, trying to twist away—even though I know there’s nowhere to go.
The cuffs bite my wrists, skin already raw.
Any thought of hiding my fear is gone. The panic is raw and electric, rolling through me with every touch. My body betrays me; my muscles are jumping, and my breath is stuttering.
He tightens his grip and drags me down the bed, closer, until the chains on my wrists go tight and cold, biting into my skin.
I gasp, back arching, wrists straining as my legs are forced open, my body fully exposed and helpless.
I can’t help the broken sound that slips out of me—somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
He rubs his hands up my thighs, rough and possessive, like he’s trying to wipe away everything that came before him. My skin crawls. I stare at the ceiling, willing myself to disappear, to become nothing. I squeeze my eyes shut, counting breaths, praying he’ll get bored and leave.
“Did you like the photos? The ones I sent you?”
My chest seizes. “Stop—”
“And the fire,” he murmurs, almost gentle. “Did you like that, too?”
Ice pours through me. “That was you?”
“I watched you with them,” he says, like it’s a confession he’s proud of.
“Laughing. Fucking. Letting them orbit you like they had a right. They were in the way.” His hands brace harder, thumbs digging into my skin until I can’t think around the pressure.
“I couldn’t let you leave. Not when you were going to disappear into another city where I might lose the chance to take you. ”
The mask tilts, black eyes swallowing the light.
“So I made sure no one left. I paid someone who owed me,” he brags.
“An arsonist. Small. Contained. Smoke and sirens. Just enough chaos to keep you here.” A gloved thumb drags slow over my inner thigh, a brand I can’t shake.
“Just enough time to take what’s already mine. ”
“You’re insane,” I choke, wrists burning against the cuffs.
“No.” His voice drops to a quiet that feels like prayer. “That’s what it takes.”
I don’t reply. My throat closes up, breath shuddering, teeth biting down hard on a sob. How could I have been with him as long as I was and not see any of these signs?
His grip gets tighter, his hands sliding roughly up my bare thighs. I try to twist away, but the chains only bite deeper, metal burning against my skin. I can’t hide my panic—my breath stutters, heart hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else.
He leans over me, mask only inches from my face. His voice is thick with jealousy and hate. “You like being ruined, don’t you? You let those boys take turns with you. Jasper and Riot—letting them think you belong to them?”
His hand digs into my thigh, thumb pressing hard enough to leave bruises. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting tears.
He presses closer, his breath hot behind the mask. “Bet you begged for it. Bet you loved every second. Did they make you scream, Sawyer? Did you let them mark you?”
He grabs my jaw, forcing my head back to him, the metal of his glove cold and sharp against my skin.
“Look at me,” he growls. “I want you to remember who had you first and who’s going to have you last.”
He runs a gloved finger up my thigh, sliding the hem of my shorts higher, fingers pausing at the waistband. “You’re mine, Sawyer. No matter who else has touched you. You always come back to me.”
Every touch makes my skin crawl. But even as I shake with terror and humiliation, I bite down the scream and force myself to stare into the mask—into the black holes of his eyes—silent, shaking, but unbroken.
And in this moment, I don’t need to see his eyes. I don’t even need to see his face.
“You always come back to me.”
The words dig in, twisting, trying to take root. I breathe in and out slowly, forcing the name past my lips. “Blake.”
The mask freezes—I can feel the shock ripple through him, the twisted pleasure that I figured it out. He laughs as he tips his head as if giving a slow, mocking bow. “Took you long enough, princess.”
I stare up at him, rage and terror battling in my chest. “Why?” My voice is ragged, thick with disbelief and betrayal. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted. You. All of you. Not the parts you give away to those idiots you think can protect you. The parts that belongs to me.”
His fingers dig into my thigh, possessive and cruel. “You should have stayed. You should never have run. Every second you were gone, every time you touched them—I watched. I waited. But now? Now you’re exactly where you belong.”