Chapter 28
JASPER
It’s been four days since we last saw Sawyer.
Four days since the world stopped spinning, and every minute turned to hell.
None of us sleeps—not for more than a few minutes at a time.
We drift in and out, haunted by nightmares worse than reality, and every time I close my eyes, I see her. Reaching. Begging. Gone.
We move through the house like ghosts, silent and heavy.
Riot hasn’t said more than a few words to anyone.
Dex paces, Jace snaps at anything that moves, and Ash sits in corners looking hollowed out.
Even Macee is just a shadow, holding Sawyer’s hoodie to her chest, rocking in the armchair like she’s willing her back home. Silas’s eyes stay on me, worrying.
The house is so quiet that when Micah yells, it’s like a bomb went off.
“Guys! You need to see this!”
We all bolt for the living room, stumbling over blankets, knocking into each other. Riot’s right beside me, eyes wild. I can feel the fear rolling off everyone—thick, choking, almost impossible to breathe through.
Micah stands over his laptop, face pale. He’s sweating. “I just got an email. No sender. No subject line—except…” He swallows, voice barely above a whisper. “‘Are you sure she’s yours?’ I haven’t watched it. I’m trying to trace it, but it’s going to take time.”
I meet Riot’s eyes. My stomach turns. My hands shake. I don’t want to see it. I can’t—
But I have to.
We all do.
The room is still, every single person waiting for one of us to speak, to do the thing we all dread. Riot sits on the arm of the couch, head in his hands, knuckles white. “Okay, Jasper,” he says, voice shaking. “Let’s get it over with. I can’t take this waiting anymore.”
I sit next to him. The others hover behind, but the air is so heavy it feels like we’re all underwater.
I nod once at Micah.
He hits play.
The screen lights up. At first, it’s just static, then blurry movement. The angle is wrong—too close, too shaky, and I realize with a jolt it’s a camera propped up at the foot of a bed. A bed I don’t recognize. Chains glint in the half-light, cuffs tight around wrists and ankles. Sawyer.
My breath leaves my body. Riot makes a broken sound, so quiet that only I can hear it. The room around us drops away. There’s only her—stripped, chained, shaking with fear. And then he steps into the frame, mask shining silver and black, every movement deliberate, slow, hungry.
He stands over her, the rage in his body unmistakable.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” His voice is raw, edged with betrayal and something feral. “You and your precious little rockstars. You think you’re going to be rescued now? You think all their fans are going to storm in and save you?”
I see Sawyer flinch, shrinking into the mattress. She can barely breathe, chest tight, vision tunneling—I can feel her panic through the screen. Her voice is so hoarse it barely makes it out.
“Why are you even still wearing the mask?”
Right then, I feel Silas tense beside me. I see it in his eyes—he heard what most of us missed. He leans forward, lips parted, eyes darting between the screen and me, and then to Riot.
She knows.
Or at least, she thinks she knows. That’s why she asked. It wasn’t just fear or confusion. It was a certainty.
He leans in, face inches from hers, mask reflecting her wide, terrified eyes.
"Because when they find you—if they find you—I want them to remember this. I want them to remember what it cost to make that fucking video. Every time they look at this mask, I want them to know they’re the reason you suffered.”
Then his fury explodes in cold, mechanical violence. He grabs the knife, drags the handle between her legs.
“This is your punishment, Sawyer. For the video they released. For thinking you could use them to save you. For making me a villain to everyone out there.”
My hands curl into fists. Riot grips the couch so hard his knuckles turn white.
Sawyer tries to talk back—her voice is hoarse but defiant. “You never knew how to pleasure me, anyway. You’ll never get an orgasm from me. Not a real one.”
He laughs. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a black vibrator, and holds it up to the camera.
“You’ll fall apart for me, on my knife, with this cunt that belongs to me.”
He presses the vibrator to her, moves the knife inside her. The camera doesn’t blink. Sawyer cries, but keeps fighting, her voice breaking, begging for it to stop.
He taunts her the whole time, saying things like, “Let them watch, Sawyer. Let the entire world see who makes you fall apart. This is all you’re good for. Look how pretty you are when you’re broken.”
When her body gives in—when she cums, broken and sobbing—he groans, laughing, and leans in, “That’s right. Cry for me. Scream for me. This is all you’re good for.”
My vision tunnels. I can’t breathe. Riot holds back angry tears, fists pressed against his mouth to keep from screaming.
Micah’s hands are trembling. Dex and Jace both turn away, shoulders shaking with rage. Ash stares at the wall, jaw clenched so tight I think he might break a tooth. Only Macee stays glued to the screen, tears streaming down her face, fury and grief burning in her eyes.
Silas can’t stop watching Sawyer’s face on the screen, like he’s searching for clues, trying to put together a puzzle that suddenly feels a hell of a lot closer to being solved.
When the video finally cuts off, nobody speaks.
Nobody moves.
The room is silent except for the sound of Riot’s breathing and Macee’s soft sobs.
I barely hear Silas murmur, voice low and sharp, “She knows who he is. That’s why she asked. Maybe there’s something we missed.”
Hope flickers—raw, violent. For the first time, we might have something to work with. For the first time, we might find her and bring her home.
But underneath the pain, something burns. Something sharp and cold.
He made a mistake, sending this.
We’re going to find him.
And I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
RIOT
I latch onto that hope like a lifeline. My hands are shaking, but I force myself to focus.
“Micah—go through the video again. I want every fucking frame. Sound, background, anything weird. If you see a reflection, a shadow—I don’t care how small—pause it.”
Micah’s already moving, hands flying over the keys, jaw clenched with adrenaline. “I’ll slow it down, I’ll scrub the audio, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Dex is pacing, phone pressed to his ear, muttering, “Cabin… woods… Blake’s family. Someone has to know where that is.” Every word is a promise of violence.
Jace curses under his breath. “If it’s Blake, he’s not getting away this time. I swear to God.”
Ash is staring at the screen, knuckles white. “She did mention that whoever it is didn’t know how to pleasure her anyway. So it’s somebody she’s been with. We get a lead on where he is, I say we go—no waiting for cops. We find her first.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. I can’t sit still. My whole body vibrates with the need to do something. “Check every detail, Micah. Run his voice through filters. See if there’s traffic, wind, birds—anything that can help us narrow down where she is.”
Micah nods, not looking away from the screen. “There’s a window. I see a tree outside, but it’s dark—I’ll enhance it.”
Silas grabs my shoulder, squeezing hard. “We’re close, Riot. I can feel it. Don’t lose hope.”
I say nothing, grit my teeth and stare at the screen. All I can see is Sawyer—her eyes, the way she tried to fight, the way she broke and kept going. My chest aches with love and rage.
I swear to her, right then:
I’m coming. I will tear the world apart for you.
SAWYER
I lay there, broken. My body aches, my wrists burn, and shame floods my veins like poison. Tears come, silent and unstoppable, soaking the mattress, shaking my entire frame. I can still feel Blake’s hands, the cold press of steel, the sickening hum of the vibrator.
I hate him. I hate myself. I hate how he made me come, how he watched, how he loved it.
I don’t know how long I lay there, shaking, empty. But eventually, I run out of tears. I stare at the ceiling, numb and hollow.
And then something hardens.
No.
He doesn’t get the last word. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
I replay every second—his voice, the way he paced the room, the sounds outside the window, the way the floor creaked under his boots. There has to be a clue, something I can use. A crack in the boards. A light under the door. The echo of his footsteps.
I swear to myself that if I get out of here, it’ll be because I fought. He can break my body, but he will never take my mind. Never.
I close my eyes, searching for anything he might have slipped up on, any weakness at all. I’m not giving up.
The sound of the door yanks me from my thoughts. Blake strides in, shirtless, moving with a predator’s confidence that makes my skin crawl. I shrink back on the mattress, but I already know it’s useless. He carries the keys, the power, the certainty that no one is coming for me.
He never removes the chains from my wrists.
Instead, he drags me to the bathroom, strips my top off like I’m not even a person—just a possession.
The cold air bites at my bare skin, making me shiver, but I hate that the goosebumps look like a response.
Like he can take credit for anything my body does.
The shower is huge—stone tile, expensive, like something out of a magazine. But the metal hook on the wall kills any illusion of luxury. I know he put it there just for me.
He clips the chain to the hook, leaving me standing, arms above my head, body stretched and exposed. My wrists burn from the pressure; my muscles are screaming from being forced into this position. Steam curls around us, but the room feels colder by the second.
I stare at the wooden beams overhead, trying not to look at him, trying to be anywhere but here.
But my mouth runs before I can stop it. “Why are you still wearing that dumb mask? You’re ridiculous, Blake.”