Chapter Twenty-Three
Mac
See, I never thought that I could walk through fire
I never thought that I could take the burn
I never had the strength to take it higher
Until I reached the point of no return
‘Never Say Never’ - Justin Bieber
His hand is like iron in my hair, the grip unyielding, each yank burning against my scalp as he drags me down the narrow hallway.
My heels scrape helplessly against the stained carpet, the friction useless, the sound muffled beneath the rush of my own pulse in my ears.
I twist, digging in with everything I have left, muscles straining, but he is too strong.
Too calm.
Like he has done this before.
Because he has.
“Let go of me, Anthony!” I scream, my voice raw with rage and terror. My nails dig deep into the flesh of his forearm, raking downward in a desperate attempt to leave some mark, some proof, but he does not even flinch.
“I told you I’d always be one step ahead,” he says, his tone maddeningly smooth, far too sane for a man who just orchestrated a fake interview to lure me here. His words roll off his tongue like this is nothing more than a business meeting, like my fear is part of his entertainment.
I should have seen it the second I walked into this building.
The way the door clicked shut behind me without a sound.
The way the air felt heavier, the shadows deeper.
But I needed this.
I needed to know he did not break me.
I needed to prove I could still stand on my own.
Now I am about to fall.
He shoves me into one of the empty hotel rooms, the impact jolting through my entire body.
The door slams behind us, the sound sharp and final.
The curtains are already drawn, shutting out the daylight.
The room feels like a cage. There is nothing in here but a sagging bed, a nightstand, and the stale stink of mildew mixed with something darker.
He locks the door with a slow, deliberate turn of the deadbolt.
“No one’s coming, Mac,” he says, stepping toward me, the corners of his mouth curling with sick satisfaction. “This time, you don’t get to run.”
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs. I back away until the mattress hits the backs of my knees, the frame creaking slightly. I will not cry. I will not give him that. But my hands are trembling. My breath is coming too fast.
I try to lunge past him, angling for the door, but he catches me by the shoulders with a bruising grip and shoves me back.
Pain shoots through my spine when I hit the floor. The carpet is rough against my palms as I scramble to get up, swinging wildly at him, kicking, screaming, every instinct screaming at me to fight.
“Stop it!” he barks, the word cutting through the air before his hand cracks across my face. The world tilts sideways. My ears ring, and the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.
He hauls me up again, dragging me toward the bed. My legs dig into the carpet, my heels catching, but he keeps moving.
Please, God. Not again. Not this time.
I fight harder, screaming his name, praying for someone, anyone, to hear me.
Logan. Please. Please find me.
His belt buckle catches my eye, his fingers moving toward it.
There is a blank, hungry look in his eyes that turns my stomach.
I twist and kick, aiming for his knee, but I miss.
His fist comes hard and fast, smashing into my cheek.
The blow sends me spiraling into blackness for a heartbeat before the world snaps back into focus, blurry and spinning.
“You won’t get away this time,” he snarls, his breath hot against my skin. “And I’ll have plenty of time with you before that biker trash of yours decides to show up.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. The sound of metal clicking is louder than it should be, echoing in my head. He snaps one cuff around my wrist, threads it through the cold iron bedpost, and secures the other cuff with practiced efficiency.
I yank hard, but the steel bites into my skin, sending sharp pain down my arm. The cuff barely rattles. I am trapped.
I scream again, my voice tearing at the edges, growing raw. Each shout shreds my throat, but I do not stop.
He smiles. A slow, poisonous smile that tells me he is enjoying every second of this. He grips the fabric of my skirt and tears it down the seam. The cold air hits my bare skin and I flinch involuntarily. My panties are ripped away next, the elastic snapping before being tossed aside.
The last to go is my top and bra, the thin material giving way with almost no resistance, the sound of threads tearing filling the space between us.
His hands roam over me, fingers pinching, groping, exploring in ways that make bile rise in my throat. Every touch is invasive, deliberate, meant to strip away not just clothing but dignity. My body recoils from him, but the cuffs hold me in place.
I keep screaming, the words no longer coherent, breaking apart into frantic, animal sounds.
He forces his fingers inside me, and my breath catches, a mix of shock and fury and absolute revulsion. My vision blurs, but I know I cannot let this be the end.
“You’re so tight,” he sneers, his eyes locked on me like he is cataloguing every reaction.
“I bet that trash loves it, huh? I’m going to fuck you so hard that it won’t be the case anymore.
No one will come looking for you for a while, and I’ll be long gone before then.
On my way to the border. Maybe I’ll even take you with me.
If there is anything worth keeping by the time I’m done. ”
He is distracted, his gaze fixed between my legs, his posture lowered as he leans against the bed.
My body feels weak. My head is fuzzy, every thought swimming in a haze. But I reach for the last shred of strength I can find.
I pull my leg back and drive my heel into his face.
The impact is solid. The sound, a wet crack, is followed by a muffled grunt. His body jerks back violently, and then I hear it.
A thud.
From what I can see through the blur of my vision, I think his head hit the nightstand beside the bed.
I hold my breath, muscles tight, watching for any sign of movement. Seconds crawl by. Nothing.
I pull at the cuffs again, the metal cutting deeper into my wrist. The panic and adrenaline are crashing into each other, making my head pound harder.
I start yelling again, the sound tearing out of me in bursts, but each cry sends a sharp, splitting pain through my skull. My vision narrows at the edges, dark creeping in.
I do not know how much longer I can stay conscious.
***
I do not know how much time has passed. My sense of it is warped, stretched thin between the pounding in my skull and the fight to stay conscious.
Every second feels both endless and slippery, like it is trying to escape me.
I have been fighting off the urge to pass out, clinging to scraps of awareness, and it has been long enough that I know Logan has to be worried by now.
What if they are having church? What if the brothers are tied up with other business, buried in something that keeps them from noticing I never came back?
My stomach twists. Anytime I am away from him, we always check in with each other.
It is our rule, unspoken but understood.
He has to know that something is wrong. He has to.
But what if he can’t get to me in time?
The thought slithers into my mind, cold and poisonous. I push it away and focus on the sound of my own breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Just stay awake. Just stay here.
A sudden, harsh grip clamps around my ankle. The contact is so jarring I scream before I even look down. My gaze snaps to the floor and my blood runs cold.
Anthony is crawling up from where he fell, his movements sluggish but purposeful. Blood streaks down the side of his face, dripping past his ear and onto the collar of his once-pristine shirt. It beads and trails down his neck, staining the skin. His eyes are burning with something feral.
“You. Fucking. Bitch.”
The words are spat at me like venom. Each one lands heavy and deliberate, loaded with rage.
He drags himself to his feet, swaying for half a second before locking his knees. His chest heaves, the rise and fall sharp and fast. There is no humanity in his expression now. Just an ugly, hungry anger that turns my stomach.
“I’m going to enjoy fucking you,” he says, his voice low and guttural, “and then choking the life out of your worthless body.”
That hunger is back in his eyes. The same look that haunted me for years, the one I swore I would never see again. My limbs feel like they are filling with lead, the last bit of strength draining away in a cruel rush.
His hand is on me again, forcing my legs apart. My muscles strain to resist, but my body is slow to respond, my head still ringing from the last blow. The cuffs bite into my wrist when I pull back, metal cutting into skin.
Then—
BOOM.
The door explodes inward with a deafening crash. The sound hits like a blast wave, rattling the bedframe and making the walls tremble. Light floods into the room from the hallway, harsh and sudden, slicing through the shadows like a blade.
“Get your fucking hands off her!”
Logan.
His voice cracks through the air like thunder, so fierce and commanding it sends something in my chest breaking wide open. Relief floods me so fast it almost hurts.
Anthony spins toward the sound, caught mid-act, his hand still on me. There is a flicker of surprise in his expression, but it is too late.
Logan is already moving.
I don’t see how he crosses the room so fast, only the blur of his body and the force of his rage. The flash of his fists. The guttural roar tearing from his throat.
The impact is brutal. I hear the sharp crack of bone breaking, the deep, animal scream that rips from Anthony’s mouth. Logan drives into him again and again, each strike fueled by something primal.
He is a storm unleashed.
And he is here.
The realization hits with a force all its own.
My body folds in on itself, curling tight as the sobs break free. I am shaking so hard I cannot tell where the trembling starts or ends. It is over.
Because he found me.
Because I am not alone.
Not anymore.