Chapter 27 Koda
TWENTY-SEVEN
KODA
I get back to my cabin a little after eleven.
The sun is high overhead, filtering through the pines as I kill the engine. Charlotte’s Honda isn’t in the driveway.
That’s odd.
I sit for a second with my hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel and let the silence settle in my chest.
My ribs ache with every breath, and my head still pounds from the meeting with Jason. I’m not sure if we made progress or just circled the same old wounds, but at least we got the worst of it out in the open.
I’d take a hundred more punches if it meant Charlotte gets her dad back.
I step out of the truck and limp up the steps. The cabin will be empty, but some part of me still hopes I’m wrong. I unlock the door and push it open, half expecting her to pop out of the kitchen with some sarcastic comment about my battered face.
But the silence confirms what I already knew.
I step inside and close the door behind me, standing there for a second and listening to the stillness. The place feels hollow in a way that makes my gut tighten.
I pull my keys from the lock and cross to the small wooden bowl on the entry table. Her purse isn’t on the hook by the door where she usually leaves it. I scan the living room and confirm her shoes aren’t by the couch either.
I move through the space, past the couch, and into the kitchen.
On the counter, there’s a bowl of apples. I grab one and pull out my phone as I head toward my bedroom. She said she was just running a quick errand to pick up her trophy. But she should’ve been back by now.
I dial her number and press the phone to my ear as I walk down the hall.
It rings once. Then cuts off and goes straight to voicemail. That’s not like her. She always answers, even if she’s busy.
I try again as I move to the window. Same thing. One ring, then nothing.
The knot in my gut gets tighter.
I lean against the window frame, phone still in my hand, and think it through. Maybe she got held up at the school. Maybe she ran into someone and lost track of time. People do that. Normal shit.
But three hours to pick up a trophy?
I turn from the window and head back through the cabin and into the kitchen again. Then I set the apple down and swipe open my phone with my thumb.
I open the tracker app on my phone, the one linked to the device I slipped into her purse just in case. It takes a second to load. The little blue circle spins.
Then the dot appears, blinking steadily.
She’s still at Fit Mountain Beauty School.
I stare at the screen and refresh it. The dot stays put.
That doesn’t make sense. It’s been hours.
My jaw clenches. I move back to the living room, eyes on the tracker. The location hasn’t changed. Not even a little.
A chill rolls down my spine.
Something’s wrong.
I’m about to hit her number again when the doorbell rings.
I cross to the door in three strides and yank it open, ready to bark at whoever’s there.
But it’s just Sarah, Charlotte’s friend. She’s standing on the porch, clutching a gold trophy with a little figure on top. She gives me a nervous smile.
“Hey, Koda,” she says. “Is Charlotte around?”
My brain takes a second to catch up. “No, sorry. She went down to the school to pick up her trophy.”
Sarah’s face shifts, confusion clouding her eyes. She glances down at the award in her hands.
“Oh. That’s actually why I stopped by—to bring Charlotte her trophy. This is hers.”
The words land wrong, heavy in my gut.
My stomach drops. “Have you talked to her today?”
“No, I haven’t.” Sarah shakes her head, then looks back up at me with a deepening frown. “That’s so weird, though. Why would she think her trophy was still at the school?”
One word slams into my mind with the force of a freight train.
Adrian.
His parents own the school. He has easy access to everything. Keys, alarm codes, the whole building. He could’ve called her, lured her there.
“Koda?” Sarah’s voice cuts through the fog. “What’s going on?”
I’m already moving past her, keys back in my hand.
“Call the police,” I tell her, my voice harder than I mean it to be. “Tell them to meet me at the beauty school. Now.”
“What? Why?” Sarah’s voice pitches higher. “Koda, what’s happening?”
I turn back, already halfway to the truck.
“Charlotte’s in danger.”
Sarah’s face goes white, but I’m already moving. I sprint to the truck and my ribs scream with every step, but I ignore the pain.
Nothing else matters. Charlotte is in danger, and I won’t let anyone fucking touch her.
I yank open the driver’s door and climb in, then shove the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life.
I peel out of the driveway and gravel sprays behind me.
The tracker app is open on the dash, the little blue dot pulsing at the far end of the empty school building.
I gun it down the mountain road. Every muscle in my body is coiled and ready to break Adrian in half if he so much as lays a finger on her.
My foot slams the gas pedal to the floor. The truck fishtails around the first curve and the tires scream for traction, but I don’t let up for a second.
All I can think about is Charlotte. Her laugh, the way she curls into me at night, that stubborn little crease between her brows when she’s pissed. The feel of her belly under my hand, our baby kicking.
My jaw aches from how hard I’m grinding my teeth.
Adrian.
That little shit. I should’ve seen it coming. I thought he was just a nerdy kid with a crush and that he’d get over it eventually.
I was wrong.
Fuck.
If he’s touched her, if he’s even made her cry, I’ll kill him. I don’t care what it costs me.
Hang on, baby. I’m coming.
Thirty minutes later, the school comes into view and looms out of the midday brightness. The parking lot is empty except for Charlotte’s car and a black sedan parked crooked beside it. The engine is still ticking in the silence.
Every instinct in my body is screaming at me. Move, move, move.
I kill the lights and coast to a stop. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else. My hand finds my Glock in the center console. I chamber a round and tuck it low at my side as I step out.
The air is sharp, cold enough to burn my lungs.
I scan the lot. There’s nothing but the cars and the empty, shadow-soaked building. Not a single light on inside. The tracker app glows on my dash. Charlotte’s phone hasn’t moved.
My boots hit the pavement. I move fast and ignore the pain in my ribs. My focus narrows to a single point.
Get to her.
The front doors are locked. I yank hard and rattle the glass in its frame, but it doesn’t budge.
I circle the building and check every entrance.
All locked tight.
Sweat beads down my back despite the cold. My hands are shaking, not from the pain, but from the fear. Real, gut-deep terror.
I’m not losing Charlotte or our child. Not a fucking chance.
I spot a window low to the ground—maintenance closet, maybe. I slam the butt of my gun through it and glass shatters, raining down and slicing my forearm.
I don’t care.
I climb through, my boots crunching on broken glass as blood drips down my sleeve. The metallic tang mixes with the chemical stink of the school.
Tracker app open in my left hand, gun in my right.
The blue dot pulses, steady as a heartbeat. I follow it and run down the hall while adrenaline drowns out everything else. My lungs burn. My side feels like it’s on fire.
Doesn’t matter. I push harder.
At the end of the corridor, I see the supply room door.
The dot is right on the other side.
I kick the door open.
Chaos explodes.
Charlotte is duct-taped to a chair, her eyes wide with terror. Adrian stands over her with his arm locked straight and a gun pointed at her head. His face is wild, hair sticking up, eyes bulging with something I recognize instantly.
Desperation. The kind that turns a man into something less than human.
“Don’t move!” Adrian screams, his voice cracking.
I freeze with my gun trained on his chest. My mind calculates every angle, every risk. If he twitches, she’s dead. If I hesitate, she’s dead.
And our baby. Fuck, our baby.
My voice comes out low and steady.
“Let her go, Adrian. You don’t want to do this.”
He laughs, a high, broken sound.
“You think you can tell me what to do? You think you’re better than me?”
Charlotte’s eyes lock on mine. She’s shaking, but she’s alive.
I focus on that. I focus on her.
“Put the gun down,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “You can walk away from this.”
Adrian’s hand shakes and the barrel wavers, inches from Charlotte’s temple.
“She was supposed to be mine. I would’ve given her everything. But you—you took her from me.”
I take a slow step forward and never lower my weapon.
“She was never yours, Adrian. You know that. Let her go.”
He bares his teeth, desperate and feral.
“You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re old, washed up. She’s too good for you. She should be with me. I’m the one who notices her. I’m the one who cares.”
I can’t breathe.
The guilt, the fear, the certainty that if I’d paid more attention, this never would’ve happened—every broken promise, every missed warning crashes down on me.
But I push it aside. I have to. For her.
“You want to prove you care?” I grind out. “Don’t fucking hurt her. Let her go. Take me if you want. I’m the one you’re pissed at, right?”
Adrian’s eyes dart between me and Charlotte.
His finger tightens on the trigger.
My heart stops.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice barely above a growl. “Don’t touch her.”
Charlotte sobs and the sound tears through me.
I want to kill him. I want to rip him apart. But I can’t risk it. Not with the gun that close.
Adrian’s voice is shaking and tears stream down his face.
“I did everything right. I waited. I watched. She should’ve picked me.”
He’s losing it.
I see the exact moment Adrian makes his final decision. His eyes go dead, the wildness replaced by something cold and final. He slowly turns the gun from Charlotte’s head toward his own temple.
“If I can’t have her, then—”
I pull the trigger.
The gunshot explodes through the small room at the same instant Adrian’s weapon discharges.
His head snaps backward as my bullet tears through his chest, blood blooming across his white shirt like a crimson flower.
His body crumples, hitting the floor with a wet thud that echoes in the sudden silence.
I’m moving before he’s fully down, my gun still trained on his motionless form as I rush to Charlotte. My hands shake as I tear at the duct tape binding her wrists to the chair.
“Baby, are you hurt?” My voice comes out rough, desperate. “Did he touch you? Are you okay?”
Charlotte sobs against my chest as I pull the tape from her mouth. Her whole body trembles, but she’s alive. She’s breathing. She’s here.
“I’m okay,” she gasps between tears. “I’m okay. The baby—”
“How’s the baby?” I cup her face, searching her eyes for any sign of pain or distress. “Charlotte, how’s our baby?”
“She’s moving. She’s okay, I think she’s okay.” Her hands press against her stomach, protective and desperate. “Koda, I was so scared—”
“I know, baby. I know. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe.”
Heavy footsteps thunder down the hallway, echoing off the walls like gunfire. I position myself between Charlotte and the door, my weapon raised despite the burning agony in my ribs.
“Police! Drop your weapon!”
I set my gun on the floor and raise my hands as three officers burst through the doorway, weapons drawn. Behind them, Dana pushes past the cops like she owns the place.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her.
“I saw your truck in the parking lot,” Dana says, breathless. “And Charlotte’s car. Then the emergency vehicles started showing up.” Her voice cracks. “What happened?”
I gesture toward Adrian’s body. “He had a gun to her head.”
Dana’s gaze takes in the scene—the overturned chair, the duct tape, the blood spreading beneath Adrian’s still form. When she looks back at us, tears shine in her eyes. I can’t remember the last time I saw my sister cry.
“Oh, no!” She moves toward us, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. “Charlotte, honey, are you hurt?”
“I’m okay,” Charlotte whispers, but her body trembles against mine.
Dana wraps her arms around both of us, pulling us into a fierce embrace. Her expensive perfume mingles with the metallic scent of blood and fear.
“I was so scared,” she murmurs into our shoulders. “When I saw all the police cars...”
Paramedics push through the crowd of officers, their equipment rattling as they roll a stretcher into the room. The lead EMT, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, approaches us.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need to check you over,” she tells Charlotte. “Any injuries? Any pain?”
“I don’t think so.” Charlotte pulls back from my arms reluctantly. “But I’m pregnant. Five months.”
“Let’s get you to the hospital as a precaution,” the EMT says, already guiding Charlotte toward the stretcher. “Make sure everything’s okay with the baby.”
My chest tightens as they help Charlotte lie down, her small frame dwarfed by the medical equipment. I should feel relief—it’s over, she’s safe—but all I can think about is how close I came to losing everything.
“Sir, you’ll need to follow in your own vehicle,” the EMT tells me as they start wheeling Charlotte toward the door.
“Like hell.” I fall into step beside the stretcher. “That’s my woman and my daughter. I’m not leaving them.”
The EMT glances between Charlotte’s face and mine, taking in our obvious connection. “Family can ride along. But we need to move now.”
I climb into the back of the ambulance, my battered ribs screaming in protest. Charlotte reaches for my hand as soon as I settle beside her, her fingers cold but strong.
The doors slam shut, sealing us into the sterile white interior. Red and blue lights flash through the small windows as we pull away from the school, from the nightmare that almost destroyed us.
I take Charlotte’s hand in both of mine and press it to my lips. Her pulse beats strong and steady under my thumb. She’s here. She’s alive. She’s mine.
And I’m never letting her go again.