CHAPTER FIVE
HAZEL
THE ROAD AHEAD blurs, dark trees stretching endlessly in either direction, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. The storm has passed, but I’ve never felt more conflicted in my life. My hands clamp around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. Each twist of the road feels like a choice I didn’t get to make.
My captor’s voice is low and cuts through the suffocating silence. “Left. Here.”
I nearly miss the turn, yanking the wheel to obey. We move down yet another side road, and I bite down on my lip to stop it from trembling. I can feel him watching me. His presence is like a coiled snake beside me—quiet but deadly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the gun resting on his lap; I’m sure he took it out of his pocket as a reminder for me to behave and listen, his fingers idly brushing the barrel, almost stroking it like a pet. Every nerve in my body is screaming. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car. I should have put up a fight. But what choice did I have?
I risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, his icy blue eyes scanning the horizon like he’s expecting danger at any moment. A laugh bubbles in my throat, sharp and hysterical. As if he’s not the danger himself.
“Eyes on the road,” he speaks while still looking ahead, and I flinch, dragging my gaze back to the road.
The wheel jerks slightly as my hands tremble. I try to steady them, but the fear weighs heavier than the car itself.
A soft sound breaks the silence— Charlie is breathing heavily in the back. I glance in the rearview mirror, my stomach twisting at the sight of Charlie looking at me in the mirror, his tongue lolled to the side. I should have left the dog behind, but having him will give me strength.
“It’s gonna be okay, Charlie,” I say, my voice weak. I hate how hollow the words sound, like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.
He whines in response, as if he doesn’t believe me. Like I blame him. My gaze keeps diverting to the gun, and all I can think about is Mary’s call.
I tighten my grip on the wheel as the possibilities unravel in my head. If she hadn't called when she did, would I be dead, just like the man I witnessed being executed?
My stomach churns, bile rising at the back of my throat.
My captor shifts beside me, his movement drawing me back to the present. I risk another glance at him, allowing myself to really take in his features. It’s still dark in the car, but now I can make out a jagged scar along his cheek, his face remains impassive, unreadable—the man who now controls my fate.
The tires hum against the road, the rhythm strangely hypnotic. My mind drifts, unbidden, to my family.
Mom would probably be baking as she loves to do at night, humming off-key to a song she half-remembers. Dad would be in his chair, flipping through the farmer’s journal, pretending he was not dozing off. And my brother...what would he be doing?
When will they notice I’m gone? The thought slams into me, sharp and unrelenting. When will they start to worry?
Will Mom call my phone, her voice laced with confusion, and then panic when I don’t answer? Will Dad demand answers, his protective side kicking in too late?
A lump forms in my throat, but I push it down. Thinking about them won’t help. It’ll only make it harder to keep going.
The car jolts as the road turns to dirt, and the trees grow thicker, their branches arching overhead like a cage. My pulse quickens when the cabin comes into view.
It’s larger than most log cabins I’ve seen in this area, its dark wood exterior blending seamlessly into the forest. The windows are dark, the curtains drawn tight, and the yard...it’s too perfect. The grass trimmed, the flowers blooming in neat rows. A stark contrast to the wilderness surrounding it.
The minute the car stops, my captor steps out like he can’t stay one more moment in my presence, his movements fluid, purposeful. I stay frozen, my fingers still gripping the steering wheel.
“Get out,” he says, not looking back into the car; he just continues scanning the area.
I hesitate but take the keys out of the ignition, my stomach churning. Everything about this place screams danger. Isolation. A place no one would think to look. As I climb out of the car, I finally get a good look at him. He towers over me, his broad shoulders cutting an intimidating silhouette against the fading light.
His face is harsh, all sharp angles and hard lines, but it’s the scar slicing across his cheek that draws my attention. It twists when he smirks, and I shiver involuntarily.
His eyes meet mine—icy blue and devoid of warmth. They lock onto me like a predator sizing up its prey, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“What?” he asks in that voice that tells me he has his shit together, and I don’t.
“N-nothing,” I stammer, tearing my gaze away. But the chill in my veins lingers.
“Get your bag and the dog.” His voice is low but carries a sharp edge of authority. He glances around the forest again, his gaze slicing through the shadows, as though danger might emerge from the shifting branches. I look, too, the trees now looming like silent witnesses. A flicker of rebellion rises in me—I could run. Hide in the darkened hollows. But the thought is fleeting. I could never leave Charlie behind.
I pull the door open, and Charlie leaps out and protectively stays at my side. He doesn’t bark, doesn’t stray; his instincts mirror my unease. With my bag in one hand, I step forward, the damp earth muffling my reluctant footsteps.
The cabin looms ahead, its silhouette stark against the moonlight, and I follow him to the front steps, each one creaking beneath our weight. Without hesitation, he reaches above the doorframe, fingers groping until they find their mark. A key emerges from the shadows, and he slots it into the lock with practiced ease. The door swings open, the groan of wood replaced by the sharp snap of a switch. Light floods the small space, harsh and unyielding. I squint against it, my eyes stinging, still tuned to the comforting murk of the night.
Inside, the air is heavy, stale, carrying the faint scent of cedar and something metallic, like blood left to dry, or maybe that’s the fear in me. I step in, and behind me, the door slams shut, the sound reverberating in my chest like a gunshot. Then comes the unmistakable turn of the lock. My heart plummets.
I spin around, panic clawing its way up my throat. “Why are you locking it?” The words tremble as they leave my lips. It’s a stupid question. I’m his captive, he told me as much.
“For your safety,” he says with the kind of detached calm that makes my skin crawl. The words are rehearsed, hollow. But it’s the curl of his mouth—the flicker of amusement in his eyes—that shatters the facade.
I take a step back, the weight of the room pressing in on me. The windows are covered with thick, heavy curtains. I’m scanning the room for a TV, landline, laptop, anything with a connection to the outside world, but I come up empty.
My breathing turns shallow, the realization hitting like a punch to the gut. I’m in a cage, and I’ve trapped Charlie here with me. Without thought, I sink low until my arm wraps around Charlie, and I inhale his scent. It brings me a calm that seems to be obliterated at the moment.
When I rise, my captor is gone, and for a moment, hope flickers in my chest. He would never expect me to bolt so quickly. The smarter part of me says to wait, but I’m already moving toward the door. Charlie follows close behind, the clicking of his toenails on the wooden floor sending my shoulders up to my ears as I try to block out the sound. I have the car keys; he never took them from me.
My hand brushes the doorknob.
“Going somewhere?”
His voice is quiet, almost lazy, but it freezes me in place. Slowly, I turn, my heart thundering.
He leans casually against the doorframe, a red apple in his hand, a large bite already missing. His calm demeanor is far more terrifying than anger.
“I... I wasn’t—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
“Don’t.” His eyes narrow, a faint smirk curling his lips. “You’re smarter than that. Or at least, I thought you were.” He takes another bite of the apple, almost finishing it, and pushes off the doorframe.
Dear God, why does he have to be so huge compared to me? I can’t let his size intimidate me.
“I’m not staying here,” I snap, my voice louder than I intended. “I want answers. Now.”
My mind is at war with itself. On one hand, I know I’m lucky to be alive. That’s why I went along with his insane plan to take me captive—it meant survival. But now that I’m here, it’s terrifying.
His expression darkens, but there’s something else in his gaze—amusement? Frustration? He takes a slow step forward, and I fight the urge to back away.
“You’re in no position to make demands,” he says, his voice sharp as a blade. He finishes the apple and tosses the core into an unlit fireplace.
“I don’t care,” I shoot back, my hands trembling. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just stares at me with those cold, unreadable eyes, chewing the last of his apple. His jaw works methodically, and I hate that I can’t stop staring. When he finally swallows, he licks his lips.
“You know why you’re here, Hazel.”
I hate how he knows my name.
“You’ve stumbled into a mess,” he continues, his tone quieter, more deliberate. “The Walsh family—they don’t forgive. They don’t forget. And you? You’re just collateral damage.”
His words hit me like a punch, each one driving home the gravity of my situation. My legs threaten to give out, but I force myself to stand tall. The Walsh family?
“What does that mean?” I ask, though my voice cracks.
“It means,” he says, his gaze locking with mine, “you’re in deeper than you think. And what you witnessed has cost you your life.”
The weight of his words settles over me, heavy and suffocating. For the first time, I truly understand just how much danger I’m in.
“Then why am I still alive?” I whisper, my vision blurring.
For the first time, my captor looks away. “I’m not sure yet.”
He glances at Charlie. “Come on, boy, let’s get you fed.”
I would laugh at the absurdity of it—my dog, following this man—but to my utter astonishment and dismay, Charlie obediently trails after him into the kitchen, lured by the promise of food.
Fucking great.