CHAPTER TEN
KIERAN
TALKING TO HER is easy, and it shouldn’t be. I hate how natural it feels, like sliding into a rhythm I never asked for. Every word that comes out of her mouth should be scrutinized, dissected for motive—but with Hazel, I find myself forgetting to do it. She has a way of lowering my guard, and that’s dangerous. I’ve lived too long in this world to mistake danger for anything else.
Charlie barks at my feet, his tail wagging like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I kneel down to scratch behind his ears. “You’re the only one here who’s honest, aren’t you, boy?” Charlie licks my hand in response, and I grab the bag of food from the counter to fill his bowl. He dives into it without hesitation.
The phone in my pocket buzzes. Patrick. Of course, it’s him. I hit the answer button and bring it to my ear. “Yeah.”
“How is the search going?” Patrick doesn’t bother with pleasantries
“She has help.” She’s always two steps ahead of me. Who is she, really?” I glance down at Charlie who is gobbling up the food.
“She’s no one,” Patrick sounds like he’s walking.
I glance toward the door to the basement. Hazel’s down there, sitting exactly where I left her, looking small but somehow unshaken.
“I will catch her ,” I say.
Patrick snorts, unimpressed. “If you can’t draw her out, I’ll think of a way myself.”
His words don’t sit right with me—a threat, thinly veiled. I don’t like it, but I don’t argue. “I’ll handle it,” I say and end the call before he can push further.
Three days. That’s all we have left at this safehouse before we’re forced to move. The clock’s ticking louder in my head, a constant reminder that my options are shrinking.
I head down to the basement. Hazel’s still on the floor, legs crossed, her back against the wall. She looks up when I enter, eyes wary but calm.
“You have two choices,” I tell her. “Stay down here, or come with me for a drive.”
She’s on her feet before I’ve finished speaking. That quick reaction tells me something—she doesn’t like being alone. Noted.
“Dress warmly,” I add.
“Can I bring Charlie?”
“No.” My voice is firm, final. The kind of tone that ends conversations before they can start. Hazel freezes for a second; her gaze is locked on mine as if she’s trying to gauge if I’ll bend. I won’t. She knows it, and after a beat, she nods.
“I’ll just be a moment.”
She leaves the room, walking past me with hunched shoulders. I follow her out of the room and wait as she enters her own, and I hear the rustle of fabric as she puts on warmer clothes.
The cold night air is like a slap to the face as we step outside and head to the waiting car. Sean’s car, to be specific. Sean, who’s currently wrapped in plastic in the trunk like a discarded holiday present. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I slide into the driver’s seat, my fingers brushing the cold leather as I grip the steering wheel. Sean’s phone rests in my hand, its screen dim but powered on—silent, just like him. I toss it onto the dash and glance over as Hazel settles into the passenger seat. Her hands fidget in her lap, fingers twisting like she’s trying to wring the tension out of them.
The engine hums to life, and we pull away from the cabin. The road stretching endlessly before us. The sound of the tires against the asphalt becomes a steady metronome, a rhythm I can lose myself in.
Hazel leans her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass. The tension in her body slowly unravels until, finally, she’s asleep. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noticing how fragile she looks when she’s not frowning or arguing. Vulnerability suits her in a way she’d hate if she knew I noticed.
I turn up the heat without thinking. It’s a gesture I don’t even mean to make—something buried deep in my subconscious, a leftover habit from being around someone who’s always cold. Maybe it’s for her. Or maybe it’s for me. Hard to tell anymore.
An hour later, the lake finally reveals itself, like a dark sheet of glass reflecting the moonlight. I pull the car to a stop along the dirt path and cut the engine. Silence presses in, broken only by Hazel’s soft, even breathing.
I sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel. My pulse is steady, as it always is. There’s no guilt to fight, no regret gnawing at the edges of my conscience. I know what needs to be done, and I do it. Simple as that.
Hazel stirs beside me, her lashes fluttering briefly, but she doesn’t wake. I grab the phone off the dashboard and place it into my pocket before I slip out of the car, the cold biting through my coat. My boots crunch over frost-covered leaves, and the air smells like damp earth and decay. It fits the mood.
I shift my gaze to the old motorcycle parked a few feet away, camouflaged in the brush exactly where I left it. Good. I’ll need it to get back.
Sean’s car, though—that’s a different story. It’s not something you can stash in the woods and forget. But the lake? The lake can swallow secrets whole.
I open Hazel’s door, and straight away, her eyes snap open. Maybe it’s the cold that floods the warm car that alerts her. “You need to get out.”
She doesn’t ask any questions but climbs out, and I close the door before getting back into the driver’s seat. She folds her arms across her chest, her gaze darting around the space. I wonder if she will try and run. She won’t get far.
I put the car into neutral before getting out and rolling it toward the lake, muscles flexing as I push it forward. The weight is unforgiving, but adrenaline is a useful tool. The car edges toward the water, its tires digging into the soft earth before finally giving way to the slope.
The splash shatters the stillness, the sound ricocheting off the trees like a gunshot. I pause, listening. The water ripples out in perfect circles, widening and fading as the car sinks beneath the surface. Headlights briefly flicker underwater before darkness claims them. Gone. Just like that.
I exhale, watching my breath swirl and disappear. There’s no rush of satisfaction. No thrill. Just another task checked off the list.
I glance at Hazel, who hasn’t moved.
I head for the motorcycle, boots crunching softly over the frost. The lake is already smoothing itself out, wiping away the evidence like it was never there.
And just like that, Sean becomes a ghost I won’t think about again.
Another secret buried. Another night survived.
Hazel watches me silently, her face pale in the moonlight. I hand her the helmet from the motorcycle—there’s only one. “Put this on.”
She hesitates, then obeys, climbing onto the bike behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I’m surprised by how much I like the feel of her hands on me—another warning I ignore.
The bike roars to life beneath me, vibrating like a live wire. Hazel’s arms circle my waist, her grip tight, her face pressed against my back. The warmth of her breath seeps through my jacket, contrasting with the cold night air whipping past us. I’m not sure if it’s the icy wind stinging my face or the sensation of her holding on that keeps me sharp, but I don’t let my mind wander. Not tonight. My eyes stay locked on the narrow road ahead, shadowed by trees that loom like sentinels on either side.
The forest grows denser, darker, until it feels like the night itself is closing in on us. Only the hum of the bike and the rhythmic thrum of Hazel’s heartbeat against my back keep me grounded. The road curves sharply, but I don’t ease up. I can’t. Not until we’re deep enough into the wilderness, far enough away from anything or anyone that could find us—or him.
I stop near a clearing where the underbrush is thick, wild, and untouched—the perfect burial ground for unwanted things. The bike hums beneath me for a moment before I kill the engine, the sudden silence crashing down like a weight. I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out Sean’s phone, and stare at it for a second. The screen’s blank, just like his future. Without ceremony, I power it down and toss it into the bushes, where the forest will claim it.
The sound of leaves rustling as the phone disappears is strangely final. Done.
We ride back in the dark, the air colder now, biting through my jacket like knives. Hazel doesn’t say a word. Her grip loosens as exhaustion takes over, her body leaning heavier against me. She’s shivering, even with the heat of the bike beneath us. I feel it through her touch, the small tremors that she probably doesn’t realize she’s making. Instinct kicks in. I rev the engine harder, speeding us home before the cold does more damage.
By the time we return to the safe house, dawn is breaking. The sky is streaked with pink and gold, the sun stretching its fingers across the horizon like it’s trying to warm a world that doesn’t deserve it. The safe house looks deceptively peaceful in the soft morning light, but I know better. There’s no peace here—just a temporary pause.
Hazel stirs against me, half-asleep and trembling. Her breath hitches when I stop the bike, and she blinks up at me through heavy lids, her gaze glassy with fatigue. “We’re back?” Her voice is barely a whisper, like she doesn’t quite believe it.
“We’re back,” I confirm. I swing my leg off the bike and help her off, but her knees buckle. Without thinking, I catch her, her body slack and weightless against mine. She mumbles something incoherent, her head lolling onto my chest. For a moment, I freeze. The pull is there again—the one I’ve been trying to ignore since this whole mess started. The warmth of her, the softness, the way she instinctively snuggles closer as if she belongs there. She doesn’t. But try telling that to my brain.
I carry her inside, stepping carefully over the creaky floorboards. She feels too light in my arms, like someone who’s been carrying the weight of too many secrets. When I lay her down on the bed, she curls into the pillow, her breathing evening out almost instantly. I should leave. Turn away, shut the door, and forget this moment ever happened. But I don’t. I linger, watching her breathe. My fingers twitch, wanting to brush a strand of hair from her face, but I stop myself.
This isn’t for me. None of this is.
I shake it off, forcing myself to step back. The door clicks softly shut behind me as I head upstairs. The kitchen is dim, shadows stretching across the walls as the sun rises higher. My phones are spread out on the table, each one a lifeline to a different piece of this puzzle. Hazel’s phone buzzes to life, the screen lighting up with a notification—just a missed call. I don’t care who it’s from. None of it matters right now.
The first call I make is to Mary. Predictably, she picks up on the second ring, her voice sharp like she’s already been pacing. “Hello!”
“I have Hazel, and I want a payment if you want to see your friend again.” I keep my tone calm, even.
“Is she okay?” Mary sounds panicked, but this isn’t her first rodeo.
“She’s safe,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and detached. Emotion won’t get me what I need. “But not for long unless you pay up.”
Her breath hitches. “Let me speak to her first.”
“No.” I end the call.
Hazel’s phone starts ringing, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. The irony isn’t lost on me—Mary wants reassurance, but she’s not getting it. Not yet. I let it ring twice before powering it off and tossing it into a drawer. Mary’ll wait. She doesn’t have a choice. By the time we reach the next safe house, she’ll be desperate enough to play along. Her husband will pay, and that payment will give me exactly what I need: leverage.
Everything in this game is about leverage. And I’m damn good at collecting it.
I rub the back of my neck, the tension there refusing to ease. The plan is solid. I’ve thought it through, every step, every contingency. So why does it feel like the ground beneath me is shifting?
I stare out the window, watching the golden glow of sunrise wash over the trees. The tension in my chest twists tighter, a knot I can’t unravel. Something about this isn’t sitting right. Not Patrick’s threats. Not Hazel’s calm compliance. Not even the way she looked at me before she fell asleep—like she saw something in me I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
Three days. That’s all I’ve got.
I exhale slowly, I have three days to turn this around. Three days to make sure Mary pays, Patrick backs off, and Hazel stays alive long enough to be useful.
Three days to figure out why, for the first time in years, I feel something other than control slipping through my fingers.