Chapter 27
Rose’s head pounded with a vicious ache that made her stomach roil. Pain pulsed behind her eyes in waves that matched the jarring motion beneath her.
Motion?
Her thoughts moved like honey in winter, thick and slow, refusing to connect properly.
Cold bit through her clothes—deeper than the mountain air should feel, seeping into her bones until her whole body shook with it.
And that smell. Chemical and bitter, coating the inside of her mouth and nose until every breath tasted wrong.
She tried to move, but her arms wouldn’t respond. Her legs felt distant, heavy, like they belonged to someone else entirely. The darkness behind her eyelids pressed down with weight, and forcing them open took more effort than climbing a mountain.
The world tilted sideways.
No…she was sideways.
Draped over something hard that dug into her ribs with each jarring step. A saddle. She was draped over a saddle, face down, the leather grinding into her ribs as the horse beneath her plodded forward.
Memories eased in through her foggy mind.
The boarding house. The hallway. Vincent’s face appearing in the doorway, his cold eyes widening with recognition and triumph. She’d tried to run, tried to scream, but he’d been too quick.
He grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth before sound could escape. The struggle became brief and futile. Especially when he pressed a cloth against her face. That awful chemical smell filled her lungs as the world dissolved into darkness.
He must have given her something to force sleep.
The horse beneath her halted and relief eased through her aching middle. But then rough hands grabbed her waist, hauling her down. Her legs buckled when they touched ground, and she would have collapsed if Vincent’s grip hadn’t tightened, holding her upright with harsh force.
“Careful now.” His voice cut through the ringing in her ears, cold and conversational, like they were discussing the weather instead of her kidnapping. “You’ll hurt yourself if you fall.”
She tried to speak, tried to scream, but her throat was raw and her tongue felt thick and useless. The sound that escaped was barely a whimper.
“None of that.” Vincent’s fingers dug into her arms as he dragged her forward. “Save your voice. You’ll need it soon enough.”
The world tilted and swayed with each forced step. Her boots scraped against frozen ground, then wood—a porch, maybe? The details wouldn’t come into focus. Everything blurred at the edges, her focus slipping away every time she tried to grasp it.
A door creaked open. The smell hit her first—rotten wood and animal droppings mixed with something older, deeper—the stench of abandonment. A building left empty too long.
Vincent kicked something aside, and the scrape of wood against wood echoed in the enclosed space. Then he shoved her, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting what felt like a chair. The impact sent fresh waves of nausea churning through her stomach.
“Sit.” His hand pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her onto the seat. The wood creaked beneath her weight, unsteady, like it might collapse at any moment.
She tried to focus on his face, but the features kept swimming in and out of clarity. Just the sharp line of his jaw. The cold calculation in his eyes. That awful smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“There now.” He brushed snow from his expensive coat with the same fastidious care he’d always shown for his appearance. “Not quite what I’m accustomed to, but it will do for the night. By tomorrow, we’ll be far enough away we can travel more comfortably.”
The words penetrated slowly through the fog still clinging to her thoughts. Tomorrow. Travel. Away.
He was taking her somewhere. Back to Virginia City, probably. Back to that stage where drunk men leered and grabbed, where Vincent controlled every breath she took, every word she spoke.
Back to that contract.
Terror burned through the chemical haze, sharp enough to cut. She tried to push herself up from the chair, but her arms trembled and gave out under her weight. She slumped back, her vision blurring once more.
Rope appeared in Vincent’s hands—where had he gotten rope?—and he reached for her wrists. The sight flared another spike of panic through her chest, but her body refused to respond. Her muscles felt disconnected, useless, like they’d forgotten how to obey her commands.
“Now, now.” His fingers closed around her left wrist, cold even through her glove. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
She tried to pull away, but the movement was weak. Pathetic. He easily captured her other wrist and drew both arms behind the chair. The rope bit into her skin as he wrapped it around and around, securing her to the chair back with a powerful tug.
When he finished, he stepped back to examine his work, brushing dust from his hands like he’d just completed some mundane household task. “Much better. Can’t have you wandering off in the night, can we?”
She forced her eyes to focus on his face, fighting against the pull of whatever clouded her thoughts. She held his gaze. Did her best to let him see that she wasn’t broken yet, no matter what he’d done.
His smile widened, sharp and cold as a knife blade.
“Still have some fight left in you I see. Good. The audiences prefer a performance with spirit.” He moved toward what looked like a rusty stove in the corner.
“Though I must say, you’ve caused me considerable trouble.
Running off like that. Making me chase you all the way to this godforsaken wilderness. ”
Her throat ached with the need to speak, to scream, to tell him exactly what she thought of him and his theater and his cursed contract.
But the words wouldn’t form properly. Her tongue was too thick and clumsy, and the few sounds she managed came out as weak rasps that barely carried across the small space.
“Save your strength.” Vincent knelt beside the stove, examining it with a critical eye.
“You’ll need your voice in top condition soon enough.
Though I suppose a few days of rest won’t hurt.
Give that pretty throat of yours time to recover from all that screaming you did before I could properly sedate you. ”
The memory flickered through the haze—the boarding house hallway, his hand clamping over her mouth, her muffled cries against his palm before that awful cloth pressed against her face. Had anyone heard her? Would anyone come looking?
James.
If only she’d never left the ranch. Never ran from the hard task of facing the past. Maybe James could still care for her given time.
But wishing changed nothing. She was here now, bound to this chair in a rotting cabin while Vincent prepared to drag her back into captivity.