Chapter 29
The stench of decay was almost worse than the numbing cold.
Rose forced her lungs to expand slowly, fighting the nausea that still churned in her middle from whatever Vincent had used to drug her earlier.
The chemical taste coated her tongue, mixing with the stench of animal droppings that littered the corners of this wretched cabin.
Moonlight filtered through holes in the roof and walls, creating pale pools on the filthy floor that did nothing to warm the space.
She kept her breathing slow and even, her gaze fixed on the feet in front of her while she watched him from the edges of her vision.
Small. Invisible. That’s what she needed to be right now. The old survival instinct—learned through years of living under his control—urged her to fade into the background, to become so quiet and unobtrusive he might forget she existed.
She hated that instinct. Hated the way it still rose up so automatically. But it was the safest way to be around Vincent.
The rope bit into her wrists where he’d tied her to the broken chair. At least he’d left her feet free—a mistake on his part, maybe, or simple arrogance. He’d always been stronger than her in many ways, but she didn’t have to let that remain true forever. She had strength of mind and determination.
The chair creaked beneath her with every tiny shift of weight, the wood so rotted it felt like it might collapse at any moment.
The tin stove in the center of the room worked, surprisingly enough. Vincent had coaxed a small fire to life inside it, though the warmth it threw barely reached her.
Vincent crouched before the stove, feeding another piece of wood into the flames. The firelight caught the silver in his hair, making him look distinguished even in this hovel.
He’d always been like that—able to maintain his veneer of cultured elegance no matter the circumstances. As though the rot inside him couldn’t quite penetrate the carefully constructed exterior.
He stood and pulled a glass bottle from his coat pocket, then a cloth. A sickly-sweet smell drifted through the air, and her insides lurched with recognition. That had to be what he’d used to make her sleep in the boarding house.
He turned to her with that awful, familiar smile.
“I really hoped you’d be more reasonable.
” He uncorked the bottle and doused the cloth, holding it at arm’s length.
“We could have had a pleasant journey back to Virginia City. But you’ve always had to make things difficult, haven’t you? Just like your mother.”
The mention of Mama spiked a surge of fury through her fear. Her mother had been trapped, manipulated, forced into choices no woman should have to make. And Vincent spoke of her like she’d been the problem.
He approached her, the sweet-smelling cloth held casually in his hand, his confidence absolute. He thought she was still that frightened fifteen-year-old girl who’d signed her life away. He thought she was broken.
But she wasn’t broken. She was angry.
When he reached out to press the cloth over her face, she slammed her boots into his groin with every ounce of strength she could muster.
Vincent staggered back, gasping, and Rose lunged to her feet. The chair came with her—still tied to her upper body, forcing her to bend forward. But the broken wood was lighter than she’d expected, and she could move.
He recovered faster than she’d hoped. His hand shot out, catching her shoulder, but she spun away. The chair swung with her, its legs catching him in the ribs with a satisfying crack.
He cursed and came at her again. She thrust backward into him, plunging the chair legs like a weapon.
He stumbled into the stove, his hand shooting out to catch himself. The metal rang with the impact, and he hissed through his teeth.
They struggled in the cramped space—he was stronger, always had been—but she was fighting for survival now, for her future. For the right to choose James and the ranch and the life she craved with everything in her.
She swung the chair wildly, screaming with everything she had, just in case someone—anyone—was close enough to hear.
Vincent’s fist connected with the side of her face near her jaw, snapping her head sideways. Stars burst behind her eyes, and her knees buckled, but she couldn’t give up.
His fingers closed around her throat, squeezing, cutting off the scream still clawing its way from her chest. The cabin tilted sideways, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. Her lungs burned. She thrashed against him, but his grip only tightened.
Black spots danced across her vision. Her lungs pleaded for air.
God, help me!
The words weren’t eloquent. They were barely even words—more a soul-deep cry torn from the last fragment of her consciousness.
The door exploded inward.
God must have heard.