Chapter 11 Greta
Greta
The world outside the window is a blur—trees, snow, flashes of road signs swallowed by the storm. My wrists burn from the zip ties. My cheek stings where he backhanded me for trying to open the door when we were still near town.
Travis hums under his breath, calm, steady, like this is a joyride and not a kidnapping. The heater’s broken, so cold air pushes through the vents and bites my skin. The truck smells like oil, cheap air freshener, and his cologne—the same scent that used to cling to my clothes, my sheets, my hair.
I thought I’d never smell it again.
He glances at me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping the gearshift in rhythm with his humming. “You know, I missed you, Bunny. You shouldn’t have run.”
My stomach turns. “You tried to kill me.”
He laughs, sharp and humorless. “Don’t be dramatic. You just didn’t understand what I was doing for us. I had to make you see how much I love you.”
Love. He still calls it that. The word sounds poisoned in his mouth.
He reaches across the seat, his fingers brushing my knee, and I flinch hard enough to hit the door. His smile twitches. “Still skittish. We’ll fix that once we’re out of here.”
“Where are we going?” My voice cracks.
He glances at me again, eyes bright and wild. “Home.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a home with you.”
He chuckles. “You do. You just forgot.”
The trees thin out as we hit the main road.
He drives another hour in silence. My brain is screaming, clawing for a plan, any plan.
If Nate’s alive—if he saw what happened—he’ll come.
He has to. But I can’t shake the image of him falling in the snow, the dart in his neck.
His eyes locking on mine as I screamed his name.
He didn’t move after that.
He didn’t get up.
And maybe he never will.
Tears sting my eyes, but I swallow them down. Travis feeds on weakness. Always has. He used to say my crying made me “look small,” like it was an insult.
We pass the last gas station before the ridge, and he turns down an old highway I don’t recognize. The sign says “Eagle Creek Motel — 2 miles.”
When we pull into the lot, I almost laugh. It’s one of those places that look haunted even in daylight. Faded red doors, chipped paint, one buzzing neon sign that says Vacancy like a warning instead of a welcome.
Travis cuts the engine and pockets the keys before I can even think of running. “Don’t even try,” he says, eyes cutting to me. “I’ve got two men watching the road. You’d freeze before you made it fifty feet.”
He yanks me out of the truck, still holding my arm too tight. The front office is dark. The clerk doesn’t even glance up when Travis slides cash across the counter—probably used to people paying for silence.
Room 6 smells like mildew and cigarettes. The carpet is stained. The wallpaper is peeling. Travis tosses his duffel onto the bed and closes the door with a quiet click.
Then he turns to me.
And smiles.
It’s the same smile that once made me fall for him. That practiced charm, the one that used to melt me before I learned what it really meant.
He crouches in front of me, cupping my chin in his hand. His grip is soft, but it still feels like a shackle. “You look tired,” he says. “You’ve lost weight. You don’t eat when I’m not around, do you?”
I jerk my head away. “Let me go, Travis.”
“Can’t.” He stands and starts pacing. “You belong with me, Bunny. You always did. I forgave you for leaving once, but I won’t do it again.”
“I don’t belong to you,” I say, voice shaking.
He stops, turns. “You think that guy—what’s his name, the mountain man? Nate? You think he’s better than me?” His tone sharpens. “He’s not. He doesn’t understand you like I do. He’ll move on. He probably already has. You think men like him stick around for long?”
“He’s not you,” I whisper. “That’s what matters.”
His jaw tightens. He grabs my arm again, squeezing hard enough to make me wince. “Careful, Bunny.”
My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear him over the sound of my pulse. I glance around the room—no phone, no window that opens, no weapon within reach. My mind’s racing, cataloguing everything, every weakness, every exit that doesn’t exist.
He lets go suddenly, muttering to himself as he pulls out his phone. “We’re leaving the country tonight. Got it all set. Off the grid for real this time.”
I freeze.
He walks to the window, peeking through the curtain while dialing someone. His voice drops low, conspiratorial. “Yeah, I’ve got her. Took longer than I thought, but she’s with me. Yeah, yeah, I know what I said—I’ll pay you when we cross. Plane leaves at six. Make sure the route’s clean. No cops.”
He laughs, a horrible, quiet sound that makes my skin crawl.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Just scared. She’ll come around.”
My throat closes. I bite back a sob, trying not to let him hear me. But one tear escapes, sliding hot down my cheek. Then another.
By the time he hangs up, I can’t stop them.
He turns back, seeing it, and for a second—just a second—he looks almost regretful. “Don’t cry, Bunny. We’ll be happy again. You’ll see.”
Happy.
The word cracks something open in me.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, silent, trying not to tremble, praying for Nate.
Please, I think. Please be alive. Please come for me.
Because if he’s gone—if I really lost him out there in the snow—then this time, no one’s coming.
And I’m right back where I started.
A cage.
A man who calls control love.
And a hope that’s hanging on by its last thread.