Chapter 2
Wren
I don't sleep. Not really.
I drift in and out, heart tapping out Morse code against my ribs, every creak of the floorboards tightening the knot in my chest. The old cabin groans with the wind, just like I remember from summers as a kid. But now it sounds less like weather and more like footsteps.
I keep the Glock on the nightstand, the safety off.
Pathetic, considering I’ve never shot it. I watched a few YouTube videos on the train. That’s about the extent of my expertise.
The night stretches, thick and quiet, until gray morning light bleeds in through the window. I’m curled under a scratchy quilt in my grandmother’s old bed, staring at the ceiling, still wearing my jeans and boots.
My brain won’t stop replaying the last two weeks like a broken reel.
Liam’s voice in the parking garage.
His hand on my arm.
The smile that never reached his eyes.
“You made a mistake, baby. Now fix it. Give it back.”
I should’ve been smarter. Should’ve left the damn thing alone.
But when you find a tiny black SD card tucked behind a false drawer in your boyfriend’s desk, and it’s labeled Do Not Erase in shaky block letters—you look. Especially if you’re already halfway out the door because he’s controlling and weird and you don’t feel safe anymore.
I watched five minutes of the first video.
That was enough.
Girls. Young. Drugged? Crying. One of them looked like she tried to fight back.
Liam’s voice in the background.
Laughter.
I threw up. Then I ran.
And now I’m here.
Except it’s not far enough. Not even close.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands down my face. I smell like sweat and pine and fear. I need to shower. Eat. Think. Plan. But when I glance at the window again, my whole body goes cold.
He’s standing at the edge of the trees.
My heart slams into my throat.
He’s not hiding this time. Not creeping in the shadows like he always does. No—this time he’s just there. Staring. Waiting.
Tall. Broad. Half in shadow. His face hidden by a hood, dark stubble along his jaw, arms loose at his sides like he’s not the least bit afraid I’ll run.
Because he knows I won’t.
I move like I’m sleepwalking, grabbing the Glock and stuffing it into the waistband of my jeans. My hands shake as I yank open the cabin door and step onto the porch. The morning air bites hard, cold and damp, but I barely feel it.
He still hasn’t moved.
“What do you want?” I call, voice cracking.
A beat of silence.
Then, he speaks.
“You need to come with me.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard his voice, and it hits like thunder. Low, rough, deep enough to make my knees go loose for half a second. He sounds like someone who doesn’t talk much. Like it hurts.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“They’re coming. You know that.”
A shiver rides down my spine. “You’ve been following me for years, and now you want to play hero?”
His head tilts slightly. “I’ve been protecting you.”
“From what? You are the threat. You stalked me. Left bones on my porch.”
“That wasn’t a threat,” he says, stepping forward. “That was a warning.”
The breath catches in my throat. I take a step back.
One more step and he’s at the foot of the porch. I finally see his face—at least part of it. Sharp cheekbones. A scar running down his right temple, disappearing into his beard. Eyes like dark storm clouds.
“You don’t understand what you took,” he says. “They won’t stop until they have it. Or you’re dead.”
I swallow hard. “Why do you care?”
Another pause.
Then, quieter, like it’s a secret:
“Because you’re mine.”
The word hits like a slap and a kiss at the same time.
I should tell him to fuck off. I should point the gun at his face and tell him to leave me alone, forever. But I don’t.
Because something in his voice makes the part of me that’s always screaming finally go still.
“Do you work for them?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “I worked for worse.”
“And now?”
“I work for myself. And I’ve made it my job to keep you alive.”
I don’t want to believe him. I really, really don’t. But deep down, under the fear, under the rage, under the voice of reason yelling at me to run back inside and lock the door—I feel something else.
I feel safe.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
“If I come with you,” I say slowly, “you have to tell me everything. No more shadows. No more lurking. I want the truth.”
His eyes flicker with something I can’t name. Regret, maybe. Pain.
“You won’t like the truth,” he says.
“I already don’t.”
He nods once.
Then turns and walks into the woods without looking back.
I hesitate only a moment before following.
Because I’ve already lost everything else.
And somehow, this stranger—this dark, scarred man who’s been in the corners of my life for years—might be the only thing standing between me and the monsters I never saw coming.
God help me, I go with him.
And I don’t look back.