Chapter 39 Briella #2
How can I believe they won’t do something even worse? They don’t know me. They don’t know anything about who I am, where I came from.
They don’t know about Easthaven.
They don’t know how I clawed and scraped and bled my way out of one prison only to land in another.
This one may have flowers and laughter and protection and orgasms that shatter my spine…but it’s still a cage. Isn’t it?
God, it’s dangerous, how easily it creeps in. Safety, security, things I haven’t had in so long. I forgot what it felt like to not flinch at every sound.
Like Raphael said, I was alone. Just me and my plants, my greenhouse, my quiet cottage where no one could touch me, no one could own me. I was never part of anything.
I never belonged.
But ever since that damned initiation, these five twisted bastards have made me feel like I fit. Like I matter. Like I’m something precious. Like I’m theirs. The scars on my back and brand on my ass prove it. Scars like theirs.
I have purpose now, tending the greenhouse.
My own little kingdom of dirt and growth.
It feels good—just like Raphael said—working the soil with my hands.
It’s real work that makes my body ache in the right way.
It feels even better to know that I’m helping, providing for more than just myself.
Vincent has even given the goats some of my plants, my vegetables.
And he promised to let me know when it’s time for Birdie to give birth so I can watch. Not that I have any clue why he called a goat Birdie.
The five of them have made room for me, letting me prank them, tease them, laugh with them. Games at night, when I forget I’m a prisoner, and I just play.
And when they worship me…
Hell. I feel like a queen. A queen who’s never felt power before. But I’m not really a queen.
I shake it off. I’m in denial. Once I get some distance, once I run, get that last gold bar, and get away, it’ll all make sense. I’ll see it for what it is.
If I stay too long, I’ll forget. Forget what they did. Forget who I was before them.
You’re different now. You’re not the same person you were before you climbed out of that pit of bones.
That’s the trauma talking. This is just another cage—even if it’s a beautiful cage. Not like Easthaven.
I can never stop running. Not if I want to stay me.
Even if I don’t know who “me” is anymore…
I slip out of Rory’s cabin, the door creaking just a little too loudly in the dead hush of night.
My heart jumps, but he doesn’t stir. Of course, he doesn’t.
He sleeps like the dead, heavier than anyone else.
It’s why I waited until it was his turn.
Moon’s high, nearly full. Thunderheads are moving in, but I can’t wait any longer.
A piece of my heart broke off when I left Pew Pew with Vincent. I tucked him in a box lined with one of my old flannels, a little scrap of jerky, and a note. Take care of him. I know Vincent will. I can’t risk taking the skunk with me. If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.
The barn is cooler but smells like warm hay and wood dust. My fingers tremble as I climb the ladder to the loft. Every creak of wood under my boots feels like a gunshot. My nerves are fried. But everything is quiet.
I grab the backpack from the hay pile, stuffed with a change of clothes, some food, a stolen compass, and a utility knife I lifted off Seth’s workbench. Even if I get lost, I know how to survive in the woods.
The horse, Bruno, nicknamed because he’s a big, grumpy bastard, whinnies softly when I approach. Vincent said he took a shine to me, which he hasn’t done for anyone else. I shush him, pressing my hand to his neck, feeling the steady warmth under my palm. “It’s just me, boy,” I murmur. “Time to go.”
It’s not the first time I’ve ridden, but Vincent taught me more like how to move quietly, how to listen to the woods, how to trust the animal under me. Now it’s my turn to use it.
He taught me. Spent time with me. Invested in me. I’ve never…had anyone do that before.
Never felt wanted. Until them.
For fucks sake, I need to stop overthinking this.
I lead Bruno out by the reins, careful, avoiding the crunch of gravel. Every step feels like walking through wet cement, like something is trying to drag me back. I make it to the edge of the property, where the thick trees gather like guardians. Because they know this place is…sacred.
I pull out the compass. North. It was the direction Vincent and Seth took with the truck toward the city. North is freedom. North is away.
I mount up, my legs trembling so hard, I nearly miss the stirrup.
Bruno huffs, sensing my nerves. I click my tongue, guiding him to the narrow trail just beyond the outer cabins.
My mind screams with visions of Raphael prowling the woods, ready to rip me right off the horse and throw me back in the pit.
Especially since I stole his cap. It secures my hair in its messy bun, keeping my curls out of my face.
No, he won’t care. Why would he? Amusement can’t last forever. He’s still a psycho. Devoid of empathy, of love. It’s his Kinship Law. He can break it at any time. He can break me anytime.
Crickets chirp, distant owls hoot, and branches crack all around me.
Every sound feels sharper. I press my thighs into Bruno’s sides until he walks, steady.
Once I’m far enough, I ease him into a trot, finding the trees thinning after about twenty minutes.
The trail splits off into multiple others, and there is one dirt road… with old tire tracks.
But the farther I go…the more my stomach knots. My lungs struggle for breath. It’s like every step away from those cabins isn’t pulling me toward freedom, but shoving me closer to something else. The open world feels bigger, darker, lonelier.
I should feel lighter. I should feel wild and victorious. Instead…I feel hollow.
Like freedom stayed back there.
I clench the reins tighter, my throat burning. You’re just scared. You’re free now. You’re free.
It doesn’t feel like it. My insides feel rotten. Maybe the cage isn’t the cabins.
Maybe it’s me.