Chapter Nineteen #2
“He didn’t take them,” I say. “He moved them. There’s a difference.” I finally turn the phone off, pressing it into my palm like an anchor. “Asher doesn’t act without an audience. This is a message.”
Sterling exhales slowly, the sound heavy in the truck's confined space. “Then what’s he saying?”
“That he still thinks he owns the narrative,” I answer, voice calm and cold. “That he believes I’ll come running—angry and loud—and make it easy for him.”
“And will you?” he asks.
I meet his gaze. “No.”
His mouth curves into another sharp smile. “Good girl.”
I lean back in the seat. “We don’t expose him yet,” I say. “We let Wade stay in the dark a little longer. Asher wants credit. He wants recognition...”
“So, we starve him of it,” Sterling finishes, the words quiet but sharp, like a blade finally sliding into place.
“Exactly.” I close my eyes, letting the plan solidify in the dark behind my lids. “And when he reaches out again… I answer.”
Sterling nods once, his voice low and final. “On our terms.”
“Yes.” I open my eyes. The road stretches ahead of us, deceptively calm under the rays.
“Because now that I know it’s him, I know where he’ll slip.
” The truck keeps moving, steady and unremarkable.
Behind us, Asher thinks he’s been seen. He has no idea he’s already been caught.
We drive for another twenty minutes before Sterling turns down a random gravel road.
The truck bumps over ruts and dips, suspension groaning, until we reach a metal gate half-hidden by overgrown brush.
He punches a code into his phone, and the gate swings open without a sound.
“Safe house,” he says, answering the question I hadn’t spoken. “No paperwork, no cameras, no connection to Wade, Asher, or anyone who knows the Hawthorne name.”
The house beyond the gate is small, weathered, and utterly forgettable.
Perfect. Sterling parks around back, parking the truck beneath the sagging cover of a collapsing carport.
When he kills the engine, the silence rushes in—heavy and absolute.
My ears ring with it. He reaches into the back seat and grabs a go-bag I hadn’t noticed before.
His movements are fluid, practiced, almost instinctual as he scans the perimeter.
The kind of efficiency that comes from someone who has lived like this before, always ready to vanish.
I follow him inside. The interior is sparse.
Concrete floors, a table, two chairs, and a couch that looks like it was salvaged from a landfill.
An ancient rotary landline hangs on the wall.
On the table, a laptop is already humming to life.
Sterling drops the bag and turns to face me.
The afternoon light cuts through dirty windows, painting stripes across his face.
He looks tired. Not weak—never that—but like he’s been carrying something just as heavy as I have, for just as long.
“We’re off the grid here,” he says. “Twelve hours, maybe twenty-four before we have to move again. If Asher’s as good as you say… ”
“He is,” I interrupt, cutting him off cleanly. “Asher’s that good.”
“Then he’ll know we’ve gone dark,” Sterling continues, voice low. “He’ll expect you to panic, to reach out.”
I shake my head. “He expects me to charge in. To trade myself for them.” I walk to the table, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface. “That’s what he wants. The grand gesture. The proof that I still care enough to burn for them.”
“And you don’t?” Sterling asks quietly, a faint thread of nervousness slipping into his tone. Like he’s scared that I might actually sacrifice Lila and Cam to get what I want.
I look up at him, holding his eyes. “I care enough not to play his game. Because if I do, we’re all as good as dead. I won’t let them die because of me…but you have to trust me. I know him. I know his games.”
Something shifts in his expression. Respect, maybe, or recognition.
He crosses the room toward me, stopping just inside my personal space.
Close enough that I can smell the road dust on him, the faint trace of coffee from this morning.
A lifetime ago. “He has Cam,” Sterling says, his voice dropping.
“He has Lila. You’re telling me you can stand here and strategize while they’re… ”
“I’m telling you,” I say, stepping into him, chin lifting, “that the only way I get them back is if Asher believes I’ve already written them off.
If he thinks he took hostages from a woman who gives a damn, he’ll use them against me.
If he thinks he took them from a shadow…
” I let the sentence hang between us. “Then he has to wonder what I’ll do when I find him.
” Sterling’s eyes search mine, hunting for the lie.
He won’t find one. “Cam’s tough,” I continue, my voice steady.
“Lila’s tougher. And Asher won’t hurt them too badly yet.
Hurting them ends the game, and he wants the conversation. ”
Sterling studies me for a moment, then nods once. “Then we give him silence. Let him sit until he starts making mistakes.”
“Yes.” I move past him to the laptop, opening a new browser and typing in an IP address that only exists in my head.
The screen floods with lines of code. “And while he waits for me to beg, we dig up every skeleton he’s ever buried.
We find where he’s keeping them. And when I finally answer his call…
” I look over my shoulder at Sterling. He’s watching me like I’m a storm he’s chosen to walk into.
“I won’t be negotiating,” I finish. “I’ll be giving coordinates to a cleanup crew. ”
Sterling’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his jaw tightens. “Wade just sent another email. He’s getting anxious.”
“Let him,” I say, turning back to the screen, fingers already flying across the keys. “Wade thinks he’s the client. Asher thinks he’s the architect. They’re both so busy looking at the blueprint…they haven’t noticed the foundation is cracking beneath them.”
Sterling pockets his phone and walks over, stopping just behind me. Not touching, but close enough that I feel the solid wall of his presence at my back—steady, unwavering, exactly what I didn’t know I needed. “How long?” he asks.
I hit enter. The screen blinks, loading. “To find them? Eight minutes. Maybe three if Cam left one of his backdoors in the system.”
“And if he didn’t?” Sterling asks, his tone sharpening.
“Then we do it the hard way,” I say, fingers still moving across the keys. “We make him realize the only way he gets what he wants is by facing me directly.”
The laptop dings. A location marker blinks on the screen, fuzzy but unmistakable.
An industrial district on the edge of the city.
Abandoned. Isolated. The kind of place a man like Asher would choose when he wants privacy for his punishments.
“There,” I say, tapping the screen. “He’s there. Or he was three hours ago.”
Sterling leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. “That’s his move,” he says, his voice low. “He wanted you to find him.”
“Of course he did.” I close the laptop. The click echoes in the small room. “But he thinks I’ll come alone and sentimental.” I look up at Sterling, at the dangerous man who’s chosen to stand with me instead of against me. “He doesn’t know I’ve already replaced my heart with a weapon.”
Sterling studies me for a long moment. Then he reaches out, not to touch my face, not to comfort—but to lay his hand over mine on the closed laptop.
Warm. Solid. Grounding. “Let’s go get our people back,” he says.
And for the first time since I walked into that apartment and felt the silence where Cam and Lila should have been, I breathe.
Not because I’m safe. Not because I’m saved.
But because I finally have a blade sharp enough to cut through the dark.