4. Jack
Chapter 4
Jack
The headlights surge toward us, closing the distance between our car and the SUV bearing down on us with relentless speed. The slick roads make it worse, but I can tell from the way they’re moving that they aren’t losing control—they’re homing in on us. They’ve found us.
“Fuck,” I curse, adrenaline kicking in as I white-knuckle the steering wheel. I glance at Holly, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and determination. “Throw the phones out of the window, Holly. That’s how they’re tracking us.”
Without a second’s hesitation, she hits the button to lower her window, and icy night air whips through the car. One by one, she tosses our phones into the darkness. The headlights still bear down on us, but hopefully, we’ve bought ourselves a little time.
“Let’s hope it’s not too little too late,” she murmurs, her voice laced with a bitterness that hits me like a punch to the gut.
She isn’t wrong. I should’ve known better. “I should’ve known. Basic rule of evading pursuers,” I rasp, wanting to kick my own ass.
Holly shakes her head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve been chased, shot at, my home burned down, and you’ve had to deal with me. It’s a lot to handle.”
I glance over at her. “Thanks. I appreciate the words of support, but...” I trail off.
“But what?”
“I’m not usually so distracted.”
She frowns. “What’s got you distracted? You know, apart from the whole running for our lives thing?”
My gaze meets hers for a second. “You.”
Her eyes widen. “Me? Oh. Oh. You find me… distracting?”
“You have no idea,” I mutter under my breath. “Hold on,” I add as I punch the accelerator. The car’s tires skid slightly on the snow-laden road. I pray it has the performance needed to outrun these guys. “I hope your dad kept this thing in top shape.”
Holly shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. He controls all the servicing.”
Like he does everything else.
She doesn’t say it, but the words hover between us, unspoken.
I shake my head. This isn’t her fault. None of it is. “Don’t worry about it,” I mutter, eyes glued to the road as I accelerate, shifting gears to push the engine harder.
The car picks up speed, and I take the next curve as tightly as I dare. The rear end slides out for a fraction of a second, the tires struggling for grip before finally catching hold again. The sharp crack of a bullet hitting the back of the car snaps me from my focus on the road. The unmistakable thunk jolts both of us.
I press the accelerator to the floor, the engine roaring as the car surges forward. Holly’s breathing grows quicker, matching the tempo of the situation, the fear and adrenaline thick in the air between us.
As the SUV closes in, my mind races through possibilities. We can’t stay on this main road; they’ll catch up eventually. Up ahead, I spot a narrow side road that twists through a grove of trees—a rougher path but a chance to lose them.
“Hold on tight, Holly!” I warn, veering sharply onto the side road.
The car jostles violently over the uneven terrain, throwing us against our seats as the wheels fight to keep us on track. Behind us, the headlights disappear momentarily, lost in the foliage.
The branches whip against the sides of the car, scraping and clawing at the paint. Each jolt and bump only heightens the tension, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I fight for control. I’m taking a gamble; this route is risky, but if we can get through it, they might lose our trail.
For a fleeting moment, I dare to hope they’ve been thrown off. The road grows narrower, a treacherous path with snow piling up, making it harder to maneuver. The silence around us is oppressive, broken only by the engine’s rumble and the crunch of snow under the tires. I squint in the darkness, praying for the road to hold.
Then comes the inevitable—a sharp pop and hiss, and the car lurches violently to the side.
“Shit,” I growl as one of the tires blows.
We skid off the road, heading straight for a cluster of towering pine trees. I instinctively throw my arm out, bracing Holly, even though her seatbelt does the job better than I can. My stomach tightens as I brace for impact.
The car slams to a halt against the tree trunk, the windshield shattering into a web of fractures. The airbags deploy, filling my vision with a suffocating field of white. I fight back a surge of panic as I push against the airbag, struggling to catch my breath as it deflates. Outside, the cold night air rushes in, sharp and biting.
I fumble as I reach for the door and wrench it open. The snow crunches beneath my boots as I stumble out and circle the car, my mind racing. Holly is dazed but alive, her wide eyes reflecting the shock of the crash. My heart clenches as I see the confusion and fear clouding her gaze.
I reach inside, helping her out of the car and scanning her for injuries. “Are you okay?”
She nods weakly. “I-I think so.”
She trembles as she clutches my hand. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow.
By some miracle, we’ve both escaped unscathed.
I wrench open the trunk and pull out our coats, helping Holly put hers on before shrugging into mine. Next, I grab my bag—a black tactical pack I never travel without. It’s filled with emergency supplies, and as I sling it over my shoulder, I thank past me for being paranoid enough to pack it. I dig out a small handheld GPS device from the bag and click it on, the screen lighting up faintly in the cold night air. The cabin is marked as a waypoint. It’s a long walk, but it’s our best shot at safety.
The frigid air stings my lungs as I look around, taking in the landscape. Towering pine trees surround us, their branches heavy with snow, the shadows stretching into the darkness.
“We can’t stay here,” I tell her, my voice firm. “The car’s a sitting target, and we don’t know how close they are.” I pull out the GPS and show her the faint blinking dot marking the cabin’s location. “This is the cabin. It’s a few miles from here. It’s a hike, but it’s hidden, and it’ll buy us time.”
She stares at the screen, her lips pressed into a thin line, before nodding. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Stay close to me,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the wreckage. The snow crunches beneath our boots as we step into the dense woods, the cold biting at any exposed skin.
Holly keeps pace beside me, her breaths visible in the icy air, but she doesn’t complain, doesn’t falter. I glance at her, the pale moonlight catching the determination in her eyes, and a surge of admiration washes over me.
The GPS beeps softly, guiding us toward the cabin. It’s not much; a small, isolated place I set up for emergencies, but it’s well-stocked and secure. I know we’ll be safe there, at least for a while.
We trudge forward, each step sinking into the icy drifts, the snow crunching beneath our feet. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the distant hum of an engine straining through the forest behind us. They’re still on our trail.
“We’ll get through this,” I promise, my voice low but unwavering. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her hand tightens around mine, her grip firm despite the cold. “I trust you, Jack.”
As her hazel eyes meet mine, I swear I’ll make good on that vow, no matter the cost.
As we press on, a shadow emerges from the tree line ahead, moving with purpose. My heart thunders as I grab Holly’s hand, pulling her close in a protective stance. The figure steps into the moonlight, revealing a rugged man with hard eyes and a gun in hand.
“That’s far enough,” he commands, his voice cold and unyielding.
I don’t answer. I move on instinct, raising my weapon. The shot rings out before I register the recoil, the gun smoking as the man crumples to the ground.
“Run,” I urge, gripping Holly’s hand tightly as we dart into the cover of the trees.
We need to get off the open trail that makes us easy targets. The snow will reveal our footsteps, but I’m counting on the rough terrain to give us some cover. As we move off the path, the mountainside dips, and I lead us down, hoping to find a spot where we can lose them.
Adrenaline thrums through me, sharpening my senses and fueling my every step. Holly stumbles beside me, her hand clutching mine as we weave through the trees. The uneven ground makes each step treacherous, but the urgency driving us leaves no room for hesitation.
We move deeper into the wilderness, and finally, we came upon a small cave nestled into the side of the mountain. It’s barely large enough to fit the two of us, but it’s shelter.
“In here,” I say, guiding Holly inside.
We duck inside, huddling close to conserve warmth, our breaths mingling in misty clouds in the cold air. Holly trembles beside me, whether from fear or the cold, I can’t be sure.
I shrug off my bag and set it down on the rocky floor. Rummaging through it, I find what I’m looking for: two energy bars. I hand one to Holly, who stares at it for a moment before taking it with shaking hands.
“Eat,” I tell her, unwrapping my bar. “You need to keep your strength up.”
She nods silently and takes a small bite. Her face twists slightly at the overly sweet taste, but she forces herself to chew and swallow. I do the same, the dry, sugary bar sticking to my teeth, but it’s better than nothing. We need the fuel if we’re going to keep moving.
The cave is cold, and the ground beneath us is unforgiving, but it’s a temporary reprieve from the relentless pursuit. I glance at Holly, her pale face illuminated by the faint light filtering in from the entrance.
She meets my gaze, her hazel eyes steady and determined as she whispers, “How long do you think we have?”
I take a deep breath, calculating. “Not long. They’ll figure out we left the main trail soon enough. But this buys us a little time.”
Holly nods, clutching the remains of her energy bar. “Do you think we’ll make it to the cabin?”
I meet her gaze and force a small, reassuring smile. “We will. I promise.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“For not leaving me behind like my father.”
I see the hurt behind her eyes despite her low expectations of her father. Cupping her cheek, I smooth my thumb over her chilled skin. “I’ll never leave you, Hollyberry. You hear me?”
“Hollyberry?” she teases.
I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable. “Seems fitting. You’re tough, like the holly plant—surviving in the harshest conditions. You don’t break, even when things get rough.”
She tilts her head, her expression curious now. “And the ‘berry’ part?”
“That’s the soft, sweet side you’ve learned to hide when everything around you is cold and sharp,” I say, my voice quieter. “It’s rare, and it’s worth protecting.”
Her smile lights up the cave and fills me with more energy than any energy bar ever could. “That’s… surprisingly poetic, Jack,” she teases, but her voice is tinged with something deeper—something genuine.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say gruffly, embarrassed at my raw honesty. “I’m usually more of a ‘grunt and nod’ kind of guy.”
She laughs softly. “Well, I like it. No one’s ever thought of me like that. I’m usually ‘Holly Kemp, the spoiled princess’ or ‘Victor Kemp’s daughter.’ You… you see something else.”
As I look at her, the cold, the danger, and the weight of the past few hours fade. “That’s because I don’t see the labels your father slapped on you,” I say, my voice steady. “I see you.”
Her smile falters slightly, replaced by something raw, something vulnerable. She doesn’t respond right away, but I can see the words she wants to say hovering in her gaze. Instead, she closes the distance between us, pressing her mouth to mine.
I hesitate for a second, knowing I should push her away. But then her flavor explodes on my tongue—citrus, fresh air…and Holly herself. She opens as I lick the seam of her lips, and our mouths meld in a passionate dance. I curl my tongue around hers, stroking, licking, and sucking, consuming her sighs and moans.
Holly winds her arms around my neck and fists my hair, giving as much as I take. Fuck, she’s so responsive, as if she can’t get enough of me. I know damn well I’ll never get enough of her.
But not now. Safety first.
The warning voice in my head has me pulling back, resting my forehead against hers. “We need to go. I need to get us somewhere safe.”
“You make me feel safe,” she whispers, her lips swollen from our kiss as she lifts her head. “Not just from everything out there. But from everything I’ve carried in here.” She touches her chest briefly, her eyes never leaving mine.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I do the only thing I can—I clear my throat and lower my gaze to the GPS so I don’t pull her into my arms again and ravish that plump little mouth. “We should get moving. The cabin isn’t far, and we’ll rest easier once we’re there.”
She nods, her eyes wide with both fear and determination. Despite the terror we’re facing, I see the fire of resilience in her gaze, a strength that has only surfaced now in the depths of the danger around us.
I peer out of the cave’s narrow entrance, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The silence is almost eerie, broken only by the distant howl of an animal—a wolf, perhaps. I feel a flicker of hope. If wolves are nearby, there might be people somewhere close.
As we step back into the icy wilderness, her hand finds mine once more, her grip steady, warm, and unwavering.
The cabin is still a fair distance away, but the path looks manageable if we can avoid running into trouble. We move quietly down the mountainside. The moonlight illuminates the snow-covered landscape, casting an otherworldly glow over everything. Each step is a battle against the elements; the cold bites through our coats, seeping into our bones. But I push on, knowing that every step puts more distance between us and the men hunting us.
The trees close around us, their long shadows stretching like fingers in the moonlight. Danger looms, tightening around us like a shroud. I glance back every few minutes, half-expecting to see our pursuers closing in, but all is silent.
Holly’s boot catches on a hidden root beneath the snow. She lets out a quiet gasp, determination etched across her face.
I steady her, my hand firm on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.
“Yeah,” she says, though I see her grimace. “We can’t stop,” she whispers, her voice determined. “We have to keep moving.”
A surge of admiration rises in me. She’s a fighter.
The night stretches on as we descend the mountain, the snow crunching under our boots, our breaths visible in the freezing air. Every sound seems amplified—the snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves—making my heart pound with each step. Holly’s hand trembles in mine, but her silent strength bolsters my resolve.
Finally, after what feels like hours of navigating the icy terrain, we reach a clearing near the base of the mountain.
“There,” I say, pointing to a cabin barely visible in the moonlight, its dark shape huddled in the snow. It blends into its surroundings, surrounded by trees and built to match the environment.
“Thank God,” Holly murmurs, her teeth chattering as the cold takes its toll on her.
Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I guide her forward. We’ve found shelter, but now the challenge is staying hidden. If we can avoid being found, if we can stay out of sight, we might make it through the night.