Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SLOAN
Prison.
The thought hammers through my skull as I stare out the frost-covered window at endless trees.
Snow-laden pines stretch in every direction, their branches heavy with white, disappearing into a dark gray sky that looks like it's never seen sunlight.
There are no paved roads out here. No power lines. No sign of civilization at all.
Just forest. Endless, suffocating forest.
My breath fogs the glass as I lean closer, desperate to spot some landmark I can remember.
Some sign of how we got here. But the drive is a fragmented blur of panic and forced unconsciousness.
I remember being shoved into a black SUV, the leather seats cold against my bare legs.
I remember trying to memorize turns, trying to count minutes, trying to recognize anything at all.
But every time I started to get my bearings, the world would go fuzzy around the edges.
I’m fairly certain the bastard drugged me.
Something in the Gatorade he forced me to drink, claiming I was dehydrated from our "activities." The taste was wrong, a bitter undertone, but what choice did I have? Comply or die. I knew if he was going to kill me, it wouldn’t be with poison in a Gatorade bottle. He’s more theatrical than that.
So I drank, and the miles slipped away from me like sand through my fingers.
Now I'm here. Wherever the fuck here is.
The cabin is rustic but neatly-maintained, all exposed beams and natural wood that probably cost more than most people make in a year. Floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic views of my wooden prison, and under different circumstances, I might have called it beautiful. Peaceful, even.
I press my palms against the glass, feeling the cold seep through.
How far did we drive? Two hours? Three? Time moves differently when you're drifting in and out of consciousness, fighting against whatever he put in that drink. I remember fragments—the hum of the SUV’s engine, snow falling heavier as we climbed higher into the mountains, his voice talking softly about things I couldn't quite process.
About how perfect this place is. How no one knows about it. How we'll have all the time in the world to get to know each other.
It all makes me too nauseous to think too hard about right now, especially after such a bumpy ride through the winding mountains.
If I run, where do I go? How do I find my way back to civilization through miles of wilderness I don't recognize? How do I survive in below-freezing temperatures with nothing but what I’m wearing? A torn fucking dress and tights.
The questions circle my mind as I scan the forest for any sign of life. But there's nothing. No smoke from distant chimneys. No trails cutting between the trees. No feasible way out.
He planned this perfectly. Of course he did.
My legs are shaking—from cold, from exhaustion, from the lingering effects of whatever drug is still working its way out of my system. But I can't afford to be weak right now. He’ll swallow me whole.
I need to think. I need to find a way out of this nightmare before—
I can hear him at the front door, cursing under his breath as he fumbles with what sounds like multiple locks. The keys jangle and scrape against metal, and I hear him muttering in frustration. His hands are probably numb from the cold.
This is my chance.
The realization hits me so intensely I can’t stop myself. He's distracted, occupied with getting inside, and I have an opening.
I need to run and get as far away from this place as possible before he realizes I’m gone. Even if I don't know where I am… staying here means accepting whatever sick future he's planned for us.
From the other side of the SUV, I can still hear him wrestling with the locks, his frustration growing louder. The sound of his own impatience provides cover as I take off into the snow, sprinting away from the back of the cabin. My boots do little to shield my feet from the frozen ground.
I plunge into the tree line, branches catching at my dress and hair as I push deeper into the forest. Behind me, the sounds of his struggle continue—I have seconds before he gets the door open and realizes I'm gone.
The snow is deeper here, reaching mid-calf in some places, making every step a struggle.
But I keep moving, driven by desperation and the thought that this might be my only chance.
The trees all look the same—towering pines and firs that block out most of the gray sky, creating a maze of shadows and snow-covered undergrowth.
What little moonlight filters through the trees dimly lights the ground ahead of me.
I try to move in a straight line, try to put as much distance as possible between myself and the cabin, but it's impossible to maintain any direction when every tree looks identical to the last.
How long have I been running? Ten minutes? An hour? Time becomes meaningless when I’m fighting for my life against terrain that seems designed to kill me. My feet are numb now, completely without feeling, and I'm starting to stumble more frequently as exhaustion takes hold.
The dress clings to my legs, soaked through with snow and sweat, providing no protection against the wind that cuts through the forest like knives. I can feel my core temperature dropping and my body starting to shut down.
Hypothermia. The word feels like a death sentence. I'm going to die out here, frozen and alone, and they'll probably never even find my body.
But at least I'll die free. Free from him.
The thought sustains me for another hundred yards before my legs finally give out.
I collapse into a snowbank, my body shaking uncontrollably as the cold seeps into my bones.
Everything hurts… my feet, my hands, my face where the wind has been violently lashing at my exposed skin.
But beneath the pain is a growing numbness that's almost worse.
I try to get up, try to keep moving, but my muscles won't work. My shivering is so violent now that I can't control my limbs. I can't force my body to do what my mind is screaming at it to do.
Get up. Keep moving. Don't give up.
But my body has given up, shutting down system by system as it loses the fight against this frozen hell. I curl into a ball in the snow, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left, trying to make myself smaller against the cold that's consuming me from the outside in.
This is how I'm going to die. Alone and frozen in the wilderness.
"Sloan!"
The voice cuts through the wind like a blade, and despite everything, a small amount of relief trickles through me.
"Sloan, where are you?"
Closer now, much closer. I’m beginning to black out. The cold has stolen everything. My strength, my voice, my ability to save myself.
Through the snow and my increasingly blurred vision, I see a dark shape moving between the trees. He's found me, and when he reaches me, he doesn't hesitate.
Strong arms scoop me up against his chest, and I can feel the heat of his body through our layers of clothing.
"You scared me," he says, but his voice is gentle, worried. "What were you thinking?"
I want to tell him that I was thinking about freedom, about escaping him. But my lips are too numb to form words.
He carries me through the forest with sure, steady steps, somehow finding his way back to the cabin even through the maze of identical trees. The warmth blasts my face and envelopes me as we step inside.
"What do you want from me?" I manage to whisper as he sets me down gently on the couch in front of the fireplace.
He pauses in the act of gathering blankets, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me forget, momentarily, how cold I am.
"Everything," he says quietly. "Your love, your body, your soul."
The words should terrify me… But there's something in his voice— vulnerability that doesn't match the possessiveness in his words.
"I was going to die out there," I say, my voice still barely audible.
"But you didn't." He wraps a thick blanket around my shoulders, his hands gentle as he tucks it around me. "I found you. I'll always find you."
"You can't watch me every second."
"I can try." His smile is sad, almost hurt. "But I'd rather not have to."
He disappears into what I assume is the bedroom, returning with dry clothes—sweatpants and a hoodie that are clearly meant for someone much larger than me. They'll be warm, though, and right now warmth is more important than a proper fit.
"Can you change by yourself, or do you need help?" The question catches me off guard. I had expected him to strip me of my clothes, and force me limb my limb into the new ones.
"I can do it." My hands are still shaking, but I don’t want him touching me again.
He turns his back, giving me privacy as I struggle out of the wet dress and into the warm, dry clothes. The fabric is soft against my skin. It feels nice.
"Better?" he asks when I'm dressed, still not turning around until I give him permission.
"Better." The shivering is starting to subside, replaced by that bone-deep exhaustion that comes after an adrenaline crash. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me for taking care of you." He settles beside me on the couch, close enough to share warmth but not touching. "That's what you do for someone you care about."
Care about. Such twisted words for this situation he’s put us in.
"You kidnapped me," I point out.
"I saved you," he counters gently. "From Alex. A life with him would have slowly killed you. I stopped you from settling for less than you deserve."
"That wasn't your choice to make."
"Wasn't it?" He turns to look at me, his eyes serious in the firelight. "Who else was going to do it? Who else saw what he was doing to you and cared enough to stop it?"
The fucked up logic makes me want to scream. In his mind, he really is the hero of this story. The knight in shining armor who rescued me from an abusive relationship, never mind that his methods involved murder and kidnapping.
"I would have figured it out eventually," I say weakly.
"Would you?" His voice is gentle but skeptical. "How long were you planning to stay with him? How much more were you going to take before you admitted that he was wrong for you?"
I don't have an answer for that, and we both know it. Because the truth is, I probably would have stayed with Alex. I would have convinced myself that his behavior was just stress.
"You're exhausted," he says softly, apparently reading the defeat in my expression. "And you've been through a lot over the last twenty-four hours. You need rest, food, time to process everything. We’re over fifty miles from the nearest town, so you’ll have plenty of time and space to heal up."
Fifty miles. The distance might as well be fifty thousand for all the good it does me. Even if I knew which direction to go, even if I had the right clothes and supplies, fifty miles through mountain wilderness in winter is a death sentence for someone like me.
"So I'm trapped," I say quietly, exhaustion beginning to take over again.
"You're safe," he corrects.
"You don't know what you’re talking about," I protest weakly, eyelids growing heavier by the second. I’m going to lose consciousness soon.
"I know everything about your life." His voice is flat, not boastful.
"I know you cry during dog commercials and that you stay up too late reading romance novels on the pay-per-chapter apps.
I know you've been unhappy for years but too scared to do anything about it.
I know you dream about travel and adventure but never book the trips because Alex thinks they're a waste of money. "
Each statement is a harsh reminder of just how thoroughly he's violated my privacy. But his voice sounds so tender as he says it. Like he’s convinced himself he actually cares about me.
"That's stalking," I say softly.
He watches me, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t argue. I don’t think he disagrees. He knows how insane he is.
"I'm tired," I say finally, because I don't have the energy to keep this up. "I need to sleep."
"Of course." He stands immediately, moving to stoke the fire. "Our bedroom is through there. I'll take the couch for tonight."
He’s letting me sleep alone? After I just took off into frozen Hell?
"Thank you," I say, and deep down I know I mean it more than I should.
"Sloan?" He pauses at the edge of the living area, silhouetted against the firelight.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry you felt like running into the wilderness was your only option." His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. "I never want you to be afraid of me."
"Then let me go."
"I can't do that." The admission feels like a slap across the face, but I knew it was coming. "But I can try to help you understand that staying doesn't have to feel as terrible as you think it does right now."
"And how are you going to do that?"
His smile is barely visible in the dim light, but I can hear it in his voice. "By showing you what it feels like to be someone's whole world."
His words are a promise.
As I make my way to the bedroom on unsteady legs, I catch my reflection in the dark window. The woman staring back at me looks like a stranger—wild-haired and hollow-eyed, wearing clothes that don't fit.
But she's alive.
And maybe that's enough for now. For tonight.
The bed is comfortable, the blankets warm, and despite everything, I fall asleep almost immediately. My last conscious thought is the sound of him moving around the main room, keeping watch.
So convinced he’s protecting me from everything… Except for himself.