CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAMES
I don’t look back. I never do.
I’m driving down the highway, Sarah stretched out beside me, her legs draped over mine. I have one hand on the wheel, the other on her leg. I just… I need to feel her. To know she’s really here, with me, safe. That the nightmare’s actually over.
That stupid little pine-tree air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. Doesn’t even smell like anything, but somehow, it’s still there. A tiny slice of normal, whatever the hell that means anymore.
Sarah glances at her wrist, her fingers brushing the red welt turning ugly fast. That bastard squeezed the cuffs so tight, her skin split open.
I shot Axel twice in the head. Then I turned my gun on Noah and Jacob, even though Michael and Ryan had already taken them out.
Every single time I leave her alone, something like this happens. But this time? Seeing her cuffed in the back of that pickup like she was just some kind of cargo… I fucking snapped.
She hasn’t said a word about what happened, but I can see it—whatever it was, it was bad. She’s zipped her jacket all the way up, covering everything as if she doesn’t want any part of herself exposed to the air. And today is one of the hottest days of the year.
Axel must’ve told her what he planned to do to her. The kind of sick shit that makes her want to disappear inside her own clothes. And I don’t even want to imagine what it was. If I let myself go there, I’ll never stop seeing it.
I shouldn’t have left her alone. She got hurt because I let my guard down. That’s on me.
But I won’t make that mistake ever again.
I can’t change what happened. All I can do now is get her somewhere safe.
We took both trucks and swung by the gas station again to grab gas and the tires Ryan needed.
Then we hit the road, driving for two hours through those sketchy-ass mountain roads.
At one point, we crossed this high, narrow bridge, the kind that makes you grip the wheel a little tighter.
And by the time we finally pulled over to check a half-torn map, it was already night.
Sarah’s door opens a few minutes later, but she doesn’t get out. She just sits there, curled up sideways in the seat with her knees tucked under her, staring out at the dark road ahead.
I walk over and crouch down in front of her, taking her wrists in both hands. I rub my thumbs gently over the marks. Not sure it helps, but I can’t not touch her.
“I know you’re tired, baby,” I say quietly. “But we were trying to figure out a different route north, one that doesn’t go through Denver.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, her voice raspy, probably still raw from the rope they’d shoved in her mouth earlier.
“I don’t see any other roads up ahead. We’re only getting closer to Denver.
Might be better to head back to the bridge, see if there’s another highway on the other side,” Michael says, looking over the map on the hood of my truck in the flashlight’s glow.
“If we wanna keep goin’ north without cutting through Denver, it’s gonna be one hell of a detour. That means more driving, more gas.”
“We’re not going anywhere ’til these trucks are solid,” Ryan says.
Sarah lets out a tired sigh and leans her head back against the seat. She doesn’t complain, but her whole body says enough. She needs rest. She was kidnapped, handcuffed, and muzzled. She needs time. Time to forget what they did to her.
I lift her hands and press a kiss to her knuckles before standing up.
“Right now, we just need somewhere to crash,” I tell Michael and Ryan.
Michael nods and rolls up the map. “Yeah. I’m with you.”
Ryan climbs onto the roof of his red truck, scanning the dark skyline. Michael follows, though he does it more slowly, his leg clearly bothering him. He winces as he shifts his weight, adjusting the strip of fabric he tied around his knee.
They scan the area with Michael’s flashlight while Lorelai stays curled up inside the truck. She’s out cold. Can’t blame her, not after today.
“Hey,” Michael shouts, pointing toward a patch of trees about half a mile away. “I see a chimney. Looks like a house. Could be a good spot to crash.”
“Let’s do it,” I say.
I slide back into my truck, turn the key, and fall in right behind Ryan’s truck. As soon as we leave the road and hit a bumpy dirt track, a weathered sign greets us with its warm, friendly message:
“PRIVATE PROPERTY – DO NOT TRESPASS. KEEP OUT!”
Ryan’s truck comes to a halt just ahead. He looks at me through the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows. Asking without asking: What do you think?
I give him a quick nod. No need for words. Warnings like that don’t mean much in this world anymore.
The track is a mess, full of potholes and bumps that make the truck groan with every jolt. But then the forest opens up, and suddenly we’re somewhere like one of those old postcards people used to send from the mountains.
A wooden house sits tucked against a hill covered with pine trees. The roof’s painted a faded green. Looks peaceful, but there’s something about it that feels… lonely. In front of the house, a quiet lake stretches out, the moon and stars reflecting on its surface.
We climb out of the trucks, the air cool and damp around us. As soon as my boots touch down, I go straight for Sarah and take her hand. That fear of losing her still hasn’t let go.
My eyes stay locked on the house, scanning for any sign of life. But Sarah tugs my hand and pulls me toward the edge of the lake with her.
“James, look at this! It’s beautiful!” she says, her whole face lighting up with that familiar spark she gets when she’s excited.
I glance at her, and yeah, the lake’s nice and all, but…
“To me, you’re the most beautiful thing here,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but somehow that’s how I know she loves it.
Michael joins us, bends down, picks up a stone, and skips it across the lake. It bounces three times before sinking beneath the surface. Lorelai and Ryan wander over too, but my eyes drift back to the house, a perfect two-story mountain cabin, the kind that used to be someone’s dream.
It’s silent. No lights. No smoke from the chimney. Just… nothing. It looks empty. Or maybe that’s just really good camouflage for something worse.
“You two stay here while me, Michael, and Ryan check out the house,” I say, looking at Sarah first, then Lorelai, then back to Sarah.
They both nod, no questions asked.
The rifle comes up the second my boot hits the first step of the porch. The wood creaks under my weight as I push the door open with one hand. It’s not even locked; usually a good sign, but not always. I flick on the flashlight, and we step inside.
The place has clearly been empty for ages.
Total haunted-house vibes. Dust and cobwebs cover everything, like someone decorated for Halloween and never took it down.
The floors, walls, and ceiling are all rough wood, and thick, exposed beams give the place a solid, sturdy feel.
A massive stone fireplace takes up most of the living room wall.
If this house has a heart, it’s right there.
We move room by room, clearing the place. The kitchen is completely bare. There’s nothing in the cupboards except crumbs and cobwebs. The sink’s full of dirty dishes, and the stench of rotting food makes me wrinkle my nose.
Upstairs, we find a few bedrooms. One has a huge bed, the kind you could lose yourself in, though the mattress is sagging.
Above a chest of drawers, there’s an old mirror with a crack running down the middle, distorting our reflections as we pass.
The next room has several windows that overlook the whole property.
Good line of sight if shit goes sideways.
And at the end of the hall is another room, the only one with a fireplace.
No surprises. No threats.
“That’ll do it,” I say, heading downstairs with the rifle resting over my shoulder.
The last room we check is an office at the back of the house.
Books line the shelves, sharing space with dusty old trinkets that haven’t been touched in decades.
In the middle of the room sits a desk, piled with yellowed papers and a typewriter.
Whoever owned this place was halfway through a story and just… never made it back.
But none of that is what stops us in our tracks. No, it’s something else.
At first, I can’t even tell what I’m looking at—just a dark, hunched mass in the armchair. Then Michael’s flashlight catches it, and everything clicks.
A skeleton.
The shotgun resting at its feet makes his story painfully clear.
“Poor bastard,” Ryan mutters. “Probably figured this was the easier way out.”
“Oh my God!”
Lorelai gasps behind me. I spin around, realizing too late that she and Sarah followed us inside. They’re standing in the doorway, pale-faced, eyes locked on the skeleton.
I should’ve known they’d follow us in. Of course they would. Sarah, especially.
“What happened to him?”
“He died a long time ago, girls.”
“Did someone kill him?” Sarah asks, shoulders rigid. I can feel the tension radiating off her.
I glance at Michael. He meets my eyes. Neither of us says what we’re thinking.
“We’d better find a place to lay him to rest,” I say quietly.
Ryan and I carefully lift the body while Michael grabs a couple of old shovels from a half-collapsed shed out back.
We dig a grave under the old willow tree behind the house.
Through it all, Sarah stays close, standing at the back door with her arms wrapped around herself, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Just having her close steadies me, even though I know this whole thing is eating at her.
When the grave is filled, I grab three stones from the yard and place them on top. No names, no inscriptions—those days are long gone. Just three stones, a small, quiet tribute. Most don’t even get that; they’re burned, forgotten.
“Why three stones?” Ryan asks, wiping the sweat from his brow.