Chapter 17
Sadie
Harry keeps the gun trained on me while driving like he’s late for a villain convention—sharp turns, tires fishtailing, windshield wipers screeching against the heavy snow.
The world outside is swallowed in white, but the feeling in my body is familiar.
Being taken.
Being powerless.
Being prey.
Except… I’m not the same girl I was when I ran.
Wyatt changed me. He saw me.
And every mile Harry drives feels like a countdown to the moment I either escape or die trying.
We leave paved roads within minutes. Snow crunches under the tires as we turn down an unmarked forestry track. No houses. No lights. Just trees and storm.
A perfect place to disappear.
My pulse thunders.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says suddenly, eyes on the road.
I blink. “For kidnapping me?”
“For dragging you back into this. For her.” His grip tightens on the wheel.
Anger sparks through me, sharp and alive. “You hunted me across three states.”
“I had orders.”
“And moral boundaries are… what? Optional?”
He doesn’t answer. Pulls out his phone and sends a text, no doubt letting Clarissa know he has me.
The SUV crests a rise. A cabin appears. It’s larger than Wyatt’s, built of dark timber, its windows glowing through the storm. Not a home. A hideout.
The moment Harry stops, three men step from the shadows, their guns slung over their shoulders, faces half-hidden by beanies.
One bangs twice on the roof. “Out.”
My stomach pitches, but I force my legs to move. The cold steals my breath as it hits me full in the face.
Two of the men flank me, steering me toward the door, while the third remains outside. Harry walks behind us, gun visible but lowered.
The cabin door opens.
Clarissa.
Perfect makeup, immaculate hair, silk blouse the color of ice. Beauty sharp enough to draw blood.
“Cassadie,” she croons. “Darling. You look well.”
“It’s Sadie now,” I say through gritted teeth, because anything louder will come out as a scream.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Come in. We have much to discuss.”
My legs obey before my brain catches up, pure terror driving me forward.
Inside, the heat hits like a slap. The room smells of cedar and expensive perfume. A fire crackles in a stone hearth. More men line the walls.
Clarissa settles into a high-backed chair like a queen preparing a speech.
I remain standing.
She sighs, almost disappointed. “You were so close to being rid of me, Sadie. If only you didn’t have such a weakness for animals in need.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes.
“Harry,” she says. “Unzip her coat.”
“I can do it myself,” I snap.
Harry hesitates. Clarissa lifts an eyebrow, but she lets it pass.
“You have something I need,” she says. “The numbers your father whispered as he died.”
My pulse lurches. “You mean the numbers you poisoned him for?”
Silence drops like a blade.
Clarissa rises slowly, like a snake uncoiling before a strike. She laughs, soft and elegant, a sound that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, “I didn’t poison your father.”
Her fingers trail along the back of the chair she was sitting in, nails clicking against the wood. Each tap strikes directly against my sternum.
“I just helped the process along.”
Cold ripples through me. Somewhere behind me, Harry’s boot scuffs against the floor.
She steps closer. “Your father was careless about his health, his business… and you.”
I meet her eyes and hold them, even as my fingers curl at my sides. “Why kill him? Why take everything?”
Something fractures behind her practiced expression—a flash of teeth, a flicker in her eyes like a match struck in the dark. Then the mask slides back into place, smooth and cold as marble.
“You want a story?” she says softly. “Fine.”
She moves around me in a slow arc, heels clicking softly. I turn to keep her in view, my pulse loud in my ears.
“My mother died when I was nine. She was everything. My father, however…” Her lip curls. “He wasn’t a grieving widower. He was an alcoholic with debts and a sick fascination with selling anything he could. Including me.”
My stomach heaves.
“He’d bring men home,” she continues flatly. “Tell me to smile. To ‘earn my keep.’ I learned early that men only take. That they destroy anything soft.”
Her gaze spears me. “So I became something they couldn’t destroy.”
“Clarissa…” I whisper.
“Don’t pity me,” she snaps, then softens. “Or do. I don’t care.”
She glides to the bar cart and pours a drink. “Rich men funded my escape. Your father was just the latest. His empire happened to be… useful. Those offshore accounts will guarantee I never kneel for a man again.”
She steps in close, one manicured finger under my chin. “Now give me the numbers.”
I swallow. “If I do… you’ll let me go?”
A smile like ice. “Oh, Cassadie. No. You’re a liability.”
My heart drops.
I inhale slowly. “You lost leverage the second Harry released Shay. By now, Wyatt will know I’m gone.”
At that, Clarissa’s expression hardens. She shoots Harry a murderous look. He shifts uneasily.
“If you want the numbers,” I say, “you’ll have to kill me.”
She smirks. “Kill you? No. I have men who extract information very effectively. Painfully. Patiently.”
Something rises inside me—fear, yes, but also strength. Something Wyatt built in me piece by piece. I’m not running anymore.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re out of luck. I’m not your victim.”
Clarissa’s smile sharpens. “Harry, take her to the lodge. The sublevel. We’ll have privacy.”
Harry steps forward—
A gunshot cracks the air. The man beside me jerks, then crumples. Blood sprays the wall behind him in a fine mist.
Another POP.
The second guard’s knees buckle. His gun skitters across the floor, spinning to a stop against the baseboard.
Harry’s arm is still raised, his gun aimed at Clarissa.
He just killed them both.
Clarissa's scream tears through the ringing in my ears. “WHAT ARE YOU—”
The door slams open. The third guard barrels in, weapon raised.
Harry fires first. The shot lands, felling the guard, but not before he squeezes off a round of his own.
Harry jerks as the bullet slams into his shoulder. He stumbles, swearing, and his gun slips from his grasp, skittering across the floor.
It skids in a clean line to my feet.
“Take it,” Harry hisses through clenched teeth.
I don’t think.
I move.
My hands shake as I grab it. It’s heavier than Wyatt's pistol, but close enough. I scramble up, muscle memory guiding my grip. Thumbs stacked. Elbows soft.
I level it at Clarissa.
Her eyes widen. “Cassadie…”
Every memory crashes through me—my father dying, her smile in the hallway, the guards with guns, the months I spent hiding, starving, terrified, the life I barely rebuilt.
My arm throbs sharply as if it remembers too.
She did this. She made me bleed. She made me run.
All of it because of her.
My finger finds the trigger. The gun steadies in my hands.
Breathe. Sight alignment. Front sight focus.
Wyatt's voice in my head, calm and certain.
The world narrows to a single, impossible choice.
Clarissa lifts her chin, recovering her poise with terrifying speed. She laughs sharply. “You won’t shoot me. You don’t have it in you.”
She drifts closer. “You never could stand up to me. Not when I replaced your father’s staff. Not when I replaced him. You couldn’t even save him—”
Squeeze, don't pull.
My breath evens out. The trembling stops.
"Just like you can’t save yourself,” she says, her lip curling in a sneer.
I adjust my stance. Widen my feet.
She’s three steps away now. Still talking. Still certain.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” My voice doesn't shake. Not anymore.
Clarissa tilts her head. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because someone taught me how to fight back.”
Confusion flickers across her face, along with the barest hint of doubt.
Exhale on the shot. Let the recoil happen.
Clarissa sees the shift in my eyes, the stillness in my hands. Her smile falters. “Don’t. You don’t understand what you’re doing, Cassadie.”
“I understand exactly.” I tighten my grip, both hands now steady. My finger rests on the trigger. “And for the last fucking time, my name’s not Cassadie. It’s Sadie.”
Clarissa pales. “You—”
The doors explode inward in a blast of splintering wood and flying snow. Henry bursts through with Tex and Tank behind him, chests heaving, eyes hard and focused.
And Wyatt—
Wyatt is at the front, his gaze locking on me like the world has narrowed to the space between us.
His eyes drop to the gun in my hands, then back to my face.
He sees what I’m about to do but doesn’t stop me.
He’s here.
He came for me.
And it’s time to finish this.