Chapter 5
LEDGER
The scent of rotten oak hits me as soon as I step inside.
It’s dark, cold, and damp, but I can work with that.
I grip the ropes in one hand and flick on my phone’s flashlight with the other, sweeping the beam across the room’s dark interior, searching for the firewood Tanner said he stashed here for emergencies.
He didn’t sound thrilled when I called to say I was stopping here. Getting the location out of him was like pulling teeth, but eventually he coughed up the coordinates.
He’s always made sure we have these “safe zones” tucked away across the country as fallback spots in case anything goes sideways, but I’ve never stepped in one until now.
Judging by the condition inside, I don’t think he expected either of us to actually use it.
The air’s stagnant, holding the kind of silence that wraps around your throat, heavy and suffocating.
No one else in The Ringer knows about this place. Just him and me. He’s always been cautious, the kind of guy who expects things to implode at a moment’s notice. I used to scoff at his efforts. Now, I’m just relieved one of us thought things through.
I follow the beam of light to the stone fireplace in the right corner, then spot an old rack filled with logs nearby once I’m close enough. Dropping the ropes and my phone, I begin arranging the wood into the rusted metal grate, working by the faintest sliver of light illuminating the place.
After I’ve lit the fire, I pocket my phone and reach for the extra bundle of ropes I brought in from the trunk before coming inside.
The glow from the flames brightens the room enough to reveal layers of dust and cobwebs that have accumulated in all of the tight corners of the cabin.
Hope she’s not afraid of spiders.
I turn to face the quivering girl I’ve dragged with me. It’s a miracle that she’s still upright, dressed in nothing but barely-there shorts and a thin-strapped tank top, lace running along the collar. Stupidly underdressed. Distracting in a way she shouldn’t be. Just like the morning I saw her.
The slippers on her feet are in horrible condition now. The fur’s matted and tinged brown.
Cold and equal parts fear keep her shivering violently. She needs to get out of those clothes if she doesn’t want to get sick. But something tells me she’d rather freeze to death than be told to strip them off again.
There’s nothing she can change into, anyway. The heat from the fireplace should be enough to last us through the night.
I chuck the ropes onto the twin-sized bed tucked beside the fireplace. She’s not going to like this arrangement, but it’ll keep us both safe overnight. I move toward her, where she’s stiff by the door, her grip locked tight on the knob, though tremors still wrack her body.
It doesn’t bring me any joy to add to her distress. Not when she thinks I’m going to harm her.
Except I already am harming her.
“Please,” she cries again, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. The knob starts to rattle in her grasp, but her knuckles are frozen stiff, unable to twist it open, or maybe she just knows she won’t make it. “I’ll give...you...anything...you want,” she stammers, stepping back.
“There’s nothing you could give me,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, batting away her tears and refusing the answer as she stands a little taller. Her eyes glisten as they search mine, possibly hoping to find a shred of humanity in them, any trace of empathy she can manipulate to her advantage.
There is none.
It doesn’t matter that she’s innocent. If push comes to shove, I’ll still kill her to protect those I love.
This was never about what I want.
"I...I can pay you,” she rushes out the moment I close in on her, stumbling over her words. “I swear I won’t tell a soul." Her head shakes with a frantic rhythm. “I’m good for my word. I swear. I promise.”
My jaw clenches as I close the distance.
She won’t be able to talk her way out of this.
She’ll try, but that’s all she can do. Her back slams into the door, arms springing up to shield herself, but they’re no match for me.
I lift her off the ground, crushing her to my chest as she kicks and writhes in my hold, struggling against my iron grip like she has a chance.
She can cry all she wants. It changes nothing.
“No, don’t,” she pleads.
I ignore her.
I carry her to the bed and throw her onto the mattress. She lands hard, gasping like she’s been punched in the stomach, then scrambles upright on her elbows, eyes wide and wet with terror. I seize her ankles and drag her down to the foot of the bed, reducing her to a sobbing, trembling mess.
I need her to cooperate before things spiral further out of hand.
She bucks beneath me, twisting and clawing, fighting with everything she has left—but it’s not enough. I fish for the ropes at her side, then manage to unravel them enough to wrap around her wrists, but tying them proves more difficult with her flailing beneath me.
“You need to relax,” I growl, pinning her hands above her head and managing to bind them this time.
She only grows more hysterical, so I try to soften my voice just enough to settle her down.
“Shh, hey, look at me." Her face glows red, her lashes wet with continuous tears. She’s beautiful, even like this. Especially like this. God, I’m a fucking bastard. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
She chokes back sobs, nodding weakly, and I mimic the movement before shifting down to tie up her feet next.
Her legs tremble, but she doesn’t try to kick me again.
After tightening the final knot, I tilt my head back, allowing my eyes to trail along her pale ankles, past her knees, and all the way up to the curve of her hips, hidden beneath a pair of pink sleep shorts.
Her tank top has ridden up to reveal a sliver of waist and toned stomach, my eyes burning into the exposed skin for a moment too long before settling on the wet streaks painting her cheeks.
What have I gotten myself into?
Apprehension tightens her features as she holds my stare, her chest rising in shallow, panicked breaths. What is she thinking right now? More importantly, why do I care?
I’ve got to get my head on straight.
“I can’t let you go tonight,” I tell her. Her face drains of color. “It’ll be okay.” I soften my voice, trying to soothe her like she’s some wounded kitten I picked off the side of the road. “I won’t hurt you. Promise.”
The lie sits heavy on my tongue.
She draws in her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth, a nervous tic I caught during our short ride to her school this morning. That feels like a lifetime ago.
My dick stirs against the rough denim of my jeans as she keeps gnawing on that lip, unaware of the effect it has on twisted men like me. I push off the mattress and turn away from her smooth curves. Curves that definitely don’t belong to a high school student.
Christ. Get it together, Ledger.
I adjust myself quietly and out of sight, then cross the room and sink onto the cool, cracked leather of an old couch, dust clinging to its seams. My boots hook over the armrest. I shut my eyes, trying to clear my head, hoping to carve out some quiet time to recoup.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, her words barely a whisper drifting across the dank cabin.
That’s the problem. I don’t know.
“No more questions,” I say harsher than I mean to. “Try to get some sleep.”
She goes quiet.
Half an hour later, she’s still silent. My eyes grow heavy as I glance back to check on her one last time. Her legs aren’t as stiff as before, and the deep lines on her forehead have eased.
Only then do I let myself sink deeper into the cushion, guilt digging deeper than the worn leather against my back.