Chapter 10 Ledger
LEDGER
She’s spent most of the night thrashing like she’s being tortured by some night demon. Her breath keeps catching between the growing whimpers, making me second-guess whether she’s even asleep. But she never wakes. Not even when I hover over her, the floorboards creaking under my weight.
Some restful sleep she’s getting.
Guess that makes two of us.
Back on the couch, I watch every rise and fall of her chest. Whenever her whimpers pick up, she writhes like a victim of an ancient voodoo curse. I’m still surprised none of it stirs her awake.
Not that it matters.
Whether she stays asleep or not, there’s no way in hell I’m risking dozing off on the job again, even if the scare she got from her first attempt makes another escape unlikely.
Vibrations buzz through my jeans.
Suddenly, the room quiets. Whimpers gone.
Pushing to my feet, I stretch my legs and fix my gaze on her still body, each slow heave of her chest measured. The corner of my lip tips up.
I cross over to stand at the foot of the bed. There’s a small shift in her breath, subtle, but I catch it immediately, just like everything else I catch about her.
Her eyes stay shut, so I let myself linger, studying the delicate lines of her doll-like features, the faint flush across her nose from the cabin’s chill.
Nothing too bad compared to before. Her frail arms are bent at her side, resting in the same position the rest of her body lays in.
She’s beautiful in the way a wounded kitten is, drawing adoration from afar, but quick to hiss if you get too close.
But her looks aren’t what pulls me in. It’s the way she carries herself, disheveled and brittle, yet hiding something beneath it all. Resilience.
She didn’t know it then, but we shared a silent understanding that morning, one only broken people like us can recognize.
Or, at least, that’s what I told myself. My own narrative, pushed onto her.
I was wrong, of course.
What would a spoiled rich girl like her know about real hardship?
All her problems pale in light of her current situation. Money and connections won’t buy her out of it this time.
Reaching into my back pocket, my fingers clamp around my phone. I snatch it out and check who the message is from.
Tanner: Call me as soon as you see this. I can’t hold off Frankie forever while you camp out there.
Then another text buzzes through.
Frankie: Why aren’t you answering???
Frankie: Hello? What’s going on? Where are you right now?
I silence my phone and shove it away.
Things are close to spinning out of control if I keep pushing my luck.
I have two choices: one straightforward and the other messy.
If it wasn’t for my sudden burst of conscience, the first would’ve been done already.
Death doesn’t have to be bad. It doesn’t always have to be this dragged-out, painful process. It can be short and sweet.
The more the thoughts churn in my head as I contemplate, the more I’m beginning to see things clearer from Tanner’s point of view.
Aria is starting to look like a lost cause.
To go back to how things were would mean her immediate death, and along with it, her entire existence would need to be wiped off the earth so her secret would stay buried. Forever.
It can be as simple as that. But it rests on me to pull the plug.
Tanner’s always been good at big talk, but when it came down to it, even he didn’t have it in him to get rid of her when he had the chance.
We’re stuck with a dilemma of my own making. And it isn’t anyone’s problem but mine to fix.
Time is slipping through our fingers, but once Frankie finds out about this, about her, it’s over. She’ll never let me live it down if I murder her. This wouldn’t get overlooked like the others. It’s different, and we all know it.
“Certain deaths aren’t necessary,” she’d argue. “Nothing is ever worth sacrificing your soul over.”
Except my soul’s already been tarnished.
Not much is left besides a fine thread of morals still keeping me from losing sight of the man I used to be.
I’m trying my damndest. Isn’t that why I took her in the first place?
Of course I didn’t want to fucking hurt an innocent girl who got caught in the crossfire.
She’s one of the people I swore to protect from people like Evalyn and her bastard, sex-trafficking husband. God, I wish I was sent to deal with him instead. Then I wouldn’t be stuck in this shit.
I’ve run myself into a corner, and there’s no backing out now.
My fists curl at my sides as I imagine what it’d feel like to wrap them over her warm neck and compress.
Morbid curiosity snakes its way through my thoughts, and I wonder how she’d react.
Would her response be delayed, like it was at the Shaw mansion, or would it be sharp and desperate, like it was in the woods?
Her reactions always seem to contradict themselves.
It’s like she can’t decide whether her life is worth fighting for or not.
I turn away, heading for the bag still left on the corner table, and fish out a couple oatmeal packets along with the utensils.
Using my teeth, I tear the first one open and lean over to the fridge, yanking it open to grab a water bottle from inside.
Lukewarm. It won’t make for the best breakfast, but it’ll hold us over until we get out of here.
That’s the next plan. The messier choice out of the two. It’s one where she stays alive, but it’ll take some persuading to get Tanner on board.
I’m thinking we leave tomorrow. Contact one of the guys who used to forge paperwork for his folks back in Chicago.
Honestly, I’ve been thinking about severing ties with The Ringer for a while now, anyway. Retire myself, plant roots somewhere safe with Frankie. After everything we’ve been through, I owe her that much.
And it’s not like we need to stay tied to them for the money. We have enough stashed away to disappear within the week if we want.
I whisk the water into the oatmeal concoction until it’s as mixed as it’ll get, then glance at her, still pretending to sleep.
I don’t want to drag her to the table and force her to eat, but she needs to stop fighting me on the basics. As thin as she is, I’m not about to let her drop any more weight on my watch. Yesterday should have been a warning, a reminder of how things will go if she keeps pushing back.
In order for my plan to work, I need her compliant. If that means I have to force obedience into her, so be it.
It’s for her own good.
I slide a bowl with the spoon stuck to the lumpy mush across the opposite side of the table and call out to her. “Food’s ready.”
She stays quiet.
“I know you’re awake,” I say, taking a seat and eyeing her from the corner of my eye. “Let’s talk. I won’t ask again.”
She twitches before sitting up, a hand wrapping around her other shoulder to smooth out any kinks. I gesture toward the other side of the table, where her bowl waits.
“What’s the point?” she asks, her voice growing in confidence, but her fingers still pick at her shoulder in an anxious rhythm.
I clear my throat and pick up my own spoon, ready to dig into the pile of mush in front of me. “You won’t ever get out of here if you’re set on emaciating yourself.”
That gets her to come over. Slowly, cautiously, like she’s approaching a boogeyman, then takes a seat in front of me. Her eyes drop to the bowl, brows pulling together.
I take another bite of my own. “It isn’t fancy, but it’s better than staying hungry.”
Her eyes track up to mine, and I can almost hear her breathing thinly through her nose before she glances away, reaching for her spoon.
Good. She’s learning.
Her brows pinch as she works her jaw slowly through the first bite. It’s blander than what she’s probably used to, but like most people in the world, starvation ultimately pushes even the most reluctant individuals into eating whatever’s offered. It’s a far cry from life at the Shaw house.
Her eyes stay glued to the bowl as she clears it, one forceful bite after another.
Things are about to get a hell of a lot different now.
Last night, I scoured the internet for detailed reports on her, but there wasn’t much beyond a name and basic profile. Her disappearance has challenged Evalyn’s death narrative, but nothing conclusive was found.
I’ve been meticulous with every part of the plan, rehearsed dozens of times with our other targets, but Aria’s sudden disappearance without a word sticks out as odd.
Who is she to them, anyway?
“Can I ask…” Her voice wavers as our eyes reconnect again. “Were you following me that whole time you were planning this?”
I lean further in my seat, exhaling. “I didn’t know you’d be there, no. That had nothing to do with you.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek. “So it was all a coincidence? You knew nothing about me prior to breaking into the house?”
“Exactly.” I nod. Her frown deepens. “But what I want to know is exactly how are you related to the Shaws?”
She pulls in her pink, plump lip between her teeth, then drops her spoon as she retracts her hands to her lap, trembling fingers threading together.
“I don’t really know them that well.”
“So you stayed overnight with a family you hardly know?”
She shrugs, eyes locked on her hands.
“I find it hard to believe your parents would just allow that. What kind of parents would let their kid stay with people they hardly know?”
“Mine, I guess,” she says bitterly, shifting in her seat.
Come to think of it, I didn’t recall seeing anything about her parents being mentioned online. They must be worried about her. I know I’d be if it were Frankie who’d gone missing. She reminds me a lot of her…my sister. It only worsens the guilt I feel for my involvement in her abduction.
I’ve never been in a position where I was part of a minor’s kidnapping case, but I figure that’s due to privacy laws that could interfere with an open investigation. If there is one—and in her case, there likely is.
Another reason we need to leave this place.
“Well, they’re gonna have to live with regret knowing they lost their precious little princess to their own negligence.”
“They won’t care,” she says, a tinge of sadness slipping through. “Everyone’s probably relieved I’m gone. Even them.”
“Then why fight so hard to go back?”
“As if you’d understand.”
A cruel smile tugs at my lips as I scrutinize her, debating whether to end the talk here or press on, but the urge to dismantle her defense is too strong to resist.
“I don’t claim to understand, but let me give you a small piece of advice, since I’m feeling generous.”
Her eyes narrow at my curved lips. My words bite, venomous, just as they’re meant to.
“You’re dead to everybody from your past life. You said it yourself, none of them care. So let them all go. Let your old life go.”
Moisture accumulates along her lower lash line, and I hate the effect it has on me.
“But you said you’d let me go back, you promised—”
“No…” I enunciate slowly, steadying my breathing as my knuckles whiten against my knees. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”
She shudders under my harsh glare, silent.
A second later, I drive the final nail into the coffin. “You’re never going back. Not now. Not ever.”
Her lashes flutter as she fights to hold the tears back. She’s starting to break. I can feel myself tearing her down.
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s not personal, sweetheart. Like I said before, it never was.”
Her bottom lip quivers. “How do you sleep at night knowing all the things you’ve done?”
“Just fine,” I lie through gritted teeth, my tone measured and void of emotion. Inside, something volatile festers.
The fuck would she know about me or the things I’ve done?
She’s spent her entire life sheltered behind a facade, all held together with neat little bows wrapped around the outside, hiding the ugly underneath.
That’s not me. I’m rough around the edges, jagged, unapologetically who I am—even if it’s misinterpreted by the general public.
Her painting me as the villain isn’t anything new. Anyone would do the same. It’s the natural trajectory, and I welcome it.
It’s better this way. I don’t need to be understood to get through what needs to be done.
She whips her head to the side, her eyes gleaming with something that looks a lot like disgust. “I don’t understand how you can justify something as awful as murder. How could you?” Her voice quiets. “Why?”
“It’s simple. Some people just deserve to die.”
She draws her shoulders up and tenses.
Without a word of reassurance or explanation, I gather the empty bowls and shove back my chair, the scrape cutting through the tension.
I’ll make sure that the next time Tanner sees Aria, he’ll know I have her under control. After that, he’ll have no choice but to fall in line.
She might hate me now.
But I can live with that.