Chapter Thirty-One
Angela gripped the edge of the wagon seat so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her fingers aching from the strain.
The wooden bench beneath her was rough and splintered, jostling her with every uneven turn of the wagon’s wheels.
The night was cold, the air sharp against her skin, but fear kept her blood running hot, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. The stars above seemed impossibly far away, their light faint and indifferent as the wagon bumped and jolted over the prairie.
Every creak of the wheels, every rattle of the harness, felt like it might shatter the fragile hold she had on her sanity.
She dared a glance to her left, where Silas sat gripping the reins with one hand, his other resting ominously near the pistol strapped to his side.
His face was half-lit by the moonlight, his features sharp and tense. His lips moved in a muttered string of words she couldn’t fully make out, but the low, uneven tone sent chills crawling up her spine.
Angela swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. She had no idea why he’d taken her, no clue what he wanted or what he planned to do.
The memory of his hand yanking her toward the wagon was still fresh, the roughness of his grip lingering like a bruise on her skin.
“Silas,” she said carefully, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
He didn’t respond, his muttering continuing as his eyes flicked between the path ahead and the moonlit horizon.
“Silas,” she said again, louder this time. “Please—just tell me what you want. Why are you doing this?”
His head snapped toward her, and she flinched at the wild glint in his eyes.
“Why?” he repeated, his voice sharp and uneven. “Why? You want to know why?” He let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head as he turned his gaze back to the trail. “You wouldn’t understand. None of you would.”
Angela’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to speak again. “I might,” she said softly, trying to keep her tone soothing. “I might understand if you tell me.”
Silas shot her a sidelong glance, his smile hollow and unsettling. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re just like the rest of them. Pretending to be so good, so righteous. But you’re no better than anyone else.”
“I’m not pretending,” Angela said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Silas snorted, his laugh humorless. “Sure you’re not.”
The wagon hit a deep rut, jolting her so hard that she nearly lost her grip on the seat. She bit back a cry, her heart lurching as the horses stumbled briefly before regaining their footing.
The prairie stretched endlessly around them, its vast openness offering no comfort. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the grasslands in stark contrasts of light and shadow, every movement of the tall blades making her think of predators lying in wait.
The wind picked up, cold and biting as it whipped her hair against her face. Angela shivered, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or the terror coursing through her veins.
What does he want? she thought, her mind racing. Why me?
She tried again, her voice more desperate now. “Silas, you don’t have to do this. We can go back to the camp. We can figure this out—”
“Go back?” he interrupted, his voice rising as he yanked on the reins. The horses snorted and stamped their hooves, sensing his agitation. “Go back to what? Being looked at like I’m nothing? Like I don’t belong?”
“That’s not true,” Angela said, though the words felt hollow even to her.
“Don’t lie to me!” Silas snapped, his eyes flashing as he glared at her. “You never had a kind word for me, a second to talk. All you and everyone else did was judge me, casting me out like I’m garbage. You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me?”
Angela shook her head, her throat tightening. “I didn’t—”
“Shut up,” Silas said sharply, his hand twitching toward the pistol at his side.
She clamped her mouth shut, her heart racing as she watched his fingers tap against the handle of the gun. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to choke on.
Angela swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her ears as her mind raced. There was no reasoning with Silas. She could see that now. Still, she had to get away. But how?
Her first thought was to jump—just to fling herself off the wagon and take her chances with the rough, rocky ground.
But as she glanced over the edge, her stomach sank.
The horses were moving fast, the wagon careening recklessly over deep ruts and scattered stones. If she jumped, there was no telling what would happen—she could twist her ankle or, worse, knock herself unconscious.
Then what? Silas would have no trouble scooping her back up, and the cost for trying might be even higher.
Angela bit her lip, trying to think through the terror that gripped her. Maybe the reins.
If she could grab them—wrestle control of the horses away from Silas—they might stop. But as she shifted slightly to look at him again, doubt crept in. Silas was so much bigger, his frame solid and threatening.
He was gripping the reins with iron strength, his arms taut as he urged the horses forward. She’d have no chance in a physical fight against him—not like this.
Still, her fingers itched to act, to do something. Every jolt of the wagon sent adrenaline surging through her veins, the urgency building with each moment that passed.
Angela darted her eyes forward, trying to gauge their speed.
Could she scream? Could she call out for help?
But she quickly realized that was hopeless, too.
They were deep in the night now, far beyond where anyone would hear her cries.
The prairie stretched out around them in endless darkness, broken only by the pale slashes of moonlight.
Her gaze swept the landscape for another option—anything she could use, anywhere she could go—but all she saw were shadows and the faint outlines of trees and grass.
Think, she urged herself. You have to think.
Angela pressed her hands into her lap to stop them from shaking, her breath coming in short bursts. Fear clawed at her chest, but beneath it was something else—determination. Silas might have her now, but he wouldn’t win. She refused to let him take her without a fight.
Her hands trembled as she tightened her hold on the seat, her nails digging into the rough wood.
Please, God, she thought. Please help me.
The wagon jolted again, and Silas muttered under his breath, tugging on the reins to steady the horses.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “But they forced my hand. Always looking down on me, always thinking they’re so much better. They’ll see now. They’ll all see.”
Angela’s throat tightened as his words sank in. Whatever Silas had planned, it wasn’t just about her. He wanted revenge and was willing to do anything to get it.
“Hee ya!” Silas cried, driving the horses even faster
“Silas, slow down!” Angela pleaded, her voice shaking as the wagon jolted violently over the uneven terrain.
Silas didn’t even glance at her, his face set in a grim mask. The reins in his hands were taut, his knuckles white as he urged the horses forward.
The horses’ hooves thundered against the hard ground, their panicked snorts cutting through the night air. Angela could feel their fear, the way they strained against the harness, their movements growing more erratic with each passing second.
“Silas, please!” she begged, gripping the edge of the wagon seat until her fingers ached. “You’re going too fast—they’re going to—”
“Quiet!” he barked, jerking the reins harshly.
The wagon careened wildly, the wheels hitting a patch of loose rocks. Angela was thrown sideways, her shoulder slamming against the rough wood of the seat. Pain shot through her arm, but she barely noticed. Her heart was pounding too hard, her fear drowning out everything else.
“Silas, you’re going to lose control!” she cried, her voice cracking.
But Silas didn’t respond. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, his focus sharp and unyielding as he leaned forward, driving the horses harder.
Angela glanced behind them, praying to see him.
“Oh, he’ll come after you,” Silas said. “I am counting on it.”
“What do you mean?” Angela said.
“High and mighty James Whitaker,” Silas spat. “Always in charge, always the righteous hero.”
Angela’s stomach twisted as she stared at him.
“He cast me out. Turned everyone against me. Made me the villain.” His voice grew louder, harsher. “You think I deserved that? You think I wanted this life? To be out here, alone?”
He turned his gaze back to the trail, his expression darkening further as he muttered under his breath.
“Silas,” Angela said, trying to keep her voice steady. “James didn’t do this. You did. You stole from the others—”
“So?” Silas said, his voice rising. “Didn’t have to cast me out, did he? Not for nicking a few things.”
“Silas—”
“No!” Silas yelled. “Whitaker needs to pay. He needs to know what it feels like to lose everything, to have it torn away from him piece by piece.”
Angela felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “You took me… to hurt James?”
Silas’s jaw flexed, his teeth gritted. “I want him to suffer. To feel it, the way I feel it every single day.”
Angela’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. She knew Silas wasn’t thinking clearly—his bitterness and loneliness had twisted into something dangerous and unrelenting. His hatred for James was eating him alive, and now she was caught in the middle of it.
“And what happens next, Silas?” she demanded, her voice sharp, anger breaking through the fear. “What do you think will happen when James comes after me? Because he will come.”
Silas’s mouth curled into a humorless smile, but he didn’t answer. He said nothing—just stared ahead at the path, his expression hardening.
The silence that followed was worse than his ranting. Angela’s blood ran cold as her mind raced. She realized then that Silas didn’t have a plan—just anger and hatred driving him to destruction.
I can’t let this happen, she thought. I need to get back to James.