Chapter 12
Grace
To say that I was shocked is an understatement.
I haven’t said a word to him since yesterday.
I can’t even look at him. I keep pinching the skin of my arm—first, it turned red, then blue like an evening sky.
I wanted to believe this was only another horrible nightmare and Chase didn’t kidnap the boy.
Didn’t keep him as a prisoner for two days without food or water because of me.
But he did. He didn’t even let him keep his dignity—he had to pee and crap into his pants.
Disgust is a huge knot in my throat, the muscles around my eyes tighten.
There is sadness on my face, because the relieving moment I am waiting for—when I realize this was only another nightmare—is not coming.
This is fucking reality. This is the product of Chase’s degenerate mind.
We slept in the car, near the barn. As soon as I opened my eyes, the first thing I did was turn on the radio and listen to the news.
Jerry Jeff, who is usually upbeat, cracking jokes, wasn’t talking in his characteristic high-pitched voice.
His words stumbled over each other, and he kept clearing his throat. What happened had gotten to him.
“The boy had got home covered in mud and bloody wounds. His parents found him pounding on their front door in the middle of the night, naked. The police still haven't found the perpetrators”, he listed the facts mechanically, in an emotionless voice.
Knowing Jason got home lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Chase kept his word, just like I kept mine—I’m still sitting here next to him. Even though I really have to pee.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye.
His thick black eyelashes are like fans over his cheeks.
He’s goddamn good at feigning sleep. His eyes don’t twitch—still, I know he’s awake.
The memory of the night when Lucas beat him is still vivid in my mind.
I watched him then until I fell asleep—I know when he’s awake and when he’s asleep.
Lazy sunshine drifts over his dark hair and soft skin.
That cursed lock of hair has fallen across his forehead again, and the freckles on his nose look golden-brown in the morning light.
He is so… beautiful. A sinfully handsome face and a body more attractive than it has any right to be.
Seductive, dark eyes that look straight through you.
Soft, full lips. But his mind… It’s like the darkest night, full of the cruelest nightmares.
I get out and sit cross-legged on the hood of the car.
Blinking, I watch the sunlight—the first rays touching the ground.
Drops of dew glint like silver. Blood-colored flowers turn toward the light, slowly unfurling petals that cradle sleeping little bugs.
Crickets chirp, grasshoppers hop, butterflies flutter, and bees buzz softly.
The morning is like balm—the clear, fresh air and the barren beauty of the landscape feel cleansing after yesterday’s horrors.
Chase joins me. He leans his hips against the car in a relaxed posture, muscular arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are sharp and dangerous, like a predator’s.
I feel tingles between my shoulder blades and in the back of my head.
Carefully, I glance sideways at Chase. He’s watching me like I’m a one-of-a-kind painting—priceless, unspeakable—something he’d like to hang on his wall and stare at all day without blinking.
His dark brown eyes trap mine. He steals the peace from my soul, steals this perfect moment, his silent whisper drowning out the birdsong and the rest of the morning until it all fades into the background.
Only he and I exist.
This love is rotten and dirty—still, it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt.
Because when I’m with Chase, I feel alive.
Everything I’ve been missing in my life has flooded my world the way a storm swallows the sky—painfully, mercilessly.
My heart shakes with a thousand emotions, like a butterfly’s bright, brittle wings trembling in the breeze.
I bite back my smile, because I can’t let him see how good his attention and obsessive love feel to me.
The “room” in the corner of the barn—which is really just a tiled bathroom area without any door—should be a red flag.
A shower head juts from the wall, and a shabby porcelain toilet sits beside it.
A dirty, round mirror hangs from a nail, and there’s a small washbasin.
Its tap is rusty—time has left its mark—but it’s clean.
I suspect this barn is one of the places where Lucas tortures and interrogates people, which Chase sometimes uses for his own purposes.
I just shrug and let go—my bladder’s been close to bursting. And showering will feel good, too, to wash off the burning looks and the memory of the boy.