Chapter 38
RUE
The walk back to the farmhouse feels infinitely lighter than the walk to the barn.
For the first time since we plunged into this nightmare, we have a tangible sliver of hope. A motorcycle. A real, mechanical escape route that doesn’t rely on stealing from gas stations or dodging highway cameras in a recognizable SUV.
As we step through the back door and into the kitchen, the heavy silence of Bill’s house feels less like a trap and more like a sanctuary.
Noah leans heavily against the laminate edge, favoring his left arm. The exhaustion is written in the deep lines around his eyes and the tense set of his jaw, but the frantic, caged-animal energy from earlier has dulled.
“You need to eat,” I tell him, moving past him toward the pantry. “And then you need to wash the barn off you. You smell like old oil and dust.”
Noah lets out a low, tired chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. Now look who’s being all bossy.”
I dig through the shelves, bypassing the canned beans and dusty boxes of cereal until I find a half-empty box of spaghetti and a jar of marinara sauce. It’s not exactly a gourmet meal, but boiling water and stirring pasta feels so incredibly, wonderfully normal.
I busy myself at the stove, the rhythmic bubbling of the water soothing my frayed nerves.
Noah watches me from the small kitchen table.
He doesn’t say much, just tracks my movements with those intense blue eyes.
It’s a quiet, domestic illusion, but right now, under the cover of the dark Texas sky, I let myself fully surrender to it.
I want to be the girl making dinner for the man she loves.
I don’t want to be the girl harboring a fugitive—who shouldn’t even be one.
When the food is ready, I portion it onto two mismatched plates and set one in front of him.
We eat in the dim light of the stove hood. The food is bland, but neither of us cares. We’re starving. Bullet doesn't even wake up to beg for scraps; he remains a tightly coiled, softly snoring ball on the living room rug.
“Shower,” I command softly once Noah pushes his empty plate away.
“Only if you’re coming with me,” he counters, his voice dropping an octave, the raw exhaustion in his tone entirely replaced by a dark, heavy heat.
My breath hitches. I don’t argue.
I follow him down the short hallway into the cramped guest bathroom. The yellow light flickers overhead as Noah reaches in and turns the water on hot. The room fills with steam in seconds, clouding the mirror and masking the grim reality of our bruised and battered bodies.
He turns to me, grabs the hem of my shirt, and then lifts it over my head. I follow his lead, doing the same for him, and then moving to his pants. Noah’s body is becoming a familiar thing—and I like that.
Because I love him.
But apparently, those are words we don’t tell each other.
His arms thread around my waist, and he strips my jeans off, helping me step out of them. My eyes jump to the bandage on his arm.
“Is that bothering you?” I gesture to it, relieved to see it’s not bleeding through.
“Not right now,” he leans down, grabbing my bare ass and pulling me to him. He gives me a long, deep kiss and then guides me to the shower.
I let out a sigh as the warm water hits my bare skin, and the feeling of Noah’s body against mine only heightens the relief. I lean my head back, resting against his chest, and shut my eyes.
This is what life could be like if we were normal. If we could just have some other story than this one.
Noah’s hand snakes up the front of my stomach, cupping my breast. “You’re tired, Rue. You’re always tired.”
“So are you,” my eyes flicker open, meeting his. “It makes sense.”
“You don’t have to do this. You can tap out whenever you want.”
My lips curl up in a smile. “I don’t want to.”
He mutters something incoherent and then presses his cock against my ass. “Are you too tired for this?”
I gasp as the head of his cock finds my already sore pussy, and instinctively, I lean forward. “I don’t think I’m ever too tired for you.”
“Mm,” he hums, pressing into me. “That’s my good girl.”
His tone lights me up, and I push my ass back, further guiding him into me. He lets out a groan and then grabs my waist with both hands. “I wanna fuck you so hard right now,” he grits out.
My pussy clenches around him. “Then do it,” I breathe out, reaching forward and bracing my hands against the wall. “As hard as you can.”
He leans back and then thrusts into me, the slapping noise louder than the shower head. I let out a moan as he repeats, pounding into the back of me without any mercy at all. I squeeze my eyes shut and slide my hand between my legs, rubbing with the same force as his body against mine.
And my moans only get louder.
Then turn to fucking screams.
Noah’s fingertips bruise my skin, his cock stretches me, and his balls thump against my ass. My orgasm lights up my entire body, and my pussy clamps down around his cock, pulsing as his name breaks my lips.
“Goddamn, that feels so good,” Noah growls behind me, and then pumps into me one final time, his cock releasing deep inside of me.
I pant beneath the water as he collapses forward, placing a kiss on my shoulder.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he rasps, his tone almost aching. “I don’t know if I ever will.”
Emotions well up in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the relief that comes with his words. I want him to always be like this. I want this, Noah.
Not the icy cold version.
By the time the water runs cold, and we finally stumble back into the spare bedroom, Noah has absolutely nothing left in the tank.
The adrenaline and the climax completely wipe him out.
He collapses onto the mattress, his wet hair dark against the pillow, and within minutes, his breathing deepens into a heavy, even rhythm.
I lay beside him for a long time, listening to his heartbeat. But as the house settles, the familiar, buzzing edge of anxiety begins to creep back up my spine.
I can’t sleep. My mind is moving a million miles a minute. The motorcycle, the border, Maricopa, Mexico... It’s a chaotic whirlwind of variables that I have zero control over.
And the sunlight is peeking through the curtains.
I carefully slide out of bed, leaving Noah to rest, and pull on my gray sweatpants and my oversized T-shirt. I walk out into the hallway and check on Bullet. He hasn’t moved an inch. I gently pet his head, my chest aching at how sluggish he feels, before making my way back to the kitchen.
I grab the bottle of lemon-scented cleaner and the rag from under the sink. I already scrubbed the kitchen, so my eyes drift down the dark hallway. There’s the master bedroom, which I have zero desire to enter, and then the second spare room directly across from ours.
Slowly, I push the door open.
It’s pitch black and smells… different than the rest of the house, though it’s hard to pinpoint why. I fumble along the wall until I find the light switch and flick it upward.
A dingy overhead light illuminates the space. Is it set up almost like a child’s room? There’s a small twin-sized bed up against the window. I take a step toward it, my eyes noting the bars.
What the fuck?
I pull the door partially shut behind me, so the light doesn’t wake Noah. I set the cleaner down on the small writing desk near the door, and then ease toward the bed.
And that’s when I see the glint of metal.
That is not what I think it is. It can’t be.
But as I kneel down to investigate closer, it is what I think it is. Handcuffs. Used ones. They’re on a chain, and I can’t even stomach the thought of touching them.
It’s probably nothing. It’s gotta be.
I lean away instead and move to the dresser. I pull the top drawer fully open, just to see.
And I freeze.
The domestic, harmless illusion of Bill the retired grandpa shatters into a million jagged pieces as my eyes adjust to the contents hidden inside the drawer. My heart slams into my throat, a cold, prickling dread spreading across my scalp.
And I feel utterly sick to my stomach.
“Noah!” I explode. “Come here!”