Chapter 34
Lucky
I blink against the harsh sunlight stabbing through the edges of the trunk. My head throbs, and the world tilts. For a second, nothing makes sense—why is it dark? Why am I moving?
Then it hits me. The smell. The metal. The cramped space. My stomach lurches, and my chest clamps tight.
I’m in a trunk.
I’m in his trunk.
My heart hammers hard, and wild like it’s trying to punch its way through my ribs.
Every nerve fires at once, electric panic tearing through me.
My hands fly out, clawing at the walls. I scrape my knuckles on metal, but I can’t stop, can’t calm down, can’t think, just search, frantic and blind, for anything that opens.
“There’s no—there’s no—” My voice breaks. “No—no—please—”
The car rumbles beneath me. Panic surges like fire spreading fast, and my limbs refuse to cooperate. I kick at the walls, fists pounding against the metal lid. My throat burns, and my lungs scream for air that feels like it’s slipping away.
I brace my feet against one side and kick. Hard. Again. Harder. My heel slips. My knees slam into something unyielding, pain shooting up my legs. The metal doesn’t budge.
The air feels too thin. My chest clamps up so tight I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.
God, I can’t—
My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything. Every thud feels like it’s rattling the damn car.
I try to scream, but it comes out shredded, swallowed by the dark.
My hands shake so violently that I barely recognize them. Tears gather without permission, blurring everything into a smear of light and shadow.
I’m going to die like this.
Buried alive in steel and dark.
I can’t—
I can’t—
“Stop—stop—stop—” I gasp, gripping my hair, pulling at it just to feel something real, something that proves I still exist.
Ethan’s face flashes in my mind. Not as comfort—at first, just as contrast. Warmth versus this freezing, horrific nowhere. Hands that steady me versus hands that drugged me. His voice, low and grounding, wrapping around me like a safety net.
I latch onto it because if I don’t, I’m going to shatter.
Lucky, breathe. I can almost hear him say it. In. Out. Stay with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, press my trembling palm to the floor, and try to inhale—but it’s shaky, broken, too fast.
Again. In. Out.
I force the air deeper, even as my lungs fight me.
Again.
Again.
The world stops spinning quite so violently. Not calm—never calm—but… less drowning.
I’m here. I’m alive.
I let that thought in, just enough to anchor me. My fingers pause, pressed against my temples. Breathe. In. Out.
I hear my therapist’s voice echoing in my mind, Banks pushing me to see one before I even came to the lake.
In through your nose, slow. Out through your mouth. Ground yourself. This is your body. You’re still here.
I close my eyes. I focus on the rhythm—inhale, exhale. My chest rises, falls. The trembling slows, just a little. My mind is still sharp, panic still flickering, but it’s not swallowing me whole. Not yet.
My breathing steadies one painful inch at a time.
I’m getting out. I don’t care how. I don’t care what breaks.
He took me once.
He doesn’t get to take the rest.
And I will make him pay for this.
The car slows. Not just slowing—dragging, bumping over something uneven. My body bounces with each jolt. Dirt road. Has to be. We’re somewhere remote, somewhere no one will hear me if I scream. My stomach twists so hard I feel sick.
This is it. My moment—maybe my only one.
I force my eyes shut again and focus on the sounds around me. The engine dies. For a heartbeat, everything is agonizingly still. Then the driver’s door squeals open. Footsteps crunch around the car, slow and confident, like he’s in no rush because he thinks I’m not going anywhere.
My heart is slamming so violently, I’m sure he’ll hear it through the metal.
A key scrapes. The latch pops. The trunk swings open, and warm daylight hits my face. I stay limp, breathing shallow, trying to look unconscious. My skin tingles from adrenaline, every muscle coiled and ready.
He mutters something—too low, too bored, like I’m nothing but cargo—and leans in. His hand reaches for me.
Now. NOW.
I shoot my foot up with everything I have. My heel smashes into his face. There’s a sick crack, a grunt, and he stumbles backward. I don’t think—I just move. I scramble out of the trunk, hit the ground so hard my teeth clack, and try to run, but he grabs for my arm.
I swing. Wild. Desperate. My fist connects with his cheekbone, and a bolt of pain shoots up my hand so sharp I almost scream. It feels like my knuckles shatter, but he reels back, holding his face.
That’s all I need.
I sprint. I don’t look where I’m going—I hurl myself into the trees, branches whipping at my arms and tearing at my clothes. I can hear him behind me. Swearing. Shouting. Crashing through the brush.
He’s close. Too close.
My lungs burn. My legs shake. Every instinct in my body is screaming RUN, but fear is crawling up my throat, threatening to choke me. If he catches me—
No. I don’t let myself finish the thought.
I pump my arms harder. I run like my life depends on it.
Because it does.
Branches whip across my cheeks as I tear deeper into the forest. My breath comes in sharp, broken bursts. Every inhale feels like knives. My legs are trembling, threatening to buckle, but fear keeps dragging me forward. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t stop.
Behind me, I hear him crashing through the underbrush. He’s slower but heavier, the kind of runner who doesn’t need speed because he’s confident he’ll get what he wants eventually. His voice cuts through the trees.
“Not gonna get far, Lucky Pink…”
The sound nearly drops me. My chest clamps tight, and panic claws up my throat, but I force my legs to keep moving until I spot a thick cluster of brush and slip behind it.
I crouch low, body shaking, gulping down air that won’t stay in my lungs.
My pulse thunders in my ears so loudly I’m terrified it’s giving away my position.
I press a hand to my mouth to smother the ragged breaths. Sweat drips down my spine. My muscles quiver from the run. For a second—just a second—I let myself believe I’ve outpaced him.
Then the crunch of leaves comes closer.
Too close.
He’s talking again, sing-song and cruel. “You can hide all you want. I’ve got all day.”
The words drip through the trees like poison. My stomach flips. My fingers dig into the dirt, grounding myself. I try to remember the breathing technique from therapy—inhale four, hold, exhale—but my body refuses to obey. It wants movement, escape, anything but stillness.
A twig snaps right behind my hiding spot.
I bolt.
I explode from the brush, lungs screaming at the sudden burst, tearing through branches and thorns that scratch my skin raw. My mind is a frantic whirl—don’t fall, don’t stop, don’t you dare give up—and the forest becomes a blur of green and brown streaking past.
The ground tilts under my feet. A root catches my ankle. I stumble forward and hit the earth hard—so hard, stars burst behind my eyes. Pain slashes across my forearm as it drags along a jagged edge of rock. For a moment, I can’t breathe. The world narrows into that burning, searing line of pain.
Blood wells fast, warm, and slick, running down my wrist.
No time. No time.
I push myself up, biting back a cry. Dirt cakes my face and mixes with sweat. I wipe at my eyes, my hand shaking violently, and force my legs to move again.
I stagger upright. The forest sways for a heartbeat, but I steady myself, grit my teeth, and run.
My injured arm throbs with each step, sending sharp pulses all the way to my shoulder, but I don’t slow. Behind me, branches snap—he’s coming. He’s close.
I don’t look back.
I can’t afford the luxury of fear. Forward is the only direction I have left. And as long as my feet are hitting the ground, as long as I’m breathing at all, I’m alive.
And I’m not stopping.
Branches snap behind me—loud, closer than they should be.
He’s faster than I expected. Bigger. Determined.
My chest burns with every breath, the air slicing down my throat like ice.
My legs feel too light and too heavy all at once, like they might give out at any second, but I force them to keep moving.
Don’t stop. Don’t look back.
I dart around a fallen log, lungs screaming, vision blurring at the edges. The forest is dense and uneven, roots clawing at my ankles, branches grabbing my hair. I’m half-running, half-falling through it. His footsteps thunder behind me, and then—
“Lucky…” His voice. Drawn out. Mocking. Too close. “You think you can outrun me?”
A shiver rips through me. I push harder.
Up ahead, a cluster of massive rocks juts from the forest floor like a broken spine. Instinct kicks in—I veer toward them. I squeeze between two slabs, scraping my shoulder, and crouch in the narrow shadow. I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing.
My pulse won’t slow. My whole body trembles violently, each heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Just one minute. One second. One breath.
I press my back against the cold stone and swallow down the rising panic.
Thoughts flood in fast, uncontrollable. I want to survive this.
I want a second chance. I want to play again.
I want Ethan’s voice in my kitchen. Lily’s smile.
I want… more. I’m not ready for this to be the end.
The fear in my chest twists into something sharp, desperate, and determined.
But his footsteps crunch over leaves. Closer.
“Come out,” he calls. “It’ll be worse if I have to find you.”
The sound freezes my blood.
No more hiding.
I slip out from the rocks and take off deeper into the forest. I don’t recognize anything—no path, no markers, just endless trees—but I don’t care. I just run.
My foot hits a slick patch of mud. My body tilts—too fast—and I slam down onto the ground. Pain explodes up my arm as it slices against something sharp. A stone. A branch. I don’t know, but warmth gushes down my forearm.
“Shit—” The word tears out of me.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. Shock pins me. My vision sparkles, and it feels like the world is tilting sideways. But the crashing footsteps behind me snap everything back into place.
Move. Move now.
I stagger to my feet. My arm is burning, bleeding, dripping. Dirt sticks to my cheek where it slammed into the ground. I swipe it away with the back of my trembling hand, smearing blood across my skin.
No more thinking. No more waiting.
I run.
Pain radiates with every stride, but fear pushes me forward. My breath comes out in broken sobs, and the forest blurs into greens and browns and flashes of sunlight. Behind me, he roars something I can’t make out—but the sound chases me, claws at me, drives me deeper into the trees.
I don’t know where I’m going. I only know I have to keep going.
Because if I stop, I die.