Chapter 35
Ethan
Sam and I pile into his truck, neither of us wasting a breath. I gun the engine, gravel spitting out behind us as we tear down the road leading away from Lucky’s house.
We’re chasing shadows—but shadows leave marks if you know where to look.
Every half-mile, I slow.
Every half-mile, we check.
Sam’s already got his backpack unzipped, rifling through gear like this is his morning warmup.
“Slow here,” he mutters.
I ease off the gas. We both step out.
The air tastes like pine and warm dirt. The road is quiet, too quiet. I crouch, fingertips grazing the asphalt. “There,” I whisper.
A dark drip pattern. Not much… but consistent.
“Transmission fluid?” Sam kneels beside me.
I nod. “It's an older car… probably hasn’t had maintenance in years. Noticed the same by the lake house.”
“It’s leaking like hell.” He taps his phone awake, swiping fast. “Which works for us.”
We move another fifty meters. More spots. A thin smear, like a tire, skidded for half a second. The kind of thing you don’t catch unless you’ve spent your life hunting men who don’t want to be found.
We stop again. Sam pulls a compact drone—no bigger than his hand—out of his pack. The thing unfolds automatically like an origami monster.
“You bring toys everywhere now?” I ask.
He holds it out and grins. “Field toy. Don’t judge.”
I raise a brow. “Impressive.”
“Wait till you see what it does.”
The drone lifts, slicing up through branches. Sam holds his phone like a controller, thumbs steady, eyes narrowed. The screen reflects in his glasses—patchwork forest, long roads, breaks in the tree canopy.
I scan the shoulder of the road. Gravel is pushed outward in a pattern, as if a car turned sharply off the asphalt. I crouch again, tracing the indent. “Here.”
At the same time, Sam says, “This way.”
We both point at the same patch of churned dirt.
“Looks like he left the road fast,” Sam says. “Southwest.”
“Dumping the car?” I ask.
“Maybe. Or hiding it.”
He zooms the drone farther out. The camera shakes as wind slips under its wings.
Then he inhales slowly. “I’ve got something. A car. Parked off-grid. Tan sedan.”
The sedan sits crooked in a snarl of underbrush, half-hidden by saplings and shadow. The trunk gapes open like a wound.
My pulse slams into my ribs.
“Take me there,” I say.
Sam doesn’t waste a syllable. He recalls the drone with a quick command, and it darts back toward us, dropping neatly into his hand. He folds it mid-stride as we rush to the truck.
I hit the gas. Sam angles his phone toward me, guiding with clipped, practiced cues.
“Left in… fifty.”
“Cut right—another trailhead coming.”
“Slow. You’ll miss it.”
We roll over a rise, tires crunching through loose stone as the forest thickens. The air feels heavier here, like even the sun is holding its breath.
“There,” Sam snaps, pointing through the windshield.
The sedan materializes between the trees.
I brake hard, gravel spitting. We’re out before the engine fully stops.
Sam circles wide, weapon drawn—not flashy, just muscle memory. I approach the trunk. The metallic smell hits first. Then the smear of blood, fresh enough to still glisten.
My jaw tightens. Lucky was here. Alive.
And then she wasn’t.
“She fought him,” I say under my breath, running my hand over the edge. There’s a scuff on the dirt where heels braced. A drag mark. Tiny droplets leading into the woods.
Sam appears at my side. He squats, fingers hovering over broken ferns. His eyes narrow a fraction. “She hit him. Hard.”
“Good.” My voice comes out darker than I intend. “She bought herself time.”
A distant shout snaps both our heads up.
A man’s voice. Winding through the trees. Sharp. Vicious.
Calling her name.
I don’t wait for a plan. Sam and I lock eyes for a millisecond. That’s all we need.
We split.
The shouting ahead gets louder, then stops abruptly. I creep through the trees, slow and precise, until I see Sam.
He breaks left, silent as a shadow, cutting through brush with barely a sound. I take the right, angling wide—classic pincer movement, born out of a thousand operations we’ll never talk about.
The forest swallows us whole.
I follow blood first—thin streaks, smeared on a rock, a single drop caught on a leaf’s edge like a ruby. Then tracks—small, light, frantic, weaving between roots.
And then—
A shape ahead. A man. Broad shoulders. Mud splattered up his back. He scans the treeline, muttering Lucky’s name like a curse.
Sheifer.
I lower myself behind a fallen log, breath steady, pulse sharp. I can’t see Lucky. My heart knocks hard—too hard—but I force it down. Panic gets men killed.
I edge forward.
Sam ghosts into my peripheral vision, far left, closing in.
We’re seconds from taking this bastard down—
A thud cracks through the clearing.
Sheifer jerks forward—and collapses.
Lucky stands behind him, wild and shaking, fingers still clenched around a rock slick with dirt. Her eyes are huge, unfocused. Her chest heaves like she can’t pull enough air in.
I break cover instantly. “Lucky!”
She spins toward me, feral, terrified—and bolts.
“No—hey—Lucky!” I catch her before she can vanish into the trees. She thrashes, half-delirious, nails digging into my arms.
“It’s me,” I breathe, hauling her close, anchoring her shaking body against my chest. “It’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her breath stutters. Her knees buckle. She sags into me, still trembling so hard I feel it in my bones.
Behind us, Sam is already on Sheifer—checking vitals, binding wrists with zip ties he pulled from nowhere, his face carved from stone. He looks up and meets my gaze over Sheifer’s unconscious body.
A silent exchange.
A decision.
A plan Lucky never needs to know.
I hold her tighter, tucking her head under my chin, shielding her from the sight.
“You’re safe now,” I whisper again, even though my pulse is still roaring.
Because safe is something I will make true.
Even if I have to tear this entire forest apart to do it.
Lucky whispers into my shirt, voice cracked and small, “Ethan…?”
“I’ve got you,” I breathe, holding her tighter. “I’m not letting anything touch you again.”