Chapter 3
THREE
Fern
I don’t have time to respond to him before he picks me up again and strides through the trees. The second my stomach lands on his shoulder, panic slams into my chest.
The big guy—Jameson—doesn’t slow as he carries me straight up the porch steps of a house tucked deep into the trees. Warm light spills from the windows. It looks safe. Cozy, even.
Which is precisely why I start fighting.
“No—no, no, no!” I twist in his grip, kicking and squirming as hard as I can. “Put me down!”
He barely reacts to my attack, which only makes my fear spike higher. I know I could never take him in a fight, so that lonely eaves running.
“Fern,” he says firmly, like he has every right to say my name. “You’re safe here.”
“Easy for you to say!” I shout.
I try to remember every true-crime show I’ve ever seen. What did they say about kidnappings? Something about not being taken to a second location.
“This is a second location!” I scream at him.
His steps pause. “What?”
I kick out again. “You’re not supposed to go to a second location!”
“This is the first place I’ve taken you,” he says as he opens the front door.
The second he crosses the threshold, I grab the doorframe with everything I have, fingers locking around the wood. Pain shoots up my arms, but I cling to it like it’s my last lifeline.
“I am not going to a second location,” I snap, heart hammering wildly. “That’s literally how people disappear. I never should’ve let you carry me anywhere!”
“I was helping you,” he says, frustration creeping into his deep voice.
“Oh, is that what we’re calling kidnapping now?” I glare over my shoulder at him. “Because that’s what it feels like!”
Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind us. I look up to see three more men approaching the porch. They look relaxed. Amused, even.
Great. Of course they are. Now I’ve traded two men in the truck for four men and a cabin.
I bare my teeth at them in a silent challenge.
Jameson turns his head toward them and lets out a low, dangerous growl. “I’ve got this.”
One of the guys chuckles. “Yeah? Looks like you do.”
“I said I’ve got it,” he snaps.
They lift their hands in surrender and back off, still grinning like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all night.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “We’ll see about that.”
Jameson exhales sharply, clearly reaching the end of his patience. I tense, expecting him to tug my hands free and carry me inside, but he surprises me and sets me down.
My feet land on the porch. I blink, stunned into silence. Before I can think about what to do, he’s there, shifting closer, too close, caging me against the wall with his body.
My breath stutters out as I stare up at him. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him everywhere.
“You let me carry you here,” he says quietly. “That means something, Fern. You have to trust me.”
“I don’t,” I fire back. “You were just the better option in the moment.”
Something dark flickers behind his eyes, but he nods once. “I’m always going to be the better option for you. I’m the only option.”
I frown. “Let me go.”
“I can’t. It’s not safe out there for you.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say stubbornly, even though I know that he’s right. If those guys aren’t looking for me, my dad could be.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I glare up at him. “Out here.”
He growls again, clearly hating my idea, but finally says, “Fine.”
Jameson steps back and drops onto the porch steps, elbows resting on his knees. I stay standing, arms crossed tight over my chest, every nerve still buzzing with adrenaline.
The truth is that I am wary of him, but the terrifying part is that he’s right. I do trust him. As absolutely insane as that sounds.
“Why were you with those men?” he asks quietly.
The question cracks something open in me, and I debate how much I should tell him. I decide to go with the truth. Maybe he can help me if I’m honest with him.
“My dad sold me,” I say flatly. “Sold me into marriage.”
Jameson freezes.
I shrug, even though my throat burns. “I’m not sure for how much,” I say, and then wonder why I added that.
His jaw tightens so hard I hear his teeth grind. “You’re not marrying any of those men.”
“Yeah, I know. Hence my throwing myself out of the truck at you back there.” I hold up my hands, pointing back to the forest.
His eyes drop to my wrists then, and the rage that crosses his face is terrifying.
“Jesus fucking…”
He’s on his feet in an instant, pulling a knife from somewhere I didn’t even see. Before I can react, he gently takes my bound hands and slices through the rope.
The pressure disappears. So does the pain.
Blood rushes back into my fingers, and I gasp in relief. I flex my fingers as Jameson glares at the bloody rope in his hands. Blood drips from the cut on my wrists, and I wince as I roll out my hands.
“You’re staying here,” he says firmly, “where you’ll be safe.”
Then he turns and walks inside without another word.
I stare after him, debating what to do. I look into the darkening forest, then at the house—warm light, solid door, safety I don’t trust.
Running would be the smart thing to do, but my body moves forward anyway.
I step inside the house.
And pray I haven’t made another terrible mistake.