Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Adalynn
Sunlight leaks around the edges of the curtains, and the first thing I feel is the heat creeping up my neck.
My skin burns hot. Shame does that. It keeps playing the scene from last night over and over behind my eyelids.
I shouldn’t have let him talk to Dodge that way.
Carter thinks he’s ready to step up, to be the man, but he just made us look like a disaster waiting to happen.
I stare at the ceiling while dust motes dance in the light.
How do I face Dodge now? After Carter’s outburst on the porch, I’m sure he sees us as a liability.
We’re already taking up space in his mom’s house, and now we’re a headache he didn't sign up for.
A ticking time bomb. I pull the quilt up until it covers my chin.
It smells like clean laundry, not the road, but the comfort feels wrong. My stomach knots up.
What if he’s already decided we’re too much work?
What if he packs our bags and escorts us out of town?
I have to fix this. I have to prove we’re worth the risk before he realizes we’re just sinking weight.
“I’m sorry,” Carter whispers. He rolls onto his side, the mattress groaning under the weight of his guilt. He stares at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “I don't know what got into me, sis.”
I swipe my tongue across my dry lips. I try to construct some excuse for him, some way to justify his outburst, but the words refuse to form.
Anger flares hot behind my eyes. I want to lash out.
I want to shake him until he understands how close we came to losing everything.
Then I look at him and I see the hurt in his eyes.
The heat drains from my chest, leaving only a cold ache to reside there.
I can’t take this out on him. He’s just a boy forced to bear the weight of a world that shattered around us.
He’s still learning how to be a person, let alone a man.
“Today’s a new day, Carter,” I say as I force myself to meet his eyes. “We’ve got to make better choices from here on out.”
Avoiding my eyes, he focuses instead on the creased blanket clustered between us, though he remains facing my direction. “I will, I promise,” he vows, his voice fracturing slightly in a way that confirms he finally understands the gravity of our situation.
I lean back against the headboard, feeling the rough wood press into my spine.
It’s hard to breathe in this room that isn’t ours, with all of us cramped into a space that feels too small for the secrets we’re carrying.
My comfort isn’t the priority here, it’s keeping the four of us from shattering.
“We’re dependent on Dodge now. You saw to that, and you didn’t give me any room to object, but we’re here.
We’ve got to deal with the fallout. We’ve got to find a way to trust him to make the right calls, the kind that won’t have us buried six feet under. ”
He stares at his hands, his knuckles grasping the edge of the blanket.
He’s wrestling with his own anger, trying to bury the kid he used to be.
“And me going on a one man revenge scheme won’t keep us that way,” he says, more to himself than me.
He looks up, his expression hardening. “I get it, Adalynn. I’m done acting like I can take on the world alone. I’m just… I’m tired of being scared.”
He’s said this to me before, and I believed him then just like I do now, but there’s something different in his tone this time that scares the everloving shit out of me. “What are you thinking, Carter?”
“That I’m a failure,” he mumbles.
Reaching out, I place my hand on his shoulder and ask, “How do you figure that?”
“I shouldn’t have just grabbed Amelia and Noah and fled back to your car that day after you picked us up from school and brought us home. I should’ve stayed behind to try and save Mom and Dad.”
My whole body trembles at the mere memory of that afternoon, reliving the sheer terror that gripped us once they scrambled into my vehicle.
The haunting look on Carter's face was all it took for me to slam my foot down on the gas pedal and never look back. “There was nothing you could have done, Carter. They were already gone by then,” I counter softly. “Trusting yourself was the right call, and it’s the exact reason all three of you are alive today.” I had driven us straight to the police department to report the horror—how the house was left in shambles, and how the blood staining the floor was what drove Carter to gather our siblings and flee.
At first, the authorities brushed us off, treating us like children with overactive imaginations.
Their skepticism completely evaporated the moment a cruiser was dispatched for a welfare check.
That grim discovery threw everything into absolute chaos.
We were quickly ushered to a hotel to wait while they tried to locate any living relatives—an impossible task, since there was no one left to find.
When night fell, we pried loose the few details the police were willing to share, which amounted to virtually nothing, and immediately fled the scene.
Even though they had posted a guard at our door, their sheer incompetence left the rear completely exposed.
We managed to slip out through a tiny window right above the shower, and I drained my entire bank account just to buy bus tickets for us.
As a part-time worker and a college student, our financial resources were incredibly tight, but I somehow tracked down a slumlord who let us rent his run-down house in Colorado for next to nothing.
It was freezing inside, but it gave us a roof over our heads and a brief moment to map out our next move.
That was until the very monsters who murdered our parents ambushed us, which is exactly what forced us to flee here.
Carter releases a loud, drawn out sigh which has me jumping out of my memories and entering the present. “I’m going to apologize to Dodge.”
“That’s a solid start,” I tell him, and a wave of relief strikes me.
His gaze holds a rare, steady focus that cuts through the lingering tension.
He seems ready to own the mess he made. The heavy atmosphere in this cramped room finally thins out just enough for us to breathe.
“He’s a difficult man to read, but he respects anyone who owns their mistakes.
If you’re really serious, you’ve got a shot at making things right.
” He nods, and for the first time in days, his shoulders don’t look like they’re braced for an impact.
It’s a small thing, but it feels like everything.
“I know,” he mumbles, turning away from me and staring at the window where the sun is beginning to climb higher into the sky.
Morning light streams into the space, catching the swirling dust in the heavy air and washing over the faded carpet.
Real sleep feels like a distant memory. Swinging his legs out of bed, he stands up, pajama pants pooling around his ankles.
His movements are rushed as he pulls on his worn jeans, balancing unsteadily on one foot before pulling a shirt over his head.
Although the quiet isn’t as intense as before, a tight energy still radiates from him.
Ignoring me at first, he focuses solely on his clothes, treating them like a protective barrier for whatever lies ahead.
Stepping over to the door, his hand wraps tightly around the knob, knuckles straining against the doorknob. “I'm going to find him now,” he states, a newfound hardness in his voice. He looks back at me with a cautious but resolved stare. “No more waiting. I have to fix this.”
“You can do this, Carter,” I whisper encouragingly. He gives a simple nod, opening the door and quietly shutting it as he leaves the room.
Behind me, Amelia stirs, her small stature shifting against the sheets.
I don’t have much time to pull myself together before the house comes alive.
I grab my bag, moving as quiet as a mouse, and slip into the hallway.
The floorboards are cold under my feet as I step into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft, final thud.
It’s my only refuge. I need to be someone else for a while.
Someone who isn’t terrified. I neatly arrange my makeup on the counter.
It’s a ritual I’ve perfected out of necessity any time I needed to be somebody else.
Liner. Lipstick. Foundation. Each piece finds its place in a precise line.
I set my clothes on the toilet lid and turn on the shower, watching the steam rise against the mirror.
I need the heat to sink into my bones and chase away the chill embedded into the very core of my body.
I’m building a mask today. I’m painting on a face that says I’m not afraid of anything, even if the person looking back at me in the mirror knows it’s a lie.
My breath hitches the second I step into the bedroom and don't see the kids. Panic claws at my throat before reality settles in. It isn’t a kidnapping.
They're gone because they’re safe. I exhale, the sound shuddering out of me.
My pulse thunders against my ribs, though it starts to level off when a low murmur of voices drifts from the kitchen.
Putting my dirty laundry in the corner, I shift on my feet and head down the hallway, following the voices.
The aroma of coffee and bacon fills the kitchen.
It feels almost surreal, a stark contrast to the icy fear that’s haunted us for days.
Noah and Amelia perch on the vinyl chairs as sunlight pools on the linoleum in golden rays of sunlight.
Miranda moves from the stove to the table, piling their plates high with eggs and toast. Dodge stands by the coffee pot.
He remains silent and imposing, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over that leather cut.
He tracks my movements, eyes steady, but says nothing.
He lets his mother take charge. A quiet cough draws my attention to the corner.
Carter sits in the window seat. I shoot him a questioning look and he gives me a firm nod.
Relief washes over me. He talked to Dodge, and the strain from last night finally disappears as he confirms that everything is good between them.
“Morning, Adalynn. How did you sleep?” Miranda asks, turning from the stove with a fresh plate.
“Good,” I lie, and force a weak smile. Dodge watches me over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip.
The dark brew looks hot, but he doesn't even flinch. His gaze meets mine, and I feel heat creeping up my throat. That slight curve of his lips signals he sees right through my act. He knows I’m wearing a disguise.
He remains quiet, just observing from his spot against the counter.
Being in this kitchen feels strange. It seems too ordinary.
I’m just pretending to be fine, but I know better.
We’re stuck here with him because he’s the only thing standing between us and the people who want us dead.
Silverware scrapes against ceramic, the only sound in the room.
It’s an ordinary noise, yet it feels unsettling, a reminder of the life we’re borrowing.
Noah eats his toast without looking up, his fingers coated in egg, while Amelia cuts her pancakes into tiny, precise shapes.
In the morning light, they look like regular kids, which is a cruel shift from the shell-shocked people we were last night.
Miranda flits between them like a hen, refilling juice and brushing hair from Amelia’s face.
The tenderness hurts to watch. I stare at my bacon, pushing it around the plate just to avoid looking at the man leaning against the counter.
Dodge doesn't move. Every time he breathes, his leather cut creaks, a rhythmic sound that keeps me on edge. He’s a wall of muscle and unspoken threats, a barrier that reeks of old oil and tobacco.
His focus feels like a physical weight against my temples, unraveling the composure I worked so hard to fake in the bathroom.
He knows I’m terrified. He can see through the mask.
We’re at his mercy, tied to a motorcycle club because the outside world is hunting us down.
The weight of that reality is hard to stomach.
“After breakfast, we need to talk,” he says, breaking the quiet.
“Alright,” I manage to say, though my voice shakes. A small smirk touches his lips—he’s enjoying my discomfort.