Chapter 31 Chloe
Chloe
They release my hands from the cuffs. I rub my wrists but that’s the least amount of pain I feel. I’m numb. I pull my cardigan tighter around me, the fabric thin and inadequate against the chill creeping through the cabin.
I can’t look at either of them, and not remember every touch, every whispered lie that has twisted my world inside out. All this fucking time, and I had no idea.
Miles. I questioned myself earlier, not wanting to believe that he was my kidnapper last school year. But it was him. He’s destroyed the only semblance of safety I thought I had.
Jamie. I’d thought he was separate from this, clean somehow, but he had known. He had let it happen.
I stop mid-step, jaw tight, stomach in knots.
My father. My dad is dead. I can’t wrap my head around it.
I don’t think he committed suicide, I think that’s just what they’re calling it.
And now, to realize that Miles and his uncle had been part of the chain that led here?
It’s like my world is tilting, like gravity has betrayed me, and the air is too thick to breathe.
Jamie shifts behind me, voice careful. “Chloe.”
I whip around, pointing an accusing finger. “You knew! You knew about this and you let it happen. And for what? All for… money!” My voice is raw, jagged, slicing through the cabin like glass.
“Baby, I didn’t—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Don’t bullshit me, Jamie! Don’t pretend you didn’t know!
You were part of this. You stood on the sidelines, Jamie.
You don’t give two fucks about me!” My hands are trembling, I can’t stop them.
I cover my ears, trying to block the world, trying to stop the spinning in my head.
“I need… I need to leave!” I scream, and the sound ricochets off the walls.
Jamie takes a step forward, hands raised in some sort of placation. “Chloe, please, calm down. Just listen—”
“No!” I slam my hand against the wall beside me.
“I don’t want to listen! I don’t want anything from you!
From either of you!” My voice cracks, and I can’t stop the tears anymore.
My chest heaves as I sink against the wall, staring at the floor, at them.
At the monsters I thought I could trust. “Last night was a fucking mistake. Meeting either of you was a gigantic mistake. After everything I have learned today, that’s the part I can’t get over.
You lied to me, again. You fucked me over and over again. Manipulative fucking bastards.”
Jamie exhales, frustrated, desperate. “I’m trying to help, Chloe. Just listen. We can get you out of Pointe. We can get you out. Safe.”
I shake my head, hysterical. “No! No, I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want—” My hands fly to my ears again, squeezing tight. “I need… I need to leave. Now. Give me the phone. Give me my bag. I’m done with both of you.”
Jamie hesitates. He glances at Miles, who is silent, watching. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but not cruel—just steady, like he’s measuring me. And I hate that. I hate that I have to look at him at all, even when my gut tells me he’s the lesser evil of the two.
Miles’s voice cuts through the tension, calm and controlled. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I’m heaving now. “I DON’T CARE.”
He looks hurt but at least he’s no longer trying to make any physical contact with me. “Jamie.”
I glance between them, chest tightening.
Jamie’s hands are gentle as he hands me my phone, my bag, my journal. I hug them to my chest, tears spilling freely now, blurring my vision. His hand lingers, brushing against mine.
“It’s okay, Chloe. It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“You two are fucking evil,” I whisper, not looking at him. “I wish I’d never met either of you. I wish I’d never… let any of this happen. My dad is dead, and it is all your fault.”
He swallows hard, eyes pained, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t argue. All three of us walk to the car, the woods pressing in around us. Every snapped branch underfoot feels like the echo of my old life, now shattered beyond recognition. I cannot fathom that my dad is gone.
The engine rumbles, and we pull onto the narrow path. My hands clutch the bag in my lap.
Jamie’s voice is low, patient. “I’ll get you to the main road. From there, you can disappear. Just… trust me.”
I glance at Miles in the rearview mirror. I cannot bear his gaze, cannot meet his eyes. He’s standing in the driveway, watching us drive away.
I nod once, almost imperceptibly.
He tilts his head, acknowledging and turns his attention back to the darkness beyond the windshield.
The car snakes through the trees. The night presses in, suffocating and dense, and I cannot believe just how upside down my life has become. Every safe thing I thought I had is gone.
We drive and then headlights appear out of nowhere. For half a second, I think I’m imagining them. Then the world erupts.
The sound hits first—a shriek that slices through the night. The jolt slams me against the door, my shoulder exploding with pain. Glass rains down like ice. The car jerks sideways, the seatbelt cutting into my ribs. My bag flies from my lap, my journal spins through the air, pages fluttering.
Jamie’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Chloe!”
He’s gripping the wheel, fighting it with both hands, the veins in his arms straining. The headlights of the other car flash again, closer this time—
Impact.
Another hit.
The world folds in on itself.
My head snaps forward, pain bursts bright behind my eyes. The window beside me shatters, cold air rushing in. I can’t tell which way is up. I can’t hear anything but my pulse and the grinding of metal. My body slams hard into the seatbelt again, the air ripped from my lungs.
Then—silence.
“Chloe—hey—” Jamie’s voice is hoarse. He’s turned toward me, blood streaking down his temple. “You okay?”
I can’t answer. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I stare at the windshield, at the spiderweb cracks spreading through it, at the smoke curling in thin gray ribbons. My brain feels disconnected, floating somewhere above me.
“Run,” Jamie says suddenly. His tone sharpens, urgent. “Get out. Now.”
I blink. My ears are ringing, my limbs heavy. I turn to him and freeze.
Blood seeps through his shirt. Slow at first, then faster, blooming crimson across his chest. His hands tremble as he reaches for me.
“Go,” he rasps.
“Jamie.” The word tears from me. “You’re—”
The next sound shatters what’s left of the world. A gunshot. Too close.
Jamie jerks. His body folds forward, his shoulder hitting the steering wheel. My scream catches in my throat. “No, no—Jamie!” I grab his arm, but it’s slick with blood. His breath stutters, shallow.
Movement outside. A shape through the shattered glass. Boots crunching gravel.
My vision swims. Through the haze, I see him. Those eyes—cold, pale, impossible to forget. I know them. I know that voice that once told me not to scream.
Miles wasn’t alone that night. He had help. And this man—this shadow—is stepping toward us now, calm as if he’s taking a walk.
Another gunshot. I flinch so hard my head slams against the window. Jamie collapses completely, his body sliding toward me. Blood splatters across my arm, hot and unreal.
Everything slows again. My breath shortens. I reach for the door handle, fingers slipping. A shape moves behind me—too fast—and a hand grabs my shoulder, yanking me back hard.
I scream. I kick. My nails scrape skin, fabric—something. Then rough hands shove a coarse fabric bag over my head. Darkness swallows everything.
“No!” I gasp, twisting, choking on my breath. “Stop! Stop it! Let me go—”
The bag tightens around my face. My lungs burn. I can smell smoke, gasoline, blood. My mind spins—too much, too fast. I try to claw at the bag, but my wrists are caught. My heart slams against my ribs, wild, panicked.
Through the muffled chaos, I hear voices. One low. One sharp. One that sounds like—
Miles.
And something colder that answers him.
The car shifts. Someone’s dragging me, my knees scraping over glass and asphalt. My head pounds, every nerve screaming.
Bits and pieces of memory flash. The ransom, the lies, my father’s death. The nights I tried to convince myself that Miles wasn’t the monster I remembered. That maybe I’d been wrong.
But I hadn’t been wrong. Not about any of it.
The panic claws up my throat. I twist harder, my chest heaving. The bag smells like sweat and dirt. I can taste the blood in my mouth, copper and bitter.
“Chloe…” A whisper near my ear. I freeze. I can’t tell whose voice it is—it’s close, almost gentle. “It’s okay.”
No, it’s not.
My hands slam against whoever’s holding me. I scream, the sound muffled and raw. My lungs ache. The night presses close—smoke, metal, the faint, awful gurgle of Jamie’s last breath somewhere behind me.
My tears blur everything inside the bag. My fingers ache from how tightly I’m clawing at the air. The world narrows to sound and pain and the desperate need to survive.
I can’t see, but I can feel them moving around me—their boots crunching, the shuffle of bodies. Someone curses. Someone else breathes too close.
Every instinct in me says fight.
Fight or die.
So I kick. Hard.
I hit something solid. A grunt. I twist again, screaming until my throat tears.
I am not theirs to do whatever they want with.
The car groans behind me, something catching fire. I smell it now—the sharp bite of burning oil, the sweet tang of blood. My cardigan sleeve sticks to my skin.
Hands seize my arms again. I thrash, but they’re stronger. My knees scrape asphalt, my head swimming, my chest tight.
The darkness feels endless.
But somewhere under the panic, there’s a thread of something else. Fury. Defiance. The same thing that kept me alive before.
I don’t stop screaming.
I don’t stop fighting.
Even when the bag cuts off most of the air, even when the world tilts and blurs, even when I know the odds are impossible.
Because I’ve already survived them once.
And I will again.
I wake to a wet, metallic taste in my mouth and the echo of screaming that twists my stomach.
My head pounds, a relentless drum, and my eyes snap open just enough to catch the dim outlines of the warehouse.
Shadows dance along the walls, cast by the flickering light of a single swinging bulb. And then I see Miles.
Confusion spreads through my mind like wildfire, erasing everything I thought I knew.
I thought he had part of this, that he was the one kidnapping me, but am I wrong?
Seeing Miles like this makes my chest ache, but not for too long because now I’m filled with rage when I realize how much they’ve already beaten him.
The man from before hammers into Miles’ side.
Miles grits his teeth with a strangled cry, twisting against the blows.
My heart tries to leap out of my chest, a scream clawing up my throat, but Miles—he manages a shaking, bloody shake of his head at me.
I clamp my teeth over my tongue, tasting iron, tasting fear, tasting rage.
“How the hell—” I barely whisper, horror clawing at me. Miles catches my gaze briefly, a look that says I don’t know, but stay with me.
“That’s enough,” a voice snaps, cold and measured. My stomach knots.
Footsteps echo against the concrete, slow, deliberate.
A middle-aged man strolls in, the faint stench of whisky and cigar smoke trailing him like a mark of territory.
He’s perfectly dressed, a dark suit that should look elegant but instead feels like a uniform for cruelty.
He carries a half-empty bottle of amber whisky in one hand, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
He stops in front of me, tilting his head, eyes dark and appraising. “Well, well,” he says, voice smooth, amused. “You’re a pretty thing.”
I spit at him without thinking.
The crack of a backhand knocks the breath out of me. Pain blossoms across my cheek. My vision blurs, the world tipping sideways, but I blink through it.
“Don’t,” Miles hisses, his voice ragged, but it’s drowned by the sickening thud of the hammer meeting flesh again. His scream rips through the warehouse, ragged and raw.
The man raises the cigar toward him lazily. “Be quiet.” Then another hammer blow lands, and Miles screams again, a sound that twists my chest into knots.
“You,” the man says, turning his attention back to me. His voice is low, dark, a predator circling. “You and I haven’t officially met. I am Victor. And you…you have something of mine.”
I swallow hard, trying to force words past my fear. My chest heaves. My hands are trembling. I want to lash out, scream, fight, but the sharp, cruel reality of Miles’ suffering freezes me in place. I’m trapped, powerless, and every instinct screams at me to run, to do something, anything.
Victor steps closer, and I can smell the smoke, the alcohol, the danger. His gaze flicks to Miles again, then back to me, and I realize with a cold, sinking certainty that whatever I have—whatever he wants—it’s something I can’t give willingly. And yet, my body wants to fight him anyway.
I lift my chin, trying to appear unafraid, and my voice comes out shakier than I want. “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.”
Victor chuckles, dark and slow. He reaches for me again, his hand brushing my cheek like he’s marking territory. “Oh, I think you know what it is. And if I were you, I would want to start cooperating,” he murmurs. “And soon, you’ll see exactly why.”
I look at Miles, bleeding, breathing hard, and something fierce ignites inside me.