Chapter 10 Trigger
Trigger
The road stopped being a road about an hour after we left Eagle River, before we turned off.
The pavement turned to gravel, then dirt, then a narrow strip of frozen mud cutting through black timber like a scar. The truck’s headlights tunneled forward and swallowed the trees—thick pines and bare-limbed oaks that leaned in close like they were listening.
Rylie sat rigid in the passenger seat, her hands tucked under her thighs as if she didn’t trust herself to move. She’d put her coat on without me telling her. She’d followed me out the back door of the Tavern without a single question. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified.
It just meant she was brave.
And for some reason, that made something inside my chest go hot and sharp.
The heater blew lukewarm air. The windshield wipers squeaked across the glass every few seconds, pushing away mist that didn’t quite turn to rain. The radio was off. No music. No chatter. The kind of silence that made you hear your own thoughts too clearly.
I kept my eyes on the road. On the trees. On the mirror.
“Trigger?” Her voice was quiet. Not shaky. Controlled.
I glanced over for half a second. “Yeah.”
“How far?”
“Twenty more minutes or so.”
“Where are we going?”
“A cabin.”
She swallowed. I saw the movement in her throat. “Whose cabin?”
“Mine.”
That snapped her head toward me. Her eyes were wide in the dashboard light, a darker blue than the sky had been earlier today. “You… own a cabin?”
I almost laughed, but it came out as a short breath through my nose. “I don’t own much. But yeah. Every once in a while, I enjoy getting away and doing some fishing.
“In the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s the point.”
Her gaze stayed on me a beat too long, like she was trying to decide if I was kidding. If this were a joke. If I were teasing her.
I didn’t do much teasing anymore.
I’d stopped teasing the day I learned what it felt like to lose a man who’d been laughing one second and bleeding out the next.
She looked away and stared through the windshield again. “Thomas won’t find us?”
“He can’t.”
“You sound pretty sure.”
“I am.”
Rylie’s mouth tightened. “What if he—”
“He won’t,” I cut in, and my tone came out harder than I meant.
I forced myself to breathe. To loosen my grip on the steering wheel before I cracked the damn thing.
“He doesn’t know this place exists. It’s not in your dad’s files.
It’s not in town records. There’s no mail route, no utility hookups. No cell service.”
Her voice got smaller. “No one knows?”
“My team knows.” I paused. “Wolf knows. Havoc. Ace. Ghost. Beast. Saint. They’re watching Eagle River right now, watching the tavern. Watching the roads. If Thomas shows his face in town, they’ll see it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we wait. We’ve contacted the FBI and they were already investigating Thorn.
She let out a slow breath, the kind that sounded like she’d been holding it in for hours. “And my dad?”
“I told Wolf. He’ll handle your dad.”
That earned me another sharp look. “Handle him how?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, and that actually made her blink. “Wolf has this way of looking at people like they’re a problem he’s already solved. Your dad will be mad for about ten minutes. Then he’ll realize you’re alive because we moved you.”
Rylie turned her face to the window again. Outside, the woods thickened. The road narrowed. Snow clung to the shadows on either side, and the deeper we went, the quieter everything got—like the world itself was holding its breath.
That was what I wanted.
Quiet.
Unseen.
Unreachable.
I’d learned a long time ago that there were two kinds of protection. The kind where you stood your ground and dared the threat to come. And the kind where you disappeared so completely that the threat never even got a chance.
Rylie deserved the second kind.
I didn’t.
But she did.
The truck bounced over a rut. Rylie sucked in a breath and grabbed the dash, her knuckles going pale.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“I’m fine.” Her chin lifted. “I just… didn’t realize you were serious.”
I flicked my eyes to her again. “About what?”
She hesitated. “About him. About Thomas Thorn.”
My jaw tightened.
I didn’t like saying his name. Didn’t like giving him space in the air between us.
“You ran out on your wedding,” I said, keeping my voice even. “From a man who isn’t letting you breathe. A man who thinks he owns you. a man who choked you until you blacked out. That’s serious. He threatened you and everyone in Eagle River.”
Rylie’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.
Good.
The cabin appeared out of nowhere.
One second, there was only forest, and the next, the headlights caught a rough wooden structure tucked back behind a stand of pines, its roof dusted with snow from the other day, its windows dark. No porch light. No signs. No path except the one I’d just driven.
I pulled the truck behind a cluster of trees, killed the lights, and let the engine idle for three seconds.
Listen.
Silence.
No engines. No footsteps. No voices. Just wind and branches rubbing together like bones.
I shut the truck off and the world went even quieter.
Rylie stared at the cabin. “This is… yours?”
“It’s paid for,” I said. “That’s all that matters.”
She didn’t move.
I reached across her, popped the glove box, and pulled out the flashlight. I didn’t touch her. Not even by accident.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I could stop at one touch.
“Stay in the truck,” I said.
Her head snapped toward me. “What? No, I’m—”
“Rylie.” I kept my tone calm and firm. The same one I used with rookies when they wanted to play hero. “Stay. I need to clear it first. You know chase away the wild animals,” I say just to ease her nerves a little.
Her eyes flashed. “You think someone could be in there?”
“I don’t think. I check.”
That made her pause. Then she nodded once, tight and unhappy.
I stepped out, cold air slamming into my lungs. The higher elevation was much colder. The night smelled like pine sap and wet earth. My boots crunched softly over snow as I moved toward the cabin, flashlight off, using the moonlight and memory.
I knew every dip in the ground out here. Every line of sight. Every place a man could hide if he was stupid enough to try.
The cabin door was exactly where I left it.
I pulled my weapon, moved to the side, and listened again.
Nothing.
I opened the door in one smooth motion and slipped inside.
The cabin was small—one main room with a table, a couch that had seen better decades, a kitchenette with the wooden cook stove, and a narrow hallway leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. It smelled like cedar and old smoke from the last time I’d used the woodstove.
I swept the corners. Checked the windows. Checked the back door. Checked the closet. Under the bed. Behind the shower curtain.
Clear.
I turned the flashlight on and went straight to the woodstove. Set kindling. Stacked logs. Struck a match.
The flame caught, and warmth began the slow fight against the cold.
Then I went to the generator shed out back, flipped it on, and the cabin hummed to life—soft lights glowing in the windows like it had been waiting for us.
When I came back outside, Rylie was standing beside the truck with her coat pulled tight around her, hair blown across her face by the wind.
I stopped short.
“Didn’t I say stay in the truck?” I asked.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
A beat passed.
Then she said, quieter, “I couldn’t breathe in there.”
I exhaled.
I couldn’t blame her.
“Come on,” I said, and this time I did reach out—just long enough to guide her toward the cabin with a gentle hand at the small of her back.
She stiffened at first.
Then, slowly, she leaned into it like she’d been waiting for someone to steady her.
That touch—so small, so innocent—hit me like a punch to the ribs.
I pulled my hand away before I did something stupid.
Inside, the cabin was warm enough to take the bite off. The lights were low, soft. Shadows stretched across the worn hardwood floor. The woodstove crackled. The whole place felt like a cozy welcome-home feeling.
Rylie stood in the middle of the room and looked around like she couldn’t decide if she should be comforted or unsettled.
“It’s… nice,” she said.
“It’s not fancy.”
“I didn’t say fancy.” She looked at me. “I said nice, and cozy.”
I shrugged, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. Of how the silence made every breath loud.
I forced myself into motion. “I’ll get you blankets.”
Rylie followed me to the closet without thinking, then stopped short when the hallway narrowed and we were too close for comfort.
Or… too close for control.
I grabbed two extra blankets, tossed one to her.
She caught it automatically, then stared at it like she didn’t know what to do with softness.
I recognized that look.
It was the look of someone who’d been in survival mode too long.
“Sit,” I said, nodding toward the couch.
She hesitated.
I didn’t push. I just waited.
Then Rylie slowly lowered herself onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders like armor.
I crouched in front of the woodstove and adjusted the log, keeping my back to her so she didn’t feel watched.
But I was watching anyway.
Always.
Rylie’s voice came out behind me, barely above a whisper. “Trigger?”
“Yeah.”
“If Thomas… if he comes to town and realizes I’m gone…”
I turned my head enough to see her. Her eyes were shining, but she wasn’t crying. Not yet.
“He’ll lose it,” I said honestly.
Her throat bobbed. “And my dad?”
“He’ll protect the town,” I said. “He’s the sheriff.”
“And you?”
I stood slowly and faced her fully.
The firelight painted her face warm, softening the edges of her fear. It made her look younger. Made her look like someone who should be worried about dress fittings and flowers and a future that didn’t include running in the dark.
“I’m protecting you,” I said.
Her lips trembled, just slightly. “Why?”
The question wasn’t accusatory.
It was broken.
Like she didn’t understand why anyone would choose her when choosing her came with danger.
I took one step closer, then stopped. Not touching her. Not crowding her.
“Because you don’t belong to him,” I said.
Rylie’s breath hitched.
“And because,” I added, quieter, “I’m not letting him take you.”
A long silence filled the room.
Then Rylie whispered, “I never planned to marry him.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know how I would get out of it, but I knew I wasn’t going to marry him..”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Her eyes squeezed shut for a second, and when she opened them, that shine had turned to something else—something steadier.
Trust.
“Okay,” she said.
One word.
But it sounded like surrender.
Not to fear.
To me.
I nodded once. “Okay.”
I moved toward the small table where I’d left my bag. Pulled out a satellite radio and set it down, then checked the time.
1:17 a.m.
The town was sleeping.
But danger didn’t sleep.
I clicked the radio on, low.
Static hissed, then Wolf’s voice came through, rough and steady.
“Trigger.”
I picked it up. “Go.”
“We’re set,” Wolf said. “Town’s quiet. Nora’s resting. She’s having contractions, but nothing consistent yet. I’m not leaving her side.”
“Copy.”
“And your girl?” Wolf asked.
I glanced at Rylie. She was watching me, listening even though she couldn’t hear the radio.
“She’s safe,” I said.
Wolf exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Good. Keep it that way. If Thomas makes a move, we’ll see it.”
“I know.”
Static crackled again.
Then Wolf’s voice dropped, lower. “Trigger… don’t underestimate him.”
My grip tightened on the radio. “I’m not.”
“Good.” A beat. “Because I’ve got a feeling he’s about to show us who he really is.”
The radio hissed and went quiet.
I set it down slowly.
Rylie’s voice came softly from the couch. “What did he say?”
I walked to her, stopping a few feet away.
“That the town’s quiet,” I said. “That Nora’s okay, having light contractions.”
Her face softened at Nora’s name—like the idea of someone else being safe mattered more than her own fear.
Then she swallowed. “And Thomas?”
I held her gaze, no sugarcoating, no false comfort.
“He hasn’t moved yet,” I said. “But he will.”
Rylie’s fingers tightened on the blanket.
I wanted to go to her. To sit beside her. To put my arm around her and tell her she was safe and make her believe it with my body.
But safety wasn’t a hug.
It was discipline.
It was staying sharp.
It was sleeping in a chair facing the door, weapon within reach, listening to the woods.
I forced my voice to stay steady. “You should try to rest.”
Rylie stared at me like she could see the war inside my head.
“Are you going to sleep?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
Because the truth was…
Not a chance.
“I’ll be right here,” I said instead.
Her shoulders sagged slightly, relief slipping through.
She nodded once, then slowly leaned back against the couch, pulling the blanket higher.
Within minutes, her breathing shifted—still tense, but deeper. Like exhaustion was finally winning.
I stayed standing, watching the window.
Watching the door.
Watching the dark.
Because somewhere out there, a man who thought he owned her was going to wake up and realize his leash was empty.
And when he did…
He’d come looking.
I just hoped he started in town.
Not here.