Chapter 21
SAGE
Istumbled after him, every nerve in my body screaming in protest, like each step was another betrayal. My bare feet scraped against the cold, uneven gravel, and every shift of movement sent fresh agony spiraling through me… But it didn’t matter. I kept moving. Because stopping meant surrendering.
And I couldn’t.
The sharp tang of blood filled the back of my throat, metallic and bitter. I tasted it with every shallow breath I took. My hands—shaking violently—clutched at my sides, as if I could somehow hold myself together. But my body was splintered. My strength fading with every unsteady footstep.
Still, I followed him.
Klay.
His name throbbed inside my skull, a dull, relentless beat, pounding in time with the pain. He was only a few feet ahead of me, his broad shoulders cutting a jagged line against the horizon. The taillights from his car glowed dimly in the distance as he walked towards them.
And he didn’t slow.
He didn’t look back.
Like I wasn’t there.
Then—his voice.
Cold. Sharp as shattered glass against my already broken spirit, “Sage, you’re pathetic.”
The words sliced through me with surgical precision, finding every place I was weakest. My breath hitched. Tears blurred my vision until he was just a smear of darkness moving through even more darkness, losing visibility before me.
But I kept going.
Because I had no choice.
“Klay…” My voice cracked, “You have to believe me. It’s the truth.”
I hated the way I sounded—small. But I couldn’t help it because it was what I had been whittled down to.
He stopped.
And for just a second.
Hope flared—stupid, reckless hope.
I should’ve known better.
As he turned, his stare hit me like a punch to the gut.
Eyes flat and unrecognizable.
There wasn’t even anger there anymore.
Just disgust.
“You probably did this shit to yourself,” he sneered, his lip curling back in a mockery of a smile. “Is that what this is, Sage? Huh? Some desperate little cry for sympathy? Is that how you get attention now?”
I flinched.
The accusation hit harder than his fists ever could.
I tried to speak.
To defend myself.
But the words stuck in my throat, “I… I just…” The rest of it died on my lips.
Nothing left.
No strength.
No fight.
Klay’s expression darkened.
Something primal and vicious lit behind his eyes.
Two steps.
That’s all it took for him to close the distance.
And then—he shoved me.
Hard.
The impact was brutal.
I hit the ground with a crack, gravel tearing into my palms, slicing my skin open. Pain flared sharp and hot along my shoulder as it slammed into the dirt. But I barely had time to react before—his knee came down on my throat.
The weight was immediate. Crushing.
A brutal press against my windpipe.
I gasped and choked.
My hands scrambled against his arms, trying to push him off, but it was useless.
I was too weak.
Too broken.
And he was too strong.
He leaned in closer with his face inches from mine.
I could see the dilation in his pupils, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. But it was his smile that gutted me.
“You’re nothing but a little whore,” he hissed, voice low and vibrating with fury. “You hear me? Nothing.”
I clawed at his wrist, nails biting into flesh, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Mark my words,” he growled. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
His eyes burned—not just with a threat.
A promise.
Then—release.
His knee lifted and the pressure disappeared. And air came rushing back, ragged and violent. I gasped, coughing so hard it felt like my lungs would tear apart.
I rolled onto my side, hacking, shaking. Tears poured from my eyes, hot and blinding. I didn’t even feel the gravel cutting into my cheek anymore.
The pain was everywhere.
And still—I looked up.
He stood over me.
A dark silhouette.
A monster carved out of shadow and venom.
And then—he spit on me.
The wet slap of it landed across my cheek, mixing with blood and tears.
I flinched.
But I didn’t wipe it away.
Couldn’t.
The shame of it sank deeper than the bruises.
He was already walking away. The slow crunch of his boots over gravel sounded like nails he was just driving further into my coffin.
Then—the roar of his white Mustang cut through the night. The headlights flared bright, blinding. For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to run me over.
End it.
But he didn’t.
The tires spun, gravel spraying into the air and then he was gone.
Leaving me broken on a dirt road.
Alone.
Bleeding.
Praying for the night to swallow me whole.
But it didn’t. It left me there.
Alive.
With nothing but the wreckage of what was left of me.
And I hated it.
I hated that I was still breathing. Hated that he’d left me alive.
Because in that moment—death would’ve been a mercy.
***
I jolted awake, heart pounding as if it had never stopped running, as if sleep had only been a brief blackout.
Disoriented, I dragged in a sharp breath that tasted cold and sterile, like metal and antiseptic.
My lungs burned as if I'd been underwater too long.
Sweat slicked my skin despite the chill that settled deep in my bones.
The silver glow of moonlight spilled through the window across the room, pooling on polished floors and soaking into the muted tones of the walls. It painted everything in ghostly shades, illuminating the stark reality of where I was and what I wasn’t.
Free.
How had it come to this?
I thought I’d outrun tragedy. I thought leaving Sanele meant starting over. Surviving. Healing.
But I was wrong.
I hadn't escaped it.
I had run headfirst into its arms again.
And this time, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to crawl back out.
My pulse slowed, but not by much. Slowly, I pushed myself upright, every muscle in my body stiff and protesting.
It was like surfacing from a nightmare, only to find the nightmare hadn’t ended.
The room around me was painfully beautiful, a deliberate softness designed to lure me into lowering my guard.
Clean lines softened by floral patterns, rich dark woods warmed by amber light fixtures, walls that belonged in a magazine spread.
Everything about the space whispered comfort.
Someone who didn’t know better might have believed it.
But I didn’t.
I knew better.
Comfort was a weapon here.
A deception.
I slid my legs off the bed, feeling the expensive fabric of the comforter fall away from my skin, and planted my bare feet on the cold wood floor. Even the sting of it felt orchestrated—like Reich wanted me to feel the balance of luxury and captivity at once.
I rose on shaky legs and moved toward the bathroom, even though something inside me begged to stay in the bed’s embrace. To burrow deep and lose myself in its warmth. It was the best bed I’d ever laid in. Even better than the one I’d had at my apartment, but unfortunately, that wasn’t home anymore.
Nothing was.
I passed through a doorless threshold, my reflection catching in the full-length mirror that lined one wall.
I looked like a ghost of myself. Hollow eyes, pale skin stretched too tight over sharp cheekbones.
My lips were chapped and split from dehydration, my hair tangled from sleep or stress or both.
This was who I had become.
A broken woman in a gilded cage.
And I didn’t even know why.
I was kidnapped but treated like an unwilling guest rather than a hostage. And yet, that was exactly what I was.
So why hadn’t he hurt me?
He’d had so many chances. So many moments to make me pay for trespassing on his land, for disobeying his orders, for defying him with words and glances.
If he wanted pain, he could have broken me by now.
If he wanted submission, he could have taken it.
But he hadn’t.
So why?
What information did they want from me and what was this job he mentioned about?
What did he really want from me?
Inside the bathroom, I reached for the sink and froze as my gaze swept over the counter.
My breath hitched.
My things were here.
My toothbrush. My hairbrush. My perfume.
All carefully arranged as if I had placed them myself, exactly where I always put them at home.
Except this wasn’t home.
And I hadn’t packed them for some sort of twisted vacation.
A shiver slid down my spine, cold and sharp, as realization dawned.
He had brought them here.
Gone into my life, into my space, and brought these pieces of me to this room.
As if he had always intended for me to be here.
I stepped back, my hand catching on the doorframe to steady myself.
But I didn’t stop there.
I turned and crossed to the closet, needing to see.
Needing to know.
I reached for the door, hesitating only a second before I pulled it open.
My clothes hung neatly on matching hangers, arranged in a perfect color gradient. My boots. My sneakers. Everything.
But that wasn’t all.
There were others.
Dresses I didn’t recognize. Blouses and jeans that I never owned.
Lingerie in delicate fabrics that were never mine.
Items that didn’t belong to me.
A sick twist coiled in my stomach.
The last girl, I thought bitterly.
The one who wore these things before me.
I stumbled backward out of the closet, breathing ragged and uneven, my chest tightening like something sharp had lodged between my ribs. I collapsed to the bedroom floor, my legs folding beneath me. The weight of it all pressed down hard, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
What was happening?
Why had he done this?
I wrapped my arms around myself, but it didn’t help. It only made me feel smaller, more vulnerable. The questions clawed at my mind, digging deeper with every passing second.
What had happened to her?
What would happen to me?
I was lost in my mind’s spiraling thoughts when I heard a scream.
It was faint. Muffled. Distant.
But it was real.
I stopped breathing.
My head snapped toward the door, eyes wide. My pulse spiked as my ears strained to catch it again. For one agonizing moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then another scream. Softer this time, as if whoever was screaming was already too far gone.
No.
Please let me be imagining this.
But I wasn’t.
I knew I wasn’t.
The sick churn in my gut turned violent, like nausea twisting through bone and marrow.
It came from below.
Somewhere I couldn’t see.
Somewhere I wasn’t supposed to hear.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t blink them away. They slid hot and silent down my face as I curled tighter, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
I couldn’t fall apart.
But my body still betrayed me.
Sobs tore through me, raw and ragged, scraping my throat on the way out. I clawed at my skin, nails biting in deep enough to leave crescents, desperate to feel something that wasn’t terror or despair.
Desperate to escape this place.
This body.
This life.
Memories crashed over me.
Providence. Sam. All the times I thought I could be free.
I tipped my head back, gasping for air, and my gaze caught something by the window.
Books.
The sight of them sent a jolt through me. I blinked, pushing myself forward on shaking hands and knees to crawl toward them.
Something flickered inside me.
Hope, maybe. Or desperation pretending to be hope.
Some were mine—ones I’d brought with me to Providence.
But others weren’t.
The last girl must have had them, I thought.
I touched their covers with trembling fingers, as if they might vanish. Or worse—disintegrate beneath my touch.
I exhaled slow and shaky, dragging myself upright. My hands found the windowsill as I pulled myself to standing, leaning heavily against the cool frame.
I stared out at the field.
It stretched wide, glowing silver under the moonlight.
Wild. Beautiful. Untouched by the chaos it had caused.
It mocked me.
And yet…I smiled.
Maybe Reich was right.
Everything I needed was in this room.
I just had to figure out how to use it.