16. The Other Shoe #3
“We’ll wait till dark,” Jay said. “I’ll circle around; you take the high ground there.” He pointed to a slope overlooking the fire. “Clean. Quiet. Patient.”
Sawyer hesitated. His instincts screamed to move now, to run, to tear through the clearing, to put his hands on her shoulders and know she was safe. But he forced himself to breathe. Jay was right.
“Fine,” he said finally. “We do it your way. But if they touch her again—”
“They won’t get the chance,” Jay said firmly.
They settled into the snow just behind the ridge, using fallen branches for cover.
Time stretched thin. The fire below flickered weakly, the sky shifting from pale gray to deep blue.
The men at the camp muttered occasionally, their words lost in the wind.
Addy barely moved, conserving her strength, her eyes darting toward the woods now and then as if she sensed something — or someone — watching.
Sawyer kept his scope trained on them, his jaw locked, his heart hammering steady as a drumbeat. The crosshairs hovered over the man closest to her. One twitch, one wrong move, and Sawyer’s finger would tighten.
Jay glanced sideways, whispering, “You ready?”
Sawyer didn’t take his eyes off Addy. “Always.”
Jay nodded, pulling his knife from its sheath. “Then let’s end this.”
* * *
Hours earlier
Addy’s boots carved trenches through the snow, each forced step sending white-hot needles up her shins.
The zip ties had cut so deep into her wrists that she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore—just the searing pulse where plastic met bone.
The wind sliced her exposed face like glass, her lungs burning as they fought for air that knifed its way down her throat.
”MOVE!” One of them slammed his fist into her kidney, making her vision spark. His voice wasn’t human anymore, all gravel and animal rage. Behind them, the wounded one’s labored breathing had become a death rattle, punctuated by curses that steamed in the frozen air.
Addy risked a glance back. The one trailing them was pale, blood soaking through the bandage around his upper arm, the place she’d hit him. The wound looked bad; the blood dark against the frost. He noticed her looking and sneered, his eyes glassy with pain and rage.
“Hope you’re proud of yourself,” he spat. “You’re lucky we need you alive.”
The words sank into her stomach like lead. Alive. Not safe, just alive.
They pushed her deeper into the woods, where the trees grew thick and the light dimmed.
Each time they paused, she tried to leave marks, scuffing her boots harder, dragging her heels to make deeper impressions, twisting a bit of her sleeve against a branch when they weren’t watching. Anything Sawyer could follow.
She tried to hear his voice in her mind, steady and low—but it kept fading, replaced by the rasp of her own breathing.
He’d promised he’d come back. But what if this time was different?
What if he couldn’t find her? No, he always kept his promises.
Didn’t he? Please, Sawyer. Be close. See this. If you’re even looking.
Her shoulder throbbed where one of them had grabbed her too hard. Part of her welcomed the pain, proof she was still alive—while another part of her wondered if being alive was really the better option right now.
They stopped by a fallen tree, and one of the men, the uninjured one, crouched beside her, pulling her hood back roughly.
His face was lean and wind-burned; his eyes were empty.
“You keep looking around like someone’s gonna save you,” he said, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “No one’s coming. Not out here.”
Addy stared back at him, refusing to flinch. “You’re bleeding him dry,” she said quietly, tilting her head toward the other man. “He’s not gonna make it.”
He followed her gaze. The injured man leaned against a tree, sweat freezing on his brow. “Shut up,” he snapped. “You don’t talk.”
“Just saying,” she murmured, forcing calm into her voice. “You keep going like this, you’ll both die before nightfall.”
The uninjured man’s hand cracked across her face like a whip, snapping her head sideways.
Stars burst behind her eyes as copper flooded her mouth, a tooth wobbling against her tongue.
He grabbed her jaw, fingers digging into the fresh bruise, and yanked her face inches from his.
“Open your mouth again,” he snarled, spittle hitting her cheek, “and I’ll cut out your tongue before I put a bullet in your skull. ”
She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting tears, forcing herself to memorize everything: the sound of their boots, the way their breath hitched, the faint smell of wood smoke clinging to their clothes. Clues. Patterns. Anything that might matter later.
They started moving again, slower now. The one she’d shot kept stumbling, leaving streaks of red in the snow. She focused on those stains, fixing them in her mind. That’s your trail, Sawyer. Follow it.
As the trees thinned near the ridge, she caught a flicker of movement in the distance, too far to be sure, but it made her heart stutter. A shadow, maybe, or perhaps hope.
The man yanked her forward again. “Move!”
She stumbled, crashing to one knee with a sickening crack against hidden stone.
Blood bloomed beneath her jeans as she clawed at the snow, gouging a deep boot print where she’d fallen.
Her lungs seized—don’t scream, don’t cry — as she hauled herself upright, teeth clenched so hard her jaw spasmed.
Her breath came in violent shudders that tore at her raw throat.
Every heartbeat pulsed agony through her limbs, but stopping meant death. Or worse.
So she forced one foot in front of the other, silently begging whatever god might still exist in this frozen hell.
Find me, Sawyer. Before the trail freezes. Before I do!