CHAPTER SEVEN
I hadn’t meant to run.
It was instinct. Reflex. A door left ajar—barely a breath of air that separated me from the outside. No guards. No eyes. Just a glimmer of moonlight and the hush of midnight mist curled along the threshold.
I bolted barefoot.
The sharp sting of gravel tore into my soles as I stumbled down the back corridor and into the open field behind the compound.
Every breath burned my throat. My arms pumped wildly at my sides.
The night was thick, the trees a blur, but I didn’t stop.
Not until I tripped, my hand slamming into the jagged edge of a broken irrigation pipe before I went down hard onto the rocks.
A cry ripped out of me—guttural, unrecognizable.
Blood welled across my palm. My knees were caked in dirt, and one ankle screamed as I dragged myself to my feet again, hobbling forward through a patch of tall weeds. I had no plan. No direction. Just away.
Then came the mud—slick and heavy, dragging me into a shallow ditch and knocking the breath from my lungs. I clawed up the embankment with shaking arms, every inch of my skin scraped and trembling.
And then—
a beam of light.
A flashlight. Voices. Footsteps closing in.
I tried to crawl again. I tried—God, I tried.
But then strong arms wrapped around my middle, and I screamed—kicked, thrashed, desperate to break free—but the voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.
“Starling, stop—stop—it’s me. It’s Montgomery.”
My body froze, every muscle locked as his voice softened, steady and familiar.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I collapsed against his chest, my ragged breaths mixed with his steady heartbeat beneath my ear. The world blurred and twisted, but his arms held me tight—solid, unyielding—as he carried me effortlessly through the woods.
My head dropped onto his shoulder. I was breathing like a wounded animal, mud streaked across my face, dried blood crusted on my hands.
“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and urgent, threading through my tangled hair. “You’re safe. You’re safe for now.”
He didn’t take me back to Mr. Hirsh like I thought he would.
He didn’t even go through the main gates.
Montgomery carried me to one of the side quarters—an unused guest bathroom, cold and tiled, mercifully quiet. The door clicked shut and locked behind us.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, kneeling in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, voice cracked and raw.
“No, you’re not.”
He dipped a cloth in warm water and took my hand gently, turning it palm-up. Blood trickled stubbornly through the grime, slow and relentless.
I watched him work, saw the tenderness in his touch—so out of place in this hellhole it made my chest ache. His brows furrowed, jaw clenched tight like he was fighting some war inside.
“I thought I could make it,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said softly.
“I was so close.”
“I know,” he said again, voice rougher now. Then he looked up at me, eyes steady and certain.
“I’ll always be there to rescue you, Starling. Not just now—but every time you need me.”
I scoffed, bitter. “You haven’t saved me yet.”
His hand tightened around mine, not rough—but desperate.
“I saved you from Tomas,” he said, voice low, like the memory sickened him. “He could’ve had you broken in minutes.”
The words struck something hollow in my chest.
I swallowed hard, the truth of it cutting deeper than any scar. Because he wasn’t wrong. I remembered Tomas’s breath, the gleam in his eye. I remembered the way no one stopped him—except him.
Montgomery’s grip didn’t loosen.
“And tonight?” He went on, quieter now. “I saved you from the guards. They were looking for you, Starling. If they had found you first…”
He trailed off, jaw flexing.
“You would’ve been taken back,” he finished, voice breaking around the edges. “And you would’ve met a punishment far worse than I want to think about.”
Something in me trembled.
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“But you won’t take me far away from here,” I whispered, the words breaking free like a raw wound. “No matter how many times you say you’ll save me, I’m still trapped.”
His hand tightened around mine, a quiet promise in the squeeze.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice low and fierce. “And I won’t stop until you’re free. Free from it all.”
We sat in silence—just the sound of water dripping, my breath uneven, his steady presence grounding me.
Then came the knock.
Hard and demanding.
Montgomery’s body went rigid, like a blade pulled clean from its sheath—controlled, sharp, and braced for whatever came next.
A voice on the other side. Mr. Hirsh’s.
“Open up. I was told the girl was found in the fields. Where is she now?”
Montgomery didn’t hesitate. He opened the door halfway and stepped out just enough for his voice to carry.
“I found her behind the shed,” he said. “One of the mechanics—Tomas’s guy—pulled her in there. I think he roughed her up. I caught the tail end of it.”
Silence.
“Who the hell do I need to punish? I never gave permission for her to be touched.” Mr. Hirsh’s voice was casual. Chilling.
Montgomery didn’t miss a beat. “Definitely not her, sir. She already looks punished. You’ll get more from her if you let me take care of her.”
A pause. Then Mr. Hirsh’s voice broke the silence, “Fine. Clean her up and take her back to her room. The one upstairs next to mine.”
The sound of retreating footsteps echoed outside the door.
Montgomery stepped back in and locked the door behind him again.
I stared up at him, my throat tightening.
“You didn’t have to lie for me,” I whispered.
He knelt again in front of me. His voice was quieter this time. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just reached out and brushed a piece of damp hair away from my face, and tucked it behind my ear.
His hand lingered on my cheek.
I leaned into it.
“I don’t know what this is,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “Between us. But when you found me tonight… it felt like I could breathe again.”
He stepped closer, closing the last inch between us, his forehead resting gently against mine. His hand stayed at my face, warm and steady, like he was grounding himself just as much as he was holding me together.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. His breath brushed against my lips, uneven.
“I shouldn’t feel this,” he said quietly, like the words cost him something. “Not for you. It compromises everything.”
But he didn’t pull away.
If anything, his thumb traced my cheek a little softer—like he already knew he wasn’t going to stop.
We were so close I could feel the war in him.
Breath to breath.
Heartbeat to heartbeat.
I tilted forward, searching for something—hope, maybe. Maybe if he kissed me, he’d choose me. Maybe that would be enough, even if he couldn’t save me.
His lips hovered near mine.
So close it hurt.
He started to lean in—drawn by something we both pretended wasn’t there—but stopped just shy of the kiss. His breath trembled against my mouth.
“If I kiss you, Starling…” His voice broke around my name. “I won’t stop.”
He pulled back just a fraction, the tension between us buzzed like wire stretched to its limit. “And if I don’t stop, I’ll fail you. I can’t risk that.”
I closed my eyes, and swallowed the ache rising in my throat.
“Then don’t kiss me,” I whispered. “But don’t take me back to that room, please.”
His eyes flicked to mine. Guarded. Sharp. But not cold.
“Ask him. Mr. Hirsh. Tell him you need to keep me for the night. Just tonight.”
Montgomery hesitated.
I saw the protest rise behind his eyes. The rules. The risk. The cost.
But I also saw something else.
Something raw.
“I’ll try,” he said, voice low. “But if I do this, Starling…it’ll look like something it’s not.”
“I don’t care.”
He studied me for a long moment, then finally gave a small nod.
“All right,” he said. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened with a soft click.
Montgomery stepped inside, shutting it behind him with the quiet finality of someone who carried the weight of a decision he didn’t agree with.
He didn’t speak at first.
Just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know whether to come closer or walk right back out.
Then, finally—his voice low, rough around the edges, “He agreed to let me have you.”
Relief fluttered in my chest.
But it died quickly.
His eyes flicked to mine, dark and unreadable. “Just for the night. In the morning…you go straight to Mr. Hirsh.”
It didn’t even feel like my body anymore, the way it sagged at those words. Like my bones went hollow.
“I’m sorry,” he added, barely louder than the hum of the vent.
I nodded slowly and swallowed the burn in my throat. “It’s not your fault.”
He took a step closer. Then another.
Until the air between us felt like it was pulsing.
He raised a hand like he might touch me—but it stopped midair. Hovered near my cheek. Trembling.
His eyes searched mine.
“I want to,” he said. “God, I want to touch you.”
My breath caught.
“But I won’t.” His voice was hoarse. “ I won’t be like them.”
I blinked. “You think I don’t know the difference?”
“I know you know.” His jaw tensed. “But I do, too. I know you’re still underage. I know what they do to you. What they expect. What they want.”
He turned away briefly and dragged a hand through his hair like he needed something to burn the frustration out of his body.
“I turn eighteen in a few days,” I said softly.
It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t even an argument.
Just… truth. Fragile. Useless.
He stilled, his back still to me.
“A few days doesn’t change what this is,” he muttered.
“But it changes what it could be.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice quieter now, shaking at the edges. I took a step closer, then another, drawn in despite everything screaming at me not to.
“I’m not going to be another monster in your story.”
“You’re not,” I said quietly.
He looked at me again—so much pain in his expression it nearly shattered me.
“I need you to understand something,” he said. “Every instinct in me is screaming to hold you. To take every ache away. To give you a night of peace you’ve never had.”
He stepped closer again, slow. Controlled. “But if I cross that line—even if you want me to—then I’ve already failed you.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. It wasn’t his touch I ached for—not like that.
It was the way he looked at me. Like I was still something worth saving.
I didn’t want sex from him.
But God…I wanted to be chosen. Pulled out of this, if only for a moment. Held in a way that meant I wasn’t alone in it anymore.
Even if I couldn’t say it outloud.
Even if I already knew he couldn’t be the one to give it to me.
“I’m not asking you to save me,” I whispered—even though I was. “I just… want to feel like I matter to someone. Just for tonight.”
His breath hitched—just enough to let me know he heard the truth buried beneath the lie.
Then he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms—not like a man claiming something, but like someone who wanted to give everything and couldn’t.
He held me for a long time. No heat. No tension.
Just quiet.
Just safety.
“You matter to me,” he said into my hair, low and rough. “And I’ll prove that by doing the one thing no one else has done.”
He drew back slowly, his hands warm on my shoulders, gaze steady and aching.
“Let me take you out of here,” he murmured.
I nodded.
Montgomery bent, slipping one arm beneath my knees and the other around my back before lifting me with careful ease. I startled at the sudden movement, but he only held me closer—firmer—like he was afraid I might slip through his fingers if he didn’t.
The cold tile fell away behind us as he carried me out of the room and into the dim corridor beyond. The air felt different there—quieter, heavier—his footsteps nearly silent as he moved down the hall, steady and sure, like he’d made this walk a thousand times before.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move.
I just let him take me.
A turn. A few more steps. Then a door.
His door.
It clicked shut softly behind us, sealing out everything else.
He crossed the room and lowered me onto the bed with a kind of care that made my chest tighten.
For a second, I didn’t let go. My fingers curled into the front of his shirt without meaning to—just a fistful of fabric, just something solid to keep me anchored in a world that never stopped shifting beneath me. He didn’t pull away.
But he didn’t touch me either.
“I can’t give you what you want,” he said, voice so low it almost wasn’t sound. “Not yet. But I see you, Starling. And I swear to you—I’m not going to let them take all of you.”
He stepped back, removing his boots, then his holster, each movement controlled, deliberate—like he was stripping away everything that kept him anchored to restraint. The tension never left his frame, even when he finally sat down on the bed.
Then he lay beside me on the far edge, careful to keep space between us. His body stayed rigid, like even rest was something he didn’t fully trust.
But he was there.
And for one night, that was enough.
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It had weight. It had breath.
I don’t know when I moved.
Only that the space between us stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like something I couldn’t stand anymore.
Slowly, carefully, I shifted closer—waiting for him to stop me. For him to pull away.
He didn’t.
So I kept going until my head found his chest.
His body went still.
Just for a second.
Then something in him loosened—barely—but enough that I felt it. A quiet surrender, not to me, but to the moment.
His breathing was steady. Controlled at first, like everything else about him. But I stayed anyway, listening to it until it stopped feeling like sound and and started feeling like safety.
My eyes grew heavy before I could fight it.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, I fell asleep there—on his chest, to the rhythm of a man who still didn’t know how to hold me, but hadn’t let go.