Chapter 35 The Distance Between Us
The Distance Between Us
Summer
The fork slips from my hand when the alarm splits through the house.
A shrill, mechanical wail that rattles the crystal glasses on the table.
My chest jerks tight—I don’t even know what it means—but Jackson does.
His chair scrapes back violently, and before I can blink, his hand fists my arm, yanking me to my feet.
“Move,” he growls, dragging me so hard my shoulder burns.
I stumble, try to twist free, nails clawing against his grip, but he’s too strong.
His body is a wall, his hands like iron.
When I dig my heels into the polished marble floor, desperate to slow him, he doesn’t falter—he just bends, hooks an arm around my waist, and hauls me up onto his shoulder like a ragdoll.
The world flips upside down. My hair whips into my face, the blood rushing to my head as he carries me, his stride unshaken by my thrashing.
I pound my fists against his back, claw at his shirt until threads come loose.
I kick, I scream, but it only earns me a slap across the back of my thigh that stings so much I cry out.
“If you don’t cut it out,” he warns, his voice low and thick with menace, “I’ll give you to Donnie for the night. You think I’m scary, Princess? He’ll split you in half and leave you begging for death.”
I freeze, nausea flooding me. The words hit harder than the sting of his hand. He knows exactly how to shut me up.
He chuckles darkly, patting the back of my leg like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “That’s better.”
The house is chaos around us. Staff scatter through the halls, their polished composure fractured into panic.
Harris—so stiff and proper at dinner—nearly collides with us, his silver hair dishevelled, eyes darting like a trapped animal.
The cook grips the edge of the counter for support, his lips pressed together in terror.
Mrs Dorsey clutches her apron, frozen, trembling.
I lift my head enough to look at them. Please. My lips move soundlessly, my wide, wet eyes begging them to do something, anything. To stop him.
But none of them move.
Harris bows his head as if ashamed, the cook turns away, and Mrs Dorsey wrings her hands until her knuckles are white. They can’t look at me for more than a second. And in that one second, I see it clearly—pity. Pity and fear.
They won’t help me. They can’t. Jackson owns them. I don’t know if it’s money, threats, or blood on their hands, but whatever it is, it’s enough to keep them silent.
The hopelessness burns through me hotter than the slap on my skin.
And all I can do is hang over his shoulder, helpless, as he carries me deeper into whatever nightmare he’s planned.
The sound cuts through me before I even know what it is—gunfire. Short, brutal cracks that rattle the air, followed by men’s screams. My blood freezes, then surges, and I know. I know.
Jacob is here.
A scream tears out of my throat, louder than I’ve ever screamed in my life. My lungs burn with it, my chest shakes with it. “Jacob!” I don’t even know if his name makes it past my lips or if it’s just sound, but I scream again, thrashing, fighting with everything I have left.
Jackson’s entire body jolts, a guttural snarl ripping from him.
He jerks me higher on his shoulder, his arm tightening around my waist until it feels like my ribs will splinter.
The pressure makes me gasp, spots pricking my vision.
He squeezes harder, bruising me, as if he could strangle the fight out of me with just his grip.
But I keep screaming. Kicking. Clawing. Jacob is here.
For a second, the chaos in the house fades—the alarm, the pounding of boots, the echo of gunshots—and all I hear is the drum of my own heartbeat hammering in time with his. He’s close. He’s so close.
And then I hear it.
A sound I can’t place at first—low, mechanical, growing louder, stronger. Then the whirring whips into a frenzy, blades cutting through the night air. My stomach plunges. A helicopter.
“No—” The word scrapes out of me, but Jackson doesn’t let me finish.
He swings me off his shoulder and hurls me into the passenger seat of the machine with such force my body smacks against the cold plexiglass window.
Pain explodes through my shoulder. I gasp, choking on it, tears flooding my vision.
I lift my head just in time to see him—Jacob.
He’s a blur of fury and desperation, running toward me like the earth itself might swallow him if he slows down. His eyes lock on mine even through the chaos, even through the night, and my soul claws to get to him.
My hands slam against the glass.
“Jacob!”
Jackson yanks me back hard, strapping me in with the belt so tight I can’t breathe. My arms thrash, nails tearing at his hands, but he shoves the heavy headset over my ears, clamping it down.
I rip it straight back off.
His hand clamps around my throat in a lightning-fast grip, his eyes searing into mine, cold and blazing all at once. His lips form the words slowly, deliberately, so there’s no mistaking them.
Put. It. On.
My lungs convulse under his grip. My fingers tremble. I do as he says, sliding the headset back on, hating myself for obeying, but terrified of what will happen if I don’t.
“Do you want to be deaf?” his voice snarls into my ears, like he thinks he’s doing me a favor. His hand releases my throat, leaving phantom bruises already pulsing beneath my skin.
The floor drops away as the helicopter lifts. The noise is deafening, even with the headset, the vibration shaking every bone in my body. The world tilts, and the house shrinks beneath me.
And Jacob—Jacob is still running.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. He sprints across the gravel like a man possessed, screaming my name, his hands reaching for me even though I’m already too high, already slipping away.
Then, mid-stride, his body buckles. He falls to his knees, his fists slamming into the earth, his face lifting to the sky with a roar that cracks something inside me.
I slam my palms against the window, claw at it, sobbing so violently my chest feels like it’s tearing in two.
“Jacob!” My voice is swallowed by the propellers, but I keep screaming anyway, because I have nothing else.
The helicopter banks, turning, pulling me away from him. My body lurches with the motion, but my eyes stay fixed on him until he’s nothing but a shrinking shadow on the ground.
Jackson’s laugh lands in my ear—wet, delighted—and for a split second, Jacob’s broken shape flares behind my eyelids: the way he threw himself to the ground, the way he tried to reach for me even when he knew I was too far away.
It stacks on top of everything else until something inside me fractures.
“Well, well, well… looks like the Sheriff can sniff you out, Princess.”
Red crawls along the edges of my vision and my body moves on its own.
My fist lashes out, swinging from my seat I can’t fully turn in; knuckles smash into Jackson’s jaw with a dull, sick crunch.
My free hand claws at his face, nails ripping skin, and a hot ribbon of blood streaks from his cheek to his mouth.
His laugh dies into a raw, animal noise.
One of his hands clamps my wrist with the force of a vice; he jerks and bends my fingers back so quickly that a white, clean snap lights up my skull.
Two fingers go wrong under the pressure, pins and pain flaring bright and immediate.
He shoves me until the harness grinds into my collarbone and my cheek slams into the cold composite wall.
The impact knocks the air from me; warm liquid beads at my lip and I taste iron.
He pins me with an elbow across my chest, breath hot and ragged at my neck, and the straps bite deeper as he leans in—close enough that I can feel the rasp of his words against my skin.
My hands tremble, useless inside his hold, and every beat of the rotor seems to match the jagged pace of my heartbeat.
The helicopter tilts; the world outside tilts with it, men shrinking in the wind, but inside that small, thudding cage there’s only sound and the geometry of damage: the sting of bitten knuckles, the electric flare of broken bone.
And all I can do is sob.
A hand slides up my dress, finding my entrance.
I flinch violently, trying to twist away from his touch, but Jackson doesn’t move his hand away.
His elbow presses deeper into my spine, rough and unrelenting, as I fight against it.
Blood drips from my nose, warm and metallic, sliding over my lips before I can breathe it away.
The taste fills my mouth, whetted and bitter, mixing with the panic clawing at my throat.
“Do you always get this wet when you’re angry,” he says through the headset, his voice dripping with a mockery of calm. He pushes a finger inside of me, my body trying to reject him.
Jackson squeezes my thigh, hard enough that I wince. “Don’t go quiet on me, Princess. Don’t stop fighting me now.”
He releases his elbow enough to allow me to whip my head back toward him, but my chest still pressed hard against the cold surface, tears still dripping down my cheeks. “Stop.” My voice is hoarse, raw.
His mouth curls into a smile, slow and serpentine. His teeth catch the faint cabin light, pointed, white. His eyes—those searing blue flames—study me like I’m prey he’s been stalking for years. The blood on his cheek is smeared, though drying into his skin.
“No,” he says, leaning closer, his breath hot against my ear even through the headset, “You’re a fucking goddess. And this,” he curls his finger upward “is mine now.” His tongue darts across his lips, a quick flicker that makes my skin crawl.
“Please,” I whisper, though my voice quivers.
His laugh is low, rich, cruel. He pushes off me and leans back in his seat, removing his finger from me and spreading his legs wide like he owns the entire helicopter.
I push myself away from the wall, but gather myself against it, crossing my legs and backing up as far away from him as I can.
Tears fill my eyes as I cradle my broken fingers and wipe the blood from my nose.
“Princess,” he says, almost tender, almost mocking, “The sooner you realize there’s no escape the better.” Then he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks my taste from them.
I look away, jaw tight, refusing to meet his gaze as he makes a low, satisfied sound that curdles my stomach.
I shut my eyes and whisper Jacob’s name, barely a breath, like saying it might anchor me to something real.
When I open them again, Jackson is still smiling—patient, cruel, and certain he’s already won.