Chapter 41
Alexander
The Storm
The countryside blurs into nothing outside the car windows. My heart is beating too hard, too fast—like it’s trying to outrun the past chasing me.
I grip the wheel tighter.
Her laugh echoes in my head. Her humming while she burned toast. Her fingers brushing my jaw when she thought I was asleep. And now? She could be hurt. She could be terrified.
She could be—No.
I slam the brakes near the treeline, kill the headlights, and step out. The farmhouse stands ahead—rotting, still, perfect for violence.
My gun is cold in my hand. My rage is not.
I move silently through the tall grass, boots sinking into the earth. Each step tightens something inside my chest.
This isn’t revenge. This is reclamation. This is rescue. And I will not leave without her.