Chapter 20
Emersyn
The door slamming jars me from my sleep, and I startle awake, my eyes drifting up to the clock. It’s almost nine o’clock in the morning. As the time registers in my mind, the door to the bedroom creaks open, and Turner’s figure appears in the doorway.
“Morning,” I greet him, my voice groggy with sleep.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes a step toward me and slams the door shut behind him. My heart jumps to my throat as I meet his dark gaze, full of emotion and hatred.
“Are you?—”
“Shut up, Em,” he growls, ripping his shirt over his head. “Just shut up.” He strips down within seconds, coming for me. I find myself bracing as he rips the covers off, exposing me in just an oversized T-shirt.
“Turner,” I whimper as he grabs my ankles and drags me toward him. He wastes no time as he plunges into me, and I let out a cry with the force behind his movements. “Slow down,” I cry out as he pounds into me, his iron grip painful around my waist. “ Turner ,” tears well up in my eyes as I try to push against him.
He finally lifts his gaze from where we’re joined to meet my eyes, and he lets out a heavy breath. “You’re an angel, Em, and I’m so fucking sorry you landed in hell.”
My lip trembles as I push myself upward, grabbing his jaw and forcing his lips to mine. He’s hesitant at first, but then attacks my mouth, devouring me with a coercive kiss. I taste his anger, pain, and something else, as he returns to thrusting into me. His hips slam against mine, and I moan into Turner’s mouth as he lifts me from the bed. He uses me like a ragdoll, his strong arms jarring my hips back and forth.
I fall into motion with him, grinding against his body and catching my own high. Pleasure begins to build as his movements shift from forceful to passionate, his growls morphing to groans.
“Oh shit, Em,” he rasps, breaking our kiss and holding my gaze. “You’re everything. You’re fucking everything.”
I orgasm at his words, a wave of intense pleasure rolling over my body as my pussy clenches around him. I cry out his name, and his eyes close, his face growing peaceful. My fingers latch around his head, and I pull his mouth to mine again. He pumps into me, his kisses slowing as he moans, exploding inside of me.
He rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you for saving me, Em.”
I catch my breath, my heart jumping to my throat. “Turner…”
He shakes his head. “You’re special, Em, and for whatever reason you ended up here, I’ll spend eternity thankful for it.” With that, he rolls off me abruptly, slides off the bed, and starts to get dressed again.
I watch him, slowly climbing out of bed myself. I desperately need a shower, and as I make my way to the bathroom, Turner reaches for me, threading his arm around my waist. I peer up at him, and the somber expression on his face sends a wave of panic through my body.
“What’s wrong, Turner?”
“Nothing at all,” he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips. It’s charged with emotion, and I allow myself to linger it in for a few moments. As he pulls away, he kisses my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Em.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I say carefully.
“Might as well be Christmas, angel.” He brushes his fingertips along my jaw and then disappears from the room, heading upstairs. I step into the bathroom, a strange feeling hanging over my body as I turn on the water. Something is wrong… Or maybe I’m just being paranoid?
I spend the next forty-five minutes, standing under the hot water until it runs cold. My mind replays the entirety of my time at the cabin, and I wonder what life is like outside of the cabin—what my family is thinking right now. Are they worried? Are they pushing for people to look for me? I mean, I know Adam would’ve told them, right?
A sigh escapes my lips, and I find myself unmoved by the thoughts, more consumed by the silence in the house. I dress in a pair of fleece leggings and red sweater, leaving my damp hair down. When I step out of the bedroom, I find Gunner, sitting by the backdoor.
“Turner,” I call out. “I think Gunner needs to go to the bathroom.” I glance around the cabin, not seeing any signs of him. Turner wouldn’t go outside without Gunner, and so I figure he’s upstairs, which brings along some sort of alarm in my head. I start to think about the pills, and I head back to down the hallway, spotting the folded clothes on the first step of the stairwell.
Ours from last night. I step over them, noting the still-full pill bottle sitting beside my shirt. I head upstairs, my heart rate picking up as I reach the top. The door to the spare room is… open. A cold draft rushes around me, and I brace myself for what I’ll find, but when I step inside, I only see an open box in the middle of the floor.
I furrow my brow as I walk over to it, seeing Turner’s Keepsakes scrawled on the side. Half the contents are spilled on the floor, and as much as I want to sit and go through them, the sight triggers an urge to find Turner instead. I spin on my heels, but not before catching sight of the open drawer at the desk.
Rushing over to it, I don’t see anything missing, but I do see a beautifully hand carved wooden heart on a chain. I pick it up, seeing the intricate flowers carved, and an E right in the center. I roll it over in my palm, emotions welling up in my chest. My eyes then drop to the small, folded cardstock. I unfold it, reading the note.
Merry Christmas,
Em. I hope you find this. You reminded me of the person I once was—and wish I could still be. You saved me, and now, I have to save you from me.
Love,
Turner
I shove the note in my pocket and grip the locket in my hand as panic washes over my entire body. My mind takes me back to the peaceful expression on Turner’s face, and I sprint from the room, thundering down the stairs. Gunner breaks into a bark at the door, as I shove my feet into my shoes. I stop to fasten the chain around my neck, and then grab my jacket, tearing through the open door.
“Find him,” I scream to Gunner. “Find him,” I repeat, my voice breaking. I scan the area, and that’s when I spot a single wooden cross, uncovered by the winds blowing from the east instead of north. As I tug on my coat, I run toward it, my stomach sinking as I come close enough to read the name etched on it.
Thomas Robert Martin
05/17/1980 – 12/25/2013
A sob tears from my chest. Thomas never left, and I don’t have to ask to know the answer to this question. Tears slip down my cheeks, as I spin around, searching for Gunner. He scratches at the barn walk-through door, and I rush for it, turning the knob.
It’s locked.
I stop, trying to listen over my pounding heart. I hear something on the other side. I jiggle the doorknob again. “Turner,” I shout, banging my fist on the door. “Turner, let me in.”
Nothing.
“Turner,” I scream at the top of my lungs, slamming my fists so hard they begin to ache. “ Please. ” Tears roll down my cheeks freely, as Gunner bays from behind me, his panic reflecting mine. I don’t know how to break in. I barrel my shoulder into the door as hard as I can, begging and pleading for the old frame to give way to my weight.
Adrenaline surges through my body as I slam against the door once more, and the wood splits—but it doesn’t give. I yell his name again, begging him to let me inside. Gunner’s panicked barks drown out the sound of anything else as he begins to jump and scratch at the door. I feel as though I’m losing touch as I kick with all my strength, my breaths heavy and desperate for oxygen. I throw my body at it one more fucking time.
And it splinters, giving way and finally letting me inside.
I fall into the darkness, landing on my shoulder. I swallow the staggering pain and scramble to my feet, searching for Turner. Gunner darts past me, heading to the back of the barn, his feet silently moving across the concrete floors. I sprint after him, not even bothered by the sight of Adam’s jeep. I don’t care.
I really don’t care.
My footsteps echo as I make it to the dimly lit area, reaching stacks of boxes and tubs, labeled with different things—all of it Turner’s. As I scan around myself, squinting in the dark, I meet his gaze.
And the barrel of a gun.
“Get out of here, Em,” he says, his voice monotone. “I unburied your truck. The roads were cleared last night. Take Gunner. Don’t make me force you.”
I step toward him, where he’s sitting in an old, dusty chair. “Don’t do this, Turner.”
He shakes his head at me, cocking the hammer. “You think you know me, but you don’t have the slightest idea of what I’ve done.”
“You killed your brother,” I throw out the assumption. “And my guess is Adam doesn’t make number two.”
His eyes alight with irritation. “No. He’s number nine. Seven other people trespassed on this place, and I did what I did.”
I nod, surprisingly less terrified than I expected myself to be. I take another step, and his hand trembles, his finger on the trigger. “If you shoot me, you’ll regret it.”
“You’re right,” he says flatly. “But moments later, I’ll be burning in hell, anyway.”
“Don’t leave Gunner alone,” I reason, my voice softening at the pain in his eyes. “We can fix this… You’re not too far gone, Turner.”
“Yes, I am,” he snaps, his eyes boring into mine. “Tommy told me before he went cold to find a way to appease the monster in me—and I found my way, killing people who came here when they shouldn’t—and now, I don’t think that’s what he meant. But it’s too late to change it.”
“Cycles can be broken,” I reason, inching closer as Gunner backs away, sitting. I reach out, and in one swift move, I take the gun from his hand. He doesn’t fight me for it, nor does he stop me from straddling him, taking a seat in his lap.
“What’re you doing, Em?” he groans. “I’m finally going to do what needs to be done, and you’re forcing me to get violent.”
I press the barrel to his temple, my heart throbbing in my head. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it all.”
He meets my gaze. “I’d rather you just pull the trigger.”