Chapter 10 Sloane
SLOANE
Isit in a booth near the window in the diner, watching frost creep across the glass in delicate patterns. My eggs have gone cold, but I push them around my plate, pretending I have an appetite.
It's mid-November, a few weeks since I let myself cross that line with Dane.
The whiskey made everything seem so much more exciting and it was a moment of weakness, a one-time lapse in judgment brought on by alcohol and adrenaline and the fact that he's unfairly attractive for a man who lives in the middle of nowhere and barely speaks.
But it wasn't the alcohol entirely, and I know that.
I've been trying to pretend it didn't happen, that I don't replay it in my mind when I lie awake at night on his bed, though he sleeps on the couch now.
He's made it easier by disappearing into that barn of his for hours at a time, and I tell myself that he regrets it.
That he's avoiding me because sleeping with me was a mistake he'd rather forget.
The age gap alone screams "bad idea", and fuck if I can't stop noticing anyway.
He's forty, and I'm twenty-eight, and there's no universe where this makes sense.
I don't date older men. I don't date men who've killed people for a living.
I don't date men who lock me in cabins either, but he's so fucking irresistible that even if I weren't drunk, I'd fuck him again in a heartbeat if he asked me.
"More coffee, hon?" Ellie appears at my elbow, pot in hand, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun.
I've been coming here every few days when Dane makes his trips into town, and she's been nothing but warm and friendly with me.
Probably because I'm the one who finally convinced "Mr. Strouse" to participate in town events after so long hiding like a hermit on that mountain.
"Please," I say, pushing my cup toward her.
She pours, then lingers, leaning against the booth with a grin.
"So, Sarah. You survived the Halloween party…
" She lifts an eyebrow at me like she knows something I don't, and I feel a little tense.
I was pretty drunk that night, and Dane was right.
I honestly was too drunk to consent, but I don't regret it.
What I do regret is not remembering everything from the party itself.
Did I do something that might've ruined my cover story Dane spun up for me?
"Barely," I say. "That cider was dangerous."
"Travis Boone makes it every year. Swears it's a secret recipe, but I'm pretty sure it's just bourbon and apple juice.
" She laughs a little too loudly, but no one pays any attention to her.
"You looked great, though. I'm glad you came.
People don't usually warm up to newcomers that fast, but you've got a way about you. "
"Thanks." I take a sip of coffee, letting the heat spread through my chest. "It was fun. I needed it."
Ellie tilts her head, studying me. "You doing okay? You seem a little… I don't know. Tired."
I am tired. Exhausted, actually. The constant tension coiled in my gut is wearing on me. Every day I wake up in that cabin, I wonder if today's the day another package arrives or if today's the day whoever's behind this decides to escalate.
Dane won't tell me what he's planning. He just broods and vanishes into the barn and comes back with his jaw tight and his eyes distant.
He barely speaks to me now, won't have dinner at the table with me—eats that in the barn too—and he's gone for long stretches at a time, which he says is normal for him. Hunting and all that.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just adjusting to small-town life."
She nods, though I'm not sure she believes me. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."
"Actually," I say before I can talk myself out of it, "can I borrow your phone? Mine's been acting up, and I need to call a friend back home."
Ellie doesn't hesitate. She pulls her cell from her apron pocket and hands it over. "Take your time. I've got to check on the grill, anyway."
I watch her disappear into the kitchen, then slide out of the booth and make my way to the back corner, where the bathrooms are. There's a small alcove here, tucked away from the main dining area. Private enough for me to lean against a wall and think of what to say when the call connects.
My hands tremble as I dial Erin's number. My best friend won't be expecting this, but I have to hear a familiar voice or I'm going to go crazy. She picks up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Erin, it's me."
"Sloane?" she gasps, and I think for a moment she'll scream. "Oh my God, where the hell have you been? Everyone's looking for you. They think you're dead!"
Her voice is loud, frantic. I press the phone closer to my ear and lower my voice. "I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't—my phone got destroyed, and I've been…"
"Where are you?"
"Erin, listen. Someone drugged me, and there was this man—Dane—and he won't let me leave because someone's targeting him, and they used me to do it, and—"
"Jesus Christ." Her breath hitches. "Sloane, you need to call the police. Right now."
"I can't, Erin. Around here, people think I'm the problem. I just need to get back to New York and file a police report—"
"Are you insane? The cops think you're dead. Girl, go to the sheriff or whoever and tell them some psycho has you."
I pause, biting the inside of my cheek. Dane's not a psycho, and if I tell Sheriff Carver, that's what he'll think too, that Dane took me and drugged me and worse.
And that's not what I want to happen to Dane.
He's taken care of me so far, and that night…
Well, it might've just been sex, but it was incredible sex, and maybe I don’t want his past to crash in on him any more than I want mine catching up with me.
"Sloane, oh my God, are you there? Are you listening to me?" Erin snaps, but my eyes catch movement at the front of the diner.
The door swings open, and Dane strides in with heavy footsteps, tracking a layer of snow onto the linoleum. His face is a storm—jaw clenched, eyes locked on me. He's holding a box under one arm, wrapped in brown paper, and his gaze drops to the phone in my hand.
"Sarah," he calls, and I instantly hear the anger in his tone. "What are you doing?"
My stomach drops. I clutch the phone tighter, my pulse hammering in my ears. "I'm just—"
"Who are you calling?" he growls.
Ellie glances between us but her smile is fading. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," Dane says, not taking his eyes off me. "Sarah, we're leaving."
"I'm not done with breakfast." My eyes flick over to the plate of cold eggs as I slowly swipe across the screen to end the call and feel my heart leap up into my chest. I'm not stupid. I know calling Erin was a mistake. I knew it the instant I heard her voice. Now they know I’m not dead, and while that's a good thing for my family, it means Dane won't just have a madman after him.
He'll also have the cops looking. He'll be furious.
"Yes, you are."
Dane crosses the diner and pries the phone from my hand before handing it back to Ellie. "Sorry about that. She's been under a lot of stress lately."
I stare at him, and my blood's boiling. He's lying to her, smoothing this over yet again as if I'm some unstable woman he needs to manage. But what can I say? That he's holding me prisoner? That I'm terrified and desperate and don't know who to trust?
And that would drag Ellie into this mess she doesn’t need to be in at all.
I'm the fool for thinking I could just have a taste of my normal life, and he's the jerk for making me feel so alone the past week that I felt the need to reach out to someone for comfort.
He fucking lives in the same house as me but refuses to interact.
"Come on," he says, his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door, and I can't even resist in front of Ellie who stares at us with wide eyes.
But the moment we're outside, the cold air hitting my face, I round on him. "I didn't even fucking pay for those eggs yet. You had no right—"
"Get in the truck."
"I'm not getting in the truck until you tell me what the hell you think you're doing!"
He shoves the box into my arms. "Read the label."
I look down at the box and let my shoulders sag.
The handwriting is the same as all the others, with Dane's name and no return address.
It's a scalding reminder of exactly why he hasn't let me go back to New York and why I've chosen to respect that decision and stay here. It feels like a slap in the face.
My throat tightens. "Another one."
"Another one," he confirms. "And you were about to tell your friend exactly where we are. Do you have any idea what you almost did?"
"I want to go home, Dane." I slowly look up at his eyes, and I see compassion there as his voice softens and he responds.
"You don't have a home anymore, Sloane." If I didn't know better, I'd say he cares about me, but it's terrifying.
I've always wanted a strong, dominant man to lean into because dammit, being a woman alone in a big city sucks sometimes.
But Dane Strouse? Falling for a killer wasn't ever in my list of ideas for my future, and I don't intend to start now, but fuck if I can't help myself.
Running back to the city isn't just asserting my independence.
It's most certainly pointing a loaded weapon right at the target on Dane's chest, and I can't do that.
"I don't want to die here," I whine, and he huffs out a sigh as he pushes me closer to the truck. "I don't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some psychopath to decide it's my turn. I want my life back."
He opens the passenger door and nods toward the seat. "Get in."
I stare up at his big blue eyes for a moment and watch the breath puff from his mouth in crystalized clouds. "Dane…"
"Just get in, alright? Please." It's the first time I think I've heard him say please, and it knots in my chest, drawing tears to my eyes.
I relent, letting my entire body release the coil because I'm not going to take off. He opens the door and I slide in, then he shuts it and I watch him rub his forehead as he rounds to his door.
Dane Strouse, for as much a killer he is, is also a man with a conscience, and no matter what my better judgment says about men like him, I know he's trying. I just don't like how long it's taking.