Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Bianca
I thought getting out was the hardest part. Turns out, I was wrong.
These woods are endless. My palms are still scraped raw from the rough wood siding after I took the metal insert out.
I've been running for what feels like hours, but the trees just keep coming.
Dense pines that block out the sky, undergrowth that catches on my clothes and hair.
Everything looks the same, and I can't figure out where I am.
That's the worst of it. If I had any sense of direction, any idea where I was, at least I'd know which way to go.
But I don't.
I step forward. My toe catches on a gnarled tree root, and I go sprawling, my hands hitting the frozen earth hard enough to sting. I know the second my knees hit the ground that something has happened to my ankle.
Fuck .
I take a look at it in the dim moonlight filtering through the canopy. It's swelling beneath my torn stockings and hurts with every step. Now it's swollen and throbbing, and every time I put weight on it, white-hot pain shoots up my calf.
But I can't go back.
I managed to escape. I managed to get away from whoever he is. Now I just need to find my way home.
I stumble over another root and catch myself against a tree trunk.
The bark bites into my palm. I'm so cold my teeth are chattering.
That thin sweater I changed into does nothing against the chill spring air.
My fingers are numb, and my feet are worse because I have nothing more than the ridiculous flats I wore to my graduation ceremony.
Was that really just yesterday?
A light flickers through the trees ahead, and my heart leaps with desperate hope. A house? A road? Someone who can help me?
I push forward, limping, ignoring the pain in my ankle and the burning in my lungs, as the light grows brighter. Closer.
I'm going to make it. I'm going to? —
Oh god.
My heart sinks to my toes.
It's a shed. A goddamn fucking shed with a solar light mounted on the side. A rickety old structure that won't get me anywhere because it's filled with shovels and tools, and on the other side of it lies nothing but more endless pines.
The disappointment is crushing.
I brace myself against the shed's wall and let out a sound that's half sob, half scream.
There are no houses. There are no roads. There's no help.
That’s why he brought me here.
He truly did bring me to the middle of nowhere to keep me safe… or so he says. There are just trees and darkness and cold, and this goddamn shed.
I sink to the ground, my back against the rough wood, trying to catch my breath. I should have at least eaten before I left, but once I discovered a way out, I had to move quickly. I knew the sooner I left, the better my chances were to cover ground before he came back.
My ankle is pulsing now, like it has its own heartbeat, all hot and swollen. When I try to flex it, the pain makes me gasp.
I can't run. I can't keep going. I don't even know which direction I'm heading .
What if I keep going this way only to find I'm ten kilometers from any civilization? Maybe I should just stay here and wait for morning. Try to figure out which direction leads to help.
Except I don't know which direction that is. For all I know, I've been running in fucking circles.
God .
The cold seeps through my clothes, settling deep into my bones. I'm freezing. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking, but it doesn't work.
This was stupid. So fucking stupid.
I should have waited. Once I figured out I could get through that window, I should have just played nice. I know how to. I've been doing it my whole life.
I should have planned better. I should have?—
A branch snaps somewhere in the darkness ahead, and my head jerks up as my pulse rockets.
“There y'are.”
His voice cuts through the trees, low and rough and far too close.
No .
I try to stand, but my ankle gives out, and I collapse back down with a cry of pain.
“Don't.” His voice is closer now, edged with something dangerous. “Don't you fuckin' move. ”
He emerges from the shadows like something out of a nightmare, tall and broad, those silvery eyes finding me immediately in the darkness. He's breathing hard, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
He looks furious. Terrifying.
“Please don't—” I start, but he's already moving, and I don't even know what I'm asking him.
He crosses the distance in three long strides and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands go to my injured ankle before I can pull away.
“Don't touch me.” I try to kick at him with my good foot, but he catches it easily, his grip firm but not painful.
“Stop.” His fingers probe my ankle with surprising tenderness, and I hiss at the pain. “Christ, lass. What happened? What did you do?”
“Let me go.” My voice breaks. “Please just let me go.”
“Let you go?” He shakes his head, something almost like desperation flickering across his features. “To your fucking death? There are ten kilometers of nothing but woods in every direction from here. You're not far from the cabin at all. You shouldn't have done this. I told you not to run.”
“I don't belong to you,” I say.
“Don't I know it.” He examines my ankle, his touch careful despite the anger radiating off him in waves. “Does it hurt here?” He presses gently on the top of my foot.
I shake my head, but when he presses on a particularly tender spot, I cry out.
“Ow!”
“Probably sprained,” he says grimly. “Maybe worse. You can't walk on it.”
“I don't care. I'll crawl if I have to. Anything to get away from you.”
His eyes snap to mine. In the dim light from the solar lamp above, they're almost gleaming like polished silver. “You'll do no such thing.”
“You can't keep me. You can't?—”
His voice is a band of steel. “I can and I will.”
He stands, and before I can process what's happening, he's scooping me up. One arm is under my knees, the other around my back, lifting me just like he did before, as if I weigh nothing.
I struggle, frustration spilling over as I try to beat at his chest with my fists, but it's like hitting stone. “Put me down!”
“No,” he says simply, turning back toward the cabin. His stride is steady and sure, and my protests die in my throat.
Ten kilometers in every direction .
The least I can do is let him bring me back, have some food, and tend to my ankle. And then next time… Next time I'll plan better.
He adjusts me in his arms, shifting my weight, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of how I must feel to him. How heavy I am. I'm not a small girl—I'm curvy and soft, and he can probably feel every damn kilo.
The embarrassment burns hotter than my anger.
“Please put me down,” I say, quieter now. “Please? You can't?—”
“Enough.” The word comes out sharp, and his arms tighten around me. “If you keep fighting me, you're going to hurt yourself worse.”
“I don't care.”
“But I do.” His voice drops, possessive in a way that makes my stomach flip. “I care very much, which is why you will never do this again, Bianca.”
I draw in a deep breath, desperate for him to see reason. “I'm too heavy, Ashland,” I whisper.
He stops walking abruptly, and I feel the tension coil through his entire body. “Lass,” he says, giving my thigh a warning squeeze. “Do I look like the type of man who can't carry a little thing like you?”
I don't realize I'm burying my burning face in his shoulder until I feel the rough fabric of his shirt pressed against my cheek. I jerk my head up, but it's too late. I catch the satisfied quirk of his lips tipped upward.
The cabin comes into view far too quickly. No, did I really only get that far? All that running, all that pain, and I barely made it a kilometer from where I started.
He carries me up the steps and through the door. The warmth inside hits me like a wall, and I start shaking uncontrollably.
He sets me down on the couch, and I immediately try to stand, needing to maintain some sense of control. But his hand on my shoulder pushes me back down with gentle, implacable force.
“Stay.”
“I'm not a dog.”
“Then stop acting like one who runs into traffic,” he snaps.
He shakes his head and disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a towel and a first aid kit.
He kneels in front of me, his expression hard.
“Trying to escape into woods you don't know, without proper clothing or supplies. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
“Anything's better than what's happening to me here.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I realize how childish I sound. Yes, I'm kidnapped, but he's fed me, given me clothes, and kept me warm and safe. It's not like he's abusing me. The thought makes me feel even more confused .
He starts removing my ruined flats, and I wince at even the slightest jostle of my ankle.
“Shit,” he mutters, examining the swelling. “Poor girl. You really hurt yourself, didn't you?”
His movements are efficient and controlled, but I can see the tension in his broad shoulders and the way his jaw keeps clenching.
“'Better than what's happening to you here, eh?” He slides the shoe off my swollen ankle with a care that contradicts the anger laced through his features. “You really think stumbling around in the dark, injured and freezing, is better than being here with me?”
“Yes.” I try to pull my foot away, but his grip tightens—not painful, but firm. “You're holding me prisoner. Of course anything's better than this.”
He doesn't respond immediately, just begins wrapping my ankle with practiced efficiency. His touch is surprisingly gentle despite the anger simmering in those cold gray eyes.
“I told you,” he says finally, securing the bandage before looking up at me. “I took you to keep you safe. He’ll kill you, Bianca.”
I go still. “You're lying.”
He shakes his head, his expression grim. “That man you're so desperate to go back to. He took two women, got what he wanted, then murdered them within a year. ”