Chapter 8
Peighton
I’m being chased by two men with guns.
Lord, lord, lord help me!
I burst into the forest at full speed, branches slapping my arms, the frozen air slicing into my lungs.
Panic wipes out reason, leaving only instinct. The trees are dense and blackened by winter. The ground is uneven and hidden beneath patches of snow. Every icy breath feels like it shatters inside my chest.
Running into the forest might kill me faster than these guys, but at least the forest does not torture. The forest takes lives quickly.
Gustav uses his hands. His rules. His cruelty. Out here, I might find a way out. Back there, unlikely.
A root catches my shoe and I stumble down a steep bank, tumbling through snow and dead grass. My hip smashes against the cold earth. I gasp, pushing myself upright. Ahead of me, an iced-over river snakes through the landscape, thin cracks glistening under a pale film of frost.
It is not solid. One wrong step and I will plunge through.
Behind me, I hear the crunch of boots as the two guards appear at the top of the bank. One points at the ice.
“Don’t cross. You will die. Come back now.”
The other yells for me to climb up. His voice is sharp and demanding, but the cold wind steals most of the sound.
I know they are right. The ice is weak. I see the fractures, the darker patches where the river churns below. Crossing this is not just dangerous, it is foolish.
But my instincts scream that the only direction with any chance of survival is forward, not backward.
I step onto the ice. It groans under my weight. My breath halts in my throat.
“Stop,” one of the men shouts. “Don’t take another step!”
I drop to my hands and knees. The icy surface burns my palms with a bone-deep ache. The cold is so sharp it feels like knives slicing into my skin. I crawl, distributing my weight, moving with careful, shaking breaths.
The ice cracks under me.
The river bubbles beneath the surface. I move anyway. I have to.
The guards slide and scramble down the bank, shouting at me as they rush toward the ice. Their voices blur into frantic noise. The only sound that matters is the deep, sickening crack spreading beneath me.
I freeze.
Another crack jolts through the surface. A thin seam opens beneath my knee, wetting it.
The ice gives way.
I plunge straight down.
The cold is an assault. It steals my breath in an instant.
The river swallows me in a brutal rush, spinning me under.
I cannot scream. I cannot breathe. I try to push up but the current drags me away from the hole I fell through.
Panic surges in my chest as I slam against a rock. A sharp pain shoots up my side.
My lungs seize. I need air.
Above me, the ice rushes past in a blur of pale blue. I slam my fist upward, desperate to find a weak spot. Nothing breaks.
The river pulls harder, dragging me, spinning me sideways. My chest burns, and the ache becomes a crushing pressure. My vision sparkles at the edges. I hit another rock. Pain sparks again. The cold slips into my bones, paralyzing.
Then a heavy thud echoes through the water. A violent crack splits overhead. The ice above me bursts open, and light floods into the water.
A hand clamps around my coat.
I am dragged upward with impossible force. My head breaks the surface, and I suck in air so cold it feels like glass in my lungs. The breeze cuts worse than the water. My limbs are wet stones as I am hauled from the river and thrown onto the bank.
I cough out water, trembling so hard my teeth clack together. The world spins in a haze of white and gray.
When my vision sharpens, I look up.
Gray eyes stare down at me, steely, sharp, and wild.
Gustav.
His face is carved in fury and something colder than the river that nearly drowned me. His black hair is disheveled. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.
And for a moment, the tension between us is heart-stopping.
He won.
Again.
But this time, I see something new in his eyes. Something unrestrained. Something that feels different.
And I do not know if it is anger or far more dangerous.
“You stupid American,” he scolds with his nostrils flaring.
He strips off my coat and shirt, then dresses me in his, leaving him shirtless in the bitter cold. I shiver, but hug myself in the lingering warmth of his body heat in the lining. His scent, masculine and spicy, permeates the fabric in an oddly soothing manner.
I guess he is my betrothed. At least there is one thing I like about him. His scent is as calming as it is erotic.
He picks up a rifle and slings it over his shoulder. I didn’t realize he had one.
When he turns, hand gripping mine, I see his back. The scars are wicked, covering every inch. They’re twisted, smooth, and have a faint shine. I gawk, as if they must hurt even now.
The other two guards smirk at me, shaking their heads. By the time we climb the bank, my lashes are frosted and my frozen hair could snap.
Ahead, by the house is a fancy car. It’s empty.
The men draw their weapons.
Gustav glances at me.
“Stay close.”
I blink, knowing I’m at a crossroads. He holds the rifle with two hands. I’ll be untethered. I could run once more, but this time, my attackers will be occupied.
He sees the doubt in my eyes and squints, then says a statement so chilling, my stomach drops.
“If they catch you, they will humiliate you, defile you, and fuck every hole until you’re dead.”
“I’ll stay close,” I whisper fast, my eyes wide.