Chapter 17
seventeen
SADIE
Zach’s message arrives at exactly six o’clock. My phone lights up on the dresser, and for a second, I just stare at it. The screen glows against the soft amber light of my apartment, a quiet buzz breaking the stillness.
I already know who it’s from, but my heart still races as I swipe it open.
Drive to the north of the island. Take a left on the path before the resort.
Follow the track for a mile. You’ll come to a small, wooded area, park on the left.
Leave your keys in the ignition. At seven-thirty, get out of the car and head toward the tree with an x marked on the trunk. And then you run. – Zach
I let out a ragged breath. This is really happening. The adrenaline is already rushing through my veins. God knows what I’ll be like by seven-thirty. A wreck, I’m guessing, which is exactly how he’s planned it.
Because he’s planned everything. For me. He’s made it clear that if he’s going to give this to me he wants it to be right. To be perfect.
Truth be told, I think he’ll catch me before I’ve even stepped a foot in the forest.
I put my phone down and look at myself in the mirror above my dressing table. My face is flushed despite the makeup I’ve applied. The full works. Foundation, concealer, my eyes are made up like I’m off to dance the night away at a club. And my lips are a deep blood red.
I want to reply to him, to ask him which way I should run. But if he’s doing this properly then so am I. I’m not going to ruin the vibe. Even if my heart is slamming against my chest at the thought of hearing this man’s breath as he hunts me. Of feeling his hands as he takes me.
Of giving him everything. Because he asked me for that, too. He’s not going to do anything without my consent. And maybe that’s the biggest turn on of all. That with every step he takes, he’s thinking of me.
I’m not sure I’ve been the focus of anybody’s attention like this for a long time. If ever.
And I know I shouldn’t get used to it. That he’s only doing this because somehow he feels responsible for me.
I stand and glance toward the painting on the wall. The woman is still standing there, turned halfway toward the light, staring toward the water, always waiting.
Did the person she was waiting for ever come for her? I wonder that a lot.
But I don’t have to wonder if Zach will come for me.
At seven, I walk downstairs in the short silver dress that molds to my every curve, thankful that Romy isn’t here to ask any questions about where the hell I’m going looking like this.
I thought about wearing heels, but I stumble in them at the best of times. Instead, I’m in a pair of flats. Sandals that show off my fresh red pedicure. Everything about me is on theme.
A pretty girl being chased by a man obsessed with her.
The evening air hits me as soon as I step outside. It’s that drowsy hour between sunset and dark when the streets are empty and the gulls have fallen silent. Only the faint hum of the ocean waves carries on the breeze.
My car is parked under the streetlight, pale silver against the deepening blue of the sky. I slide inside and start the engine, the soft rumble breaking the stillness. The road north is narrow and winding, the kind that hugs the cliffs before slipping into wild stretches of grass and trees.
I don’t turn on music. I want to be alone with my thoughts. To prepare myself. This is just a game, I know that. A stupid adult version of tag that I’m doing because I read a book and found it interesting. But still, there’s an undercurrent to my pulse that makes me feel like it’s so much more.
And I like it. I like that I’ve chosen this. I like that I can stop it at any moment.
But I won’t.
The further I drive, the darker it gets, the air cooler, tinged with pine and damp earth.
This part of Liberty – after the busy rush of Main Street and the glamor of the Grand Liberty Hotel, but before the new resort and the bustling port area to the north – is undeveloped.
Silent and beautiful, like a lover waiting to be discovered.
By the time I reach the turnoff Zach told me about, the sunlight has almost gone. The track he mentioned no more than two tire marks through the grass, half lost beneath the shadows. I follow it slowly, the tires of my Honda crunching over loose stone.
At the mile mark, I see it. A small break in the trees. I pull over to the left, my heart racing, the headlamps slicing through the dark.
There’s no sign of another car. Is he here? Will he follow? I didn’t see any other vehicles this far out. Another mystery, one I might ask him about when this is over and we’re back to being just friends. Whatever that means.
The clock on the dash says seven twenty-eight. I switch off the engine and my hands rest on the top of the steering wheel as I look out at the line of trees ahead.
And nervous laughter rises in my chest. We’re really doing this.
It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t want a relationship. If my kids were to ever ask how I met their daddy, telling them he hunted me in a forest probably wouldn’t be the best answer.
I pull the door handle and step out, leaving my keys in the car where he told me to. I’m not worried about it getting stolen. The island is safe. One of the many things I love about Liberty.
But it’s still intriguing. Why does he want me to leave the keys here? To heighten the tension? To make me feel alone? Afraid?
Another piece of the Zach Fitzgerald puzzle I can’t quite seem to place. But I know he’s done it for a reason. The past few days have proved he doesn’t do anything without planning it meticulously.
Seven twenty-nine. I take a deep breath and look around, but there’s no sign of him. The only light comes from the full moon. There’s not a cloud in the sky.
And no sign of Zach at all. Is he even here?
The moment my watch says seven-thirty, I walk toward the trees. There’s a huge white x painted on one of them. And I can see an earthy path next to it. Not quite a trail. More of a desire path, built up by years of walkers.
Still, it’s that route I take as I walk into the tree line, my heart hammering against my chest.
You will run.
I can’t run yet. I’m too edgy. But I walk faster, enough for me to feel it in my calves and hamstrings.
It’s dark in the trees, despite the light of the moon. My feet sink into the bark and moss that lines the route, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
The scent of pine grows heavier, the breeze shifting against my skin. Somewhere above, a gull cries once and falls silent.
Dammit, he told me to run. I’m gonna run.
I launch myself forward, the ground beneath my feet soft and forgiving as my sandals strike the mossy earth. My strides aren’t long – they can’t be in this dress – but I make up for it in speed, trying to keep my breath steady as my pulse starts to throb.
I run for a minute. Then another. Along the path, because going into the trees would be madness. A branch whips at my arm, the sting sharp against my skin, but I ignore it, because I’m on a mission here.
That’s when I hear a twig snap. It makes my breath catch and I slow down even though I should be speeding up.
Is he here? God, I hope it’s him. If it’s somebody out for a lovely night time walk they’re gonna get the shock of their lives.
A giggle – almost hysterical – rises up. Then I hear another movement and the laughter fades.
Oh God, I feel it. The rush of adrenaline. Of knowing he’s close. Of knowing he’s hunting me. Shadowing me.
Wanting me.
Then I hear the clearing of a throat. Low, deliberate. He’s playing with me. Letting me know he’s here.
That I’m in his sights.
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s no reply. And I know I could call out another word. And this would be over. But I don’t want to. I want him to chase me. To catch me.
To make me feel like I’ve never felt before.
So I keep on going. Half-running half-walking. Looking around me, behind me, but not ever seeing him.
But he’s here. I can feel it in the way the back of my neck prickles. In the way my body responds to him. All heat and slickness.
I’m so busy looking around that I don’t see the branch hanging over the path. My dress catches on it, the knotted wood tearing at the silver sequins. The sound of it feels loud enough to split the night.
It slows me down to a stop. I pull the fabric free.
And then I hear footsteps.
They’re slow and steady. Completely unhurried.
Of course they are. He’s not running, he’s stalking.
The lion hunts while the deer scrambles. And I’m the deer right now. All gangly legs and wide eyes, my head turning from left to right.
A shadow in the trees catches my eye. I think it moves. Or maybe it’s my imagination.
The bastard’s toying with me. Drawing it out. Letting me feel the chase.
My pulse is a drumbeat in my throat. I spin again, the torn edge of my dress brushing my thighs, cool air licking at my skin.
“Zach,” I whisper, though I know he won’t answer. That’s not how this works.
I’m so stupidly scared and turned on I can’t think straight. Can’t decide where to go, what to do. I’m prey caught in the headlamps, except it’s completely dark.
And I’m not alone. I know that because the next moment a low, rough voice cuts through the musty air.
“Look at you, looking so beautiful right now.”
I let out a squeal at the sound of his voice. Oh god, I’m a complete mess. My hair must be full of twigs, my feet are dusty, and my dress is torn.
“Zach?” I say again.
“Run all you like. You know you’re mine. And I’m going to make you feel it in every inch of your body.”
Oh, he’s playing again. Even if he sounds completely serious. The weight of his words press against my core in the most delicious of ways.
And then he steps out, onto the path, and I let out a soft scream.
He’s all in black. His face is masked, his eyes shadowed by the trees.
Jesus, he’s intimidating.
That’s when I remember I’m supposed to run. Or at least make a damn effort.