Chapter 26
Amber
Sunlight filters through the trees and in through the tiny crack of the van’s curtains, turning the dust in the air into little gold specks.
It lands across Bastiaan’s bare chest, painting him in low light.
His arm is heavy over my waist, warm and solid, like he’s holding me here on purpose. Anchoring me.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like I’m about to snap in half. My chest isn’t tight. My brain isn’t running through escape routes. I just… feel safe.
His slow, even breathing tickles my curls. He smells like pine and Bastiaan, like last night is still on my skin. I should let him sleep—he barely has since this all started—but I can’t stop looking at him.
I whisper, barely loud enough to break the quiet, “What are we doing, Bas?”
The words slip out like a secret, like maybe if I say them softly enough, they won’t ruin this fragile bubble we’re hiding in.
He doesn’t answer. His face stays soft in sleep, his jaw rough with stubble, his lips relaxed. My heart twists because I don’t know what I even want the answer to be. Are we… us now? Or are we just clinging to each other because fear and adrenaline demand it?
I think of Jess and Andrea back home. I picture them being guarded, not allowed to continue with their lives until mine is safe. The guilt hits sharp. I want to text them, call them, something, anything—but the last thing Dad said about burner phones and tracking echoes in my head. I can’t.
Beside me, Bastiaan stirs. His arm tightens instinctively, his face nuzzling into my hair. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he presses a soft kiss to my curls, and my chest aches instantly. He does these small, unconscious things that say everything he won’t out loud.
The silence is easy for a while. Soft. If I pretend hard enough, we’re just a couple camping in a forest in Denmark because we felt like it. Not because we’re hiding.
Eventually, his blue eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep, and the sight hits me low in my stomach.
“Morning, liefje,” he murmurs, voice all gravel.
The endearment slides through me like warmth. “Morning,” I whisper back, trying to keep it light. “You snore, by the way.”
One eye cracks open further. “The hell I do.”
“You do,” I tease, nudging his side with my elbow. “Like a tractor.”
“Tractor,” he repeats, deadpan. “You wound me, Amber.”
“Don’t worry, I still like you,” I say with a grin.
“Good to know.” His hand shifts from my waist to my hip, squeezing lightly, and the movement sparks heat low in my belly, memories of last night flashing bright and dangerous—his mouth curves, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The soft, lazy moment lasts until the burner phone buzzes against the floor of the van.
The sound shatters our little bubble.
Bas is up in an instant, leaning over to snatch the phone. He’s still not used to this—being hunted—but the raw instinct is there. Protective. Hyperaware. His shoulders are tense as he checks the screen.
“What?” I ask, my voice already tight.
He exhales hard. “Jack.”
The van feels smaller all of a sudden, like the trees outside are pressing in.
He reads the message out loud.
Jack: Got a few of ‘em. Two down, three ran. Don’t get comfortable.
My stomach drops. “The MC caught them?”
“Some of them,” Bastiaan says, eyes flicking to the windows, scanning the tree line like he expects a black van to roll up any second. “Which means the others are still out there.”
The safety I’d been pretending we had evaporates instantly.
He pulls a shirt over his head, his movements quick now, focused. “We can’t stay here. If they were close enough for Jack to grab a couple, the rest won’t be far behind.”
I wrap the blanket tighter around me for a second, not ready to let go of the warmth of him, of us. “Where do we go?”
“North,” he says immediately. “Stick to the back roads, keep the van moving. I’ve never done this shit before, but…” His jaw flexes. “…feels like the longer we stay in one place, the closer they get.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I hate this.”
“Yeah, me too,” he mutters. Then, a faint, crooked grin makes his dimple pop out. “You’re a pain in the arse to kidnap-proof, by the way.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me despite the fear coiled in my gut. “I’m sorry I’m not a trained fugitive.”
“Well,” he says, tossing me my clothes, “you’re learning fast, liefje.”
I roll my eyes, but the banter feels like a thin lifeline between us and the panic pressing at the edges. We dress quickly, his eyes scanning the windows every few seconds, and shove our few belongings into the bag.
The van still smells like us, like last night, like this impossible, fragile thing we’ve stolen in the middle of danger. It makes my chest ache as I slam the back doors shut and follow him to the front.
Bastiaan grips the wheel, his knuckles white, and glances at me once before turning the key. “Ready?”
No. I’ll never be ready for this kind of thing. But I nod anyway. “Ready.”
The van rumbles to life, breaking the forest’s quiet, and we pull out onto the dirt road, the sunlight flickering through the trees like a strobe. For a moment, I let myself imagine we’re just… travelling. A British woman and a beautiful Dutch man on an adventure, nothing chasing us but the wind.
But the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes cut to the mirrors, says what neither of us does out loud.
The hunt isn’t over. Not even close.