Chapter 29
Bastiaan
Rain drizzles, mist curling over the slick roads as I grip the steering wheel tighter than feels humanly possible. The van’s tyres hum against the wet asphalt, but my eyes are scanning every mirror, every shadow, every bend in the road.
Amber is silent beside me, but her tension fills the van like a living thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the dashboard. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay, to promise her she’s safe with me—but I don’t lie. Not to her.
Then, out of the corner of my eye—headlights. Two motorcycles. Black cuts gleaming in the grey daylight, engines snarling like predators.
“They found us.” My voice is low, hard.
Amber jerks toward the window, her breath catching. “What do we do?”
“Drive.”
I slam my foot down on the accelerator, and the van surges forward with a guttural roar.
The bikes fall in behind us immediately, engines screaming, closing fast. My pulse pounds in rhythm with the rain drumming on the roof. The road twists through dense forest, the trees leaning over like witnesses. Every instinct screams at me to keep moving, to not give them a straight shot.
The van jolts as I push it harder, skidding slightly on the wet surface.
“Bas!” Amber’s voice cracks. “Are they going to catch us?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not while I’m scanning the mirrors, watching one biker move closer, the other hanging back like a wolf waiting for its moment.
They split. One shoots forward along the oncoming lane, speeding ahead, while the other hangs tight on our tail. I see the first one slowing near a bend in the road—he’s trying to cut us off.
I slam the brakes just enough to keep control and wrench the wheel toward a narrow dirt track I spot between the trees.
“HOLD ON!”
The van lurches violently as we leave the asphalt, tyres slamming into mud and stones. Water splashes up the windows, branches scrape along the sides, and the suspension groans under the punishment. Amber gasps, grabbing the seat with both hands.
I push the van harder down the muddy path. The biker behind us follows but struggles to keep balance, back tyre fishtailing. Good. The rain-slick forest floor is on our side for once.
A fallen tree blocks part of the track ahead, and for a heartbeat, my stomach fucking drops. But there’s just enough space for the van to squeeze through. I take it, mud spraying across the windows. Behind us, the biker slows, almost tipping.
We climb a slick slope, the tyres spinning, and I can feel the van fighting me. My hands are iron on the wheel, jaw clenched, every muscle locked in survival mode.
We crest the rise, the van lurching forward, and finally—finally—the bikes fall out of sight behind the trees.
Amber’s exhale is shaky, her shoulders trembling. “That was… too close.”
I slow the van slightly, keeping my eyes on the track ahead. The forest closes around us, the rain softening to a drizzle. The danger feels distant but not gone.
“We’re not safe yet,” I mutter.
She nods, silent again, but I can feel the pounding of her heart in the charged quiet.
We drive for hours, winding deeper into the trees, both of us caught between vigilance and exhaustion. The rain lightens, then stops entirely, leaving only the hum of tyres and the occasional whisper of branches brushing the roof. My hands stay tight on the wheel, every muscle taut.
Amber breaks the silence at one point, her voice quiet and raw. “I can’t believe my dad lives with this. All the time. Always looking over his shoulder.”
I glance at her, but she’s staring out the window at the blur of trees, her expression unreadable. I don’t need to answer—she already knows the truth.
I keep driving until I spot a small clearing by a stream, half-hidden by dense pines. I turn off the engine, and the sudden silence rings in my ears. My hands are stiff around the wheel. It takes a moment to force them to let go.
Amber stares out the window for a long moment, then turns toward me. Her eyes are wide but clear, like she’s forcing herself to be brave.
“Bas… can we talk?”
I run a hand over my damp hair and nod. “Yeah.”
She hesitates, chewing her lip. “It means more than you know… that you’re here. With me. That you chose to help me. Chose me.”
I swallow, my chest tight. “You really want to have this chat now?”
“I need a distraction,” she says, looking at me shyly.
“Okay, liefje. It was a no-brainer; I wasn’t going to leave you vulnerable. But if this chat is going the way I think it is, you’ve got to know, I’m not easy. Not by a long shot.”
Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for my arm, her fingers brushing my skin like a promise. “I don’t want easy. I want real. I want you.”
I nod once, then the words leave me before I can stop them.
“I’ve only ever had one girlfriend before I married, and I’ve only slept with two women,” I admit quietly. “Marieke… and you.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes widen, then soften. “You mean that.”
“I do.”
The weight of the confession presses down, tangled with grief for the woman I lost and fear for the one sitting beside me.
“Being with you…” My throat tightens. “It’s different. Scary. Because if I lose you, if something happens to you…” I stop, voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can survive it.”
Amber leans closer, her forehead finding mine. Her skin is warm, soft, and it grounds me.
“We don’t have to know what happens next,” she whispers. “We just have to choose this. Here. Now.”
I close my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. The scent of her, the soft brush of her curls against my face, the echo of the chase still pounding in my blood—it all collides into one truth I can’t ignore.
“Alright,” I whisper. “Here. Now.”
For a moment, we just breathe.
Amber’s hand is still in mine, her fingers warm and steady, and I feel her shift closer—slow, like she’s afraid to break the silence between us. Her forehead stays against mine, the space between us charged, intimate, holding more than words ever could.
I open my eyes and find her already watching me.
No fear. Just feeling.
I let my hand slide to her jaw, rough thumb brushing her cheekbone. She leans into it like it’s instinct, her eyes fluttering shut.
And then we kiss.
It’s not urgent or desperate—not like before. This is something quieter. A promise. Her lips are soft and sure against mine, and when she exhales, it shivers straight down my spine. My hand rests at the side of her neck, her pulse beating fast beneath my fingers.
I don’t press. I don’t need to.
She’s here. She’s mine. And for the first time, I let myself believe it.
When we finally pull apart, she lingers close, her eyes shining in the low light.
“We’re okay,” she whispers. Not a question. A quiet truth she’s choosing to believe.
“Yeah,” I say, brushing my nose gently against hers. “We are.”
She leans back slightly, but her fingers stay tangled with mine. The forest hums quietly around us, water trickling somewhere in the distance.
She leans her head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a small smile plays on her lips. I can see the exhaustion pulling at her. She hasn’t slept properly in days. Neither of us has.
“You should rest,” I murmur.
“Can you?” she asks without opening her eyes.
“No.” I glance in the mirrors again—nothing but trees and mist. “But I can watch. You sleep.”
She sighs, soft and reluctant, but then her hand slides across the seat, her fingertips brushing mine again. “Will you wake me if—”
“If anything happens, yeah.”
Her fingers curl slightly around mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The world outside is wet and cold and dangerous, but inside the van, her warmth seeps into me like a slow fire.
She drifts off, her breathing evening out, and I sit there in the quiet, heart still pounding. My mind runs in sharp loops—routes, escape plans, the next steps toward Nordmarka—but my thumb brushes her knuckles without thinking.
For now, in this clearing, in this moment, we’re still here. Still together.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.