16

Nathan

I kept one hand tight on the steering wheel, the other hovering near the holster tucked against my ribs, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds. The streets of Orca Bay blurred past, but my mind was sharper than it had been in days, every nerve on edge, every instinct screaming that this wasn’t over.

Carrie sat beside me, her body stiff and silent, arms wrapped tightly around herself. I could feel her breathing—shallow, shaky—and the weight of what had just happened pressed down on both of us like a thundercloud ready to burst.

“You okay?” I asked quietly, not taking my eyes off the road.

She nodded, but I wasn’t buying it. Her fingers trembled where they gripped the fabric of her jeans, her knuckles white. “Just... tired,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tired was an understatement. She’d been running from this bastard for too long, and now that he’d finally shown his face—brazen, arrogant, dangerous—it was like we’d stepped into a new game altogether. And this time, the stakes were higher.

“We’re going to the safehouse,” I said firmly. “You’ll stay there until I figure out our next move.”

She didn’t argue, just stared out the window, her reflection pale and hollow-eyed. I wanted to say something more—to promise her it would all be fine, that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her—but I’d made promises like that before, and they’d ended in blood and regret. So I kept my mouth shut and focused on the road.

The safehouse was a rundown cabin tucked into the woods about ten miles outside town, a place I’d scoped out when I first took this job, just in case things got ugly. It wasn’t much to look at—peeling paint, creaky floors—but it was secure, off the grid, and stocked with enough supplies to last us a week if needed.

I pulled up the gravel driveway, killed the engine, and scanned the tree line one last time before turning to Carrie. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated, biting her lip, her eyes flicking nervously toward the dark woods. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“As safe as it gets,” I promised, stepping out and circling around to her side. I opened the door and held out my hand. She took it, her grip cold and tight, and we moved quickly toward the cabin.

Inside, I locked and bolted the door behind us, then went room by room, checking windows, setting up perimeter alarms, making sure we were alone. Carrie stood in the center of the living room, arms still wrapped around herself, watching me with wide, uncertain eyes.

When I was satisfied, I turned to her and softened my voice. “We’re good. No one followed us.”

She nodded again, her eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

I wanted to pull her into my arms, to crush her against me and tell her it was going to be okay—but I didn’t. Not yet. Instead, I gestured toward the old couch. “Sit. Rest. I’m going to set up a few more things outside. Won’t take long.”

She didn’t argue, just sank down onto the cushions, curling into herself like she was trying to disappear.

I stepped outside, the cold air biting at my skin, and worked quickly, rigging trip wires and motion sensors, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. My mind was a war zone of strategy and worry, but beneath it all was something else—something raw and personal. I’d let my guard down with Carrie. I’d let things get complicated. And now?

Now I’d die before I let anything happen to her.

When I finally went back inside, Carrie was asleep, curled up on the couch, her breathing slow and even. I stood there for a moment, watching her, my chest tightening in a way I hadn’t felt in years. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and all I wanted was to keep her safe, to erase the fear from her eyes forever.

I grabbed a blanket from the closet and draped it over her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek before turning away and settling into the chair by the door, gun on my lap, eyes wide open.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And I was ready for whatever came next.

I don’t know how many hours passed, but the woods outside stayed eerily quiet, the only sounds the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of dry leaves. My eyes burned from staring too long at the shadows, but I wouldn’t let myself drift. Not tonight. Not when every instinct told me that bastard was still out there, watching, waiting for his next move.

At some point, Carrie stirred. I heard the soft intake of breath before I saw her sit up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She looked disoriented, her hair mussed, eyes searching the dark.

“Nathan?” she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m here,” I said, my voice low but steady. I rose from the chair and crossed to her side. “You okay?”

She blinked up at me, her eyes glassy. “I… had a nightmare. About Daniel.”

Her words hit me in the gut, and I crouched down in front of her, resting my hand lightly on her knee. “He’s not here, Carrie. You’re safe. I promise.”

She gave a shaky laugh, her fingers twisting in the blanket. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t feel real. Not when I know what he’s capable of.”

I wanted to tell her that I’d keep her safe no matter what, that I’d already laid down my life in my mind if it meant protecting her. But instead, I said, “We’re not going to let him win.”

Her eyes softened, glistening in the faint moonlight. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

That hit a nerve. I reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger just a little too long. “You don’t have to think about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

She leaned in, and for a second, I thought she might kiss me. Her breath mingled with mine, warm and inviting, and every fiber of my being wanted to close the distance. But instead, she rested her head on my shoulder, curling into me like she’d done it a thousand times before.

We stayed like that for a long time, silent, holding on to each other like we could keep the world at bay just by refusing to let go.

Finally, I whispered, “Try to sleep. I’ve got you.”

She nodded against my shoulder, and when her breathing evened out again, I gently laid her back down and returned to my post by the door.

But this time, my thoughts weren’t just about strategy or danger. They were about her—about the way she made me feel alive again, even when I didn’t think I deserved it.

And I knew then, as sure as I knew how to handle a gun or set a trap, that no matter what came next, I was in this—for her—for as long as it took.

Even if it destroyed me.