The late afternoon light barely filters through, making it a gloomy scene when he finally stops the car in front of a big tree and cuts the engine. The silence is deafening.
He gets out of the car, shutting his door before coming around to open mine. Before I can even think about trying to make a run for it, he’s grabbing my arm again, dragging me out.
My arm aches a little from his fingers digging into it so many times today. My wrists hurt from the ropes tied around them, and twisting them doesn’t make the rope get any looser.
I drag my feet a little, but it doesn’t stop Sloan as he pulls me away from the car and marches me even deeper into the woods.
As we walk, I glance around, trying to memorize landmarks or something in case I’m able to fight my way free and have to run, but it’s just trees. Trees and more trees, all of them identical enough that I couldn’t tell them apart even if I was in my right mind. With where my head is at right now, I don’t stand a chance.
I lose sight of the car as we keep walking, finally coming to a little clearing that’s ringed by still more trees. The ground beneath my feet is spongy with moss and grass and leaves, and the earthy smell of it fills my nose.
My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. If I thought I was on edge before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now, cold dread working its way down my spine. No matter how many times I think about it, it’s hard to wrap my mind around. I can’t believe this is really happening.
I’m about to die.
I can feel myself trembling a little bit, adrenaline and fear making an uncomfortable cocktail in my body. I feel hot and cold and then hot again all over, and I look at Sloan, even though I have no idea what I’m hoping to see.
He’s just as fucking impassive as ever, giving nothing away. He’s either cold-blooded as fuck, or a great actor, pretending this doesn’t matter to him at all.
I remember the worry and concern on Levi’s and Rory’s faces before they left Gavin’s office, and I remember the look the three of them shared. They trusted Sloan, and here he is about to kill me anyway.
“What are Rory and Levi going to say when they find out about this?” I demand, licking my lips. “That you dragged me out into the middle of the fucking woods and killed me?”
Even saying it out loud makes my stomach swoop uncomfortably, and I swallow back the tide of sour bile again.
“They’ll understand,” Sloan says. “When they realize that you were just using them the whole time. You were fucking lying and manipulating them, making them fall for you with your flirting and teasing, just so you could sabotage them in the end.”
He spits it out like it’s supposed to be a condemnation, but there’s something like hurt in his voice. Like he’s talking about himself as much as the other two.
I want to argue that it wasn’t like that, that I wasn’t using them. But… wasn’t I? I wanted to get closer to them. I wanted them to trust me. I felt so justified in doing it then, taking an “any means necessary” approach to getting what I needed.
What I thought I needed.
Standing here with Sloan, looking my own death in the face, it seems like a long time ago when I last flirted with any of them. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I had asked Levi or Rory for help. I wish I had confronted Sloan earlier about what I saw. Anything to not be standing here in front of him, miles and miles away from anyone who can help me, about to die.
I’m about to die.
That thought crystalizes in my head like a shard of glass, and a fresh surge of adrenaline washes away some of my paralyzing fear. My survival instincts flare—the primal, basic urge to live rushing through me and making my veins buzz.
I feel awful about what I did and the fallout from it, but I don’t want to die. My death won’t fix anything, and I can’t believe Sloan is really about to kill me, as calm as anything.
I won’t let him.
Moving suddenly, I duck to one side and then whirl around, trying to take a jab at Sloan with my bound wrists. It’s awkward with them tied together, and I can’t land a solid punch, but I do swipe at his face and hear him grunt in pain. That’s something.
He grabs for me, and I dart away, turning to try to knee him in the balls. If I can get him down, that will buy me some time to run. Maybe I can make it back to the car before he does. That’s the extent of my plan, but it’s better than nothing.
Sloan blocks my knee with the hand not holding a gun, and he pushes me back, grabbing for me again. This time I’m not fast enough, and he grabs my shirt, hauling me closer. I shift my balance and ram my shoulder into his chest, sending him staggering backward.
Blood rushing in my ears, I press the slight advantage, trying to knock him down. But with my wrists bound like they are, he has even more of an advantage, and he grabs me again, taking me down to the ground with him.
We land awkwardly, me on top of him at first, and the strong smell of earth and grass floods my senses. I’m a little dazed, but I shake it off and try to grab for the gun before Sloan has time to recover.
My fingers brush it, and I try to wrap them around it, but Sloan wrenches it away before I can get a grip. He shoves me over, trying to get on top of me, but I buck him off, refusing to be pinned that easily. I scramble away, breathing hard, and aim a kick for his hand, trying to knock the gun away from him at the very least.
He just tightens his grip on it and grunts in pain when my foot connects with his hand. His eyes flare with anger, and he lunges for me once more, this time faster than I can react to.
It’s like earlier in his room, the two of us wrestling for a weapon, trying to get the better of each other, but this time, I’m at a much bigger disadvantage. He’s bigger and stronger than I am, and my hands are tied, limiting my range of movement. Even if I could get the upper hand, it would be hard to keep it like this.
Sloan tackles me, sending me down into the layer of leaves on the ground on my stomach, face pressed to the earth. I can hear my breath wheezing in and out of me, and my hands are trapped under my body, useless and aching from the ropes and my own bodyweight.
He presses a knee into my back, and I grunt with pain, squirming and writhing to try to get away, even though it’s clear I’m not going anywhere. I’m trapped.
The knee lifts, but before I have time to do anything, Sloan is on top of me again, straddling my waist and aiming the gun down at me. My head is turned to one side, my cheek pressed against the mossy ground, and he points the gun at my temple.
My neck is craned enough that I can see his face, and it’s full of the hard anger I’m so used to seeing, his eyes burning with a cold fury. He looks more like his dad than ever. I hold my breath as I stare up at him, unable to look anywhere else.
There’s a bruise blooming on his cheek, and I remember that I clocked him good earlier when we were fighting at the house. Pain stabs my heart, sharp and devastating.
I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die.
Scarlett told me to be careful, and I didn’t listen to her. Now I’m never going to see her again. My dad’s alive somewhere, for now, and he’ll never get a chance to see me again. It’ll break him, to know I died getting caught up in all of this shit. All he ever wanted was to keep me safe, but I’ve always been too reckless, getting into scrapes every chance I got.