His chestnut hair is rain-slick, brown eyes wild. The thick, rich cologne that once made my stomach flutter now falls heavy like a pit.
“Hello, Lacey,” Cary says, voice black as night.
He holds up Ro’s phone, the cracked screen still glowing with the text thread—my words staring back at me.
“You came,” he says, smiling without warmth. “Knew you would.”
I back up a step. “Where’s Ro?”
“Safe … for now. Depends on you.”
Gun metal and lacquered wood flash in his hand.
He talks slow, slurred, half-drunk, half-deranged. “Thought I lost you, sweetheart. Been watching you play house with that asshole cowboy. Been watching you fuck him. Thought you were smarter.”
Below, the bull snorts, hoof scraping wood.
Habit grips my body. I’m tempted to curl into a ball, play dead. Brace for the pain, and pray for survival. Like before. But my mind rages, heart bursts against the injustice of his invisible chains.
I hiss, “It’s done between us. Over for good. Leave. Me. Alone.”
He shrugs, snarls. “Such a little whore! Have the pictures to prove it. Sure your editor would like to know this is anything but a business vacation. Your family, too.”
My blood goes cold. Not for fear of public exposure but at the thought of what he might do to Rosie. What he might have already done. I could never forgive myself if anything happensto her. “Cary—” His name is vinegar on my tongue, souring me from the inside out. “Where is Ro?”
“Safe!” Rage spills from his mouth with the word. He stumbles forward, behavior unpredictable. Iron and pain flash, old wounds breaking open, old life seeping back in.
I steady my voice, reporter-smooth. “We can talk about this. Please put the gun down.”
He laughs, stalks closer. “The one with the gun gives the orders.”
I retreat back a step, skin crawling, knees about to buckle. My eyes flick to a hole in the floor. Below, I hear the heavy breathing, agitated panting—the bull.
If I can get Cary to move three feet to the left. Gravity will take care of the rest. But Ro? Where is she?
I edge sideways, pretending to flinch.
He follows, jaw tight, boots sliding in the hay.
Lightning flashes through the slats. For an instant, the whole barn glows silver, illuminated by veins of electricity. My insides quiver. The storm moves in with force. The boards shudder under his boots.
“You think that cowboy’ll save you?” he sneers. “He’s not here.”
I swallow hard. “He’ll come.”
“Not soon enough.” He lunges, movements choppy and inebriated.
I duck, grabbing a pitchfork protruding from a pile of hay. I swing it forward frantically, rusty metal glancing his forearm. He grabs the spot, dark blood oozing as I wield the tool again. Anger eclipses fear. I’m ready to make my stand. Do whatever it takes.
His feet inch to the side, so near the collapsed portion of the floor and the angry animal below.
Boom! Gunfire sounds, deafening in the enclosed space. A bullet ricochets off tin.
I scramble toward the ladder I came up, heart slamming.
Cary dives towards me, baseball-style, grabbing my ankle and yanking. I kick, catching his jaw. He recoils back, firing again—misses. Wood cracks.
“Let me go!” I scream as he crawls up my body, stinking whiskey breath on my skin. He seizes a handful of my hair, rising, pulling me back to my feet, and dragging me with him.
