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“Gray,” I whispered, the name a talisman against the darkness enveloping me. But he wasn't here—couldn't possibly hear me over the rumble of the truck engine and the vast expanse of emptiness that stretched beyond these cold metal walls.
“Focus,” I murmured to myself, trying to summon the same resilience that had kept me fighting before consciousness slipped away.
The truck hit a pothole, and my body jolted against the cold metal of the truck bed. The movement snapped me out of my desperate strategizing. I froze, every muscle tensing as I heard the driver's side door open and slam shut. Heavy boots crunched on gravel outside, approaching with a slow, ominous rhythm.
“Ah, look who's finally awake.” Mitch's voice was tinged with mock concern, but his eyes were cold as they met mine through the rear window. “You really should've just packed up and left when you had the chance, Eryn.”
I pressed my back against the wheel well, trying to put as much distance between us as possible without making any sudden moves. My heart pounded so loud, I was sure he could hear it.
“Let me guess, you're going to tell me this is nothing personal?” I shot back, struggling to keep my voice steady. It was a feeble attempt at bravado, but I clung to it, hoping to mask the fear that threatened to overwhelm me.
Mitch chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Something like that. You're just a piece in a much bigger game.”
“Games are supposed to be fun,” I retorted, eyeing the tailgate latch above me. If I could just?—
In one swift motion, I tried to spring up and reach for it, but my limbs were heavy from the struggle, my coordination off. Mitch was faster. He slammed the window shut with a bang, and I stumbled back, my fingers grazing empty air.
“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath.
“Feisty. But it won't do you any good,” Mitch called out, a smirk evident in his voice.
My chest tightened with frustration. I scrambled to my knees, pressing against the cold metal, searching for any overlooked escape route, any oversight in Mitch's plan. But there was nothing—just the smooth, solid walls of the truck bed and the reality that my options were dwindling by the second.
“Come on,” I muttered, my mind racing as fast as my heartbeat. “There has to be a way out of this.”
But each attempt was more futile than the last. I kicked at the sides, only to wince at the pain shooting through my foot. My fingers clawed at the corners, seeking a gap, a weakness, anything. But it was no use. The enclosure was secure, built to keep things—or in my case, someone—in.
“Ugh!” I exhaled sharply, my breath forming a misty cloud in the chilly air. The situation was dire, and my usual sunny optimism was struggling to find even the faintest glimmer of hope.
“Gray would know what to do,” I whispered to myself, feeling the sting of tears that I refused to let fall. “He's resourceful, and . . . and grumpy. But mostly resourceful.”
The truck engine roared back to life, and I stumbled again, thrown off balance by the sudden movement. I caught myself against the side, my hands now shaking—not just from the cold. The sense of isolation was crushing, the danger palpable. Mitch had orchestrated this nightmare, and I was trapped in it.
“Okay,” I breathed, summoning every ounce of courage I had left for a manic pep-talk. “I’ve gotten through worse. Okay, maybe not worse, but I’m not about to let some wannabe cowboy villain kill me before I get my happily ever after.”
With renewed determination, I eyed the metal around me, vowing to find a way out. For my sake, for Gray's, and for the simple fact that no small-town scoundrel was going to best Eryn Blake—not without one hell of a fight.
* * *
The truck juddered to a halt, and I allowed myself a deep breath that tasted like dust and adrenaline. My fingers curled tighter around the steel-toe boot—a gift from Gray that was about to serve a purpose far removed from its intended use. Mitch would expect me to be scared, compliant. But I was Eryn Blake, not some damsel in distress.
“Come on out, darlin',” Mitch's voice drawled as he yanked open the back of the truck. His silhouette loomed, dark against the twilight sky.
As he reached in to grab me, I took a deep breath, and then swung with all the force my yoga-toned muscles could muster. The heavy toe of the boot connected with a sickening thud against his temple, and Mitch crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.
I scrambled out of the truck, feeling the ground beneath my feet. It was gritty, real, and I was free—at least for the moment. My heart hammered a wild rhythm, but there was no time for fear now.
Gray told me the other day I had the spirit of the wild west running through my veins, despite my “city girl” upbringing. I guess he was right. I could almost hear him grumbling about how social media wouldn’t save me out here, and he was right. He’d given me more than just a boot—he'd given me the will to fight.
And fight I did.
Now I just had to figure out how to get home. Home. The first place I thought of was not LA, or even the farmhouse, though I loved it. It was Gray’s house. It was Gray, himself. And if I managed to get away from whatever evil plan Mitch had in mind, there was no damn way I would go out due to thirst or hypothermia or something. No. I would get out of here.
The cold bit at my skin as I hopped in the driver’s seat of Mitch’s truck, the vast expanse of wilderness stretching out before me like a never-ending sea of darkness. I was lost in it, swallowed up by the sheer isolation that enveloped me. The dark sky was lightening to my left, a promise of a new day.
Okay, so that was east. Great, now where did east lead?
I could almost laugh at the irony—the daughter of Roger Blake, billionaire extraordinaire, lost in the middle of nowhere without a clue or a connection. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the air rising and fading into the night. It was just me and the wild now, and if it came down to it, I had to bet on me.
