He doesn’t answer or even look at me. He just keeps driving. I suck in a ragged breath, my chest tight, burning.
I can barely think, barely process anything but the fact that I’m trapped. No one knows where I am. I force myself to look around, my brain sluggish from adrenaline and panic.
The truck is old, dirty, the seats cracked and stained. There’s a knife tucked between the driver’s seat and the center console. The dashboard is littered with trash, cigarette butts, torn-up receipts.
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding, my vision still slightly blurred from the hit to my head. But I have to focus. I have to think. Because if I don’t . . . well, I won’t make it out of this.
The truck turns onto an empty road, heading out of town, away from the lights, the festival, the people who could have helped me.
Away from Hopper, from Maddie.
From anyone who could find me.
Terror claws its way up my throat.
I know what happens to women who disappear into the night like this. I saw the body when they were burying it—the ones that follow after.
But I refuse to let that be me. This isn’t how my story ends, I just don’t know how I’ll get out of this. I won’t let him win. I shift slightly, my fingers searching, trying to find something—anything—to use as a weapon.
A pen?
A nail file?
A fucking seatbelt buckle?
Anything.
But the moment I move, his voice cuts through the air. “Don’t,” he warns me. “You try to escape and this will end worse for you. I’ll get that little girl and I’ll have you watch while I kill her before I kill you.”
Not Maddie. My breath catches. For the first time since throwing me into the truck, he looks at me. And the satisfaction in his eyes is enough to make my blood run cold. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. Like he’s been planning it for years—three long years. I glare at him, my hands clenching into fists.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
His lips curve into a slow, chilling smile.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my pulse hammering, my mind screaming at me to do something.
To fight.
To run.
To find a way out before it’s too late.
But right now?
Right now, I can only do one thing.
Survive.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hopper
I’ve never felt rage like this before. It’s not just simmering frustration or fleeting anger—it’s a firestorm ripping through my veins, consuming everything in its path. It presses against my skull, floods my chest, and makes it damn near impossible to think straight. Every breath feels like a fight, and I’m one second away from losing control.
Because Nysa is gone. They took her. Those fuckers took her away from me.
