East ridge. Quarry approach. Eyes up.
I hit send and watch the screen. The truck is running now, Matthew already pulling out of the lot, no headlights until we're past the motel's sight line.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
Carter's reply comes through: Understood.
Matthew glances at the screen, then back at the road. His hands are steady on the wheel. His face is the one he gets when we're past the planning stage and into the work where everything is narrowed down, and everything is stripped away except the next step and the step after that.
"How long to the ridge from the quarry?" he asks.
I'm already calculating. "Forty minutes on foot if he moves fast. Less if he knows the shortcuts."
"Does he know the shortcuts?"
I think about the map. The notes in the margins. The circled locations that weren't guesses.
"Yeah," I say. "He knows the shortcuts."
Matthew presses the accelerator down and the truck surges forward into the dark.
chapter fourteen
Morgan
Something's wrong.
The feeling hits me before I register the subtle shift in posture from the men around me. One moment I'm checking Charlie's room, watching her sleep peacefully despite the chaos that's torn through our lives. The next, I'm aware of the heavy silence that's fallen over the cabin.
I step into the main room and find my father standing by the front window, his hand hovering near his waistband where I know his weapon is concealed. Carter has moved from his position on the porch to the kitchen doorway, his massive frame suddenly taut with tension. Even Kane, who's been scanning the perimeter with methodical calm, has shifted to the back door, his hand resting casually at his side where I've seen him keep a knife.
My mother notices it too. I see her eyes dart between the men, her lips pressing together in that thin line she gets when she's frightened but trying not to show it.
"What's happening?" I whisper, moving closer to my father.
He doesn't look at me. His gaze remains fixed on something beyond the window. "Not sure yet."
Sydney appears beside me, her weathered face grim. She's Carter's mother and they've been close friends of the club with her husband Kane.
Her presence should be reassuring, but the concern etched on her expression makes my stomach drop.
"There's movement near the tree line," she says quietly, nodding toward the east. "Your father saw it."
I glance at my mother, who's moved to sit on the arm of the couch, her hand pressed against her mouth. She's trying not to panic for me, for Charlie, for all of us.
"Morgan, go check on Charlie," my father says, his voice low and controlled. "Now."
I don't argue. I move quickly down the short hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I reach Charlie's room, I find her still sleeping, her small body curled protectively around Princess Sparklehoof.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, torn between staying with her and returning to the main room. My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Trenton.
Harris might be near the cabin. Stay inside. Don't come out, no matter what.
My fingers tremble as I type my response: Charlie's sleeping. We're secure. Be careful.
Three dots appear, then his reply: We're coming back. ETA 20 minutes.
I set the phone on the nightstand, resisting the urge to wake Charlie. If Evan is out there, she's safer here, quiet and still. The darkness feels like it's pressing in on us, the cabin suddenly too small, too isolated.
