Page 19 of Trust

I check the display mounted on the dash showing a small feed from the back of the van. Sara’s curled on the mattress, cuffed, her hair covering her face. She hasn’t shed a tear or asked me to let her go. She stayed silent when I threatened to break her arm, when I forced her down with my knee, and even after I threw her into the van and tied her up. I respect that.

A familiar shape appears through the trees: my cabin. The only place I’ve ever called mine. It’s isolated. Very few people know it exists. I’ve never brought anyone out here, ever. She’s the first, and my gut tells me I’ll regret it.

I stop, kill the engine, and sit for a second. One last breath of calm before the chaos begins. Years of caution and distrust, wired deep into my bones, make me hesitate. Habits like that don’t die easy. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, counting each deep breath. I almost laugh at myself. She’s a teen princess, not an assassin. What damage could she possibly do? It’s not like she’s a threat.

I climb out, boots crunching on gravel, and make my way to the cargo area. Here we go.

The instant I pull the handle, the door explodes outward and smashes right into my face.

Pain flares white. I stumble back, blinking blood out of my eyes. My hand flies to my forehead on instinct. A gash has opened up.

She bolts past me, a blur of red hair and panic. Not asleep after all. Cunning little...

Unbelievable.

War zones, drug lords, dirty operations in countries that don’t exist on any map, and somehow, on the very first day, this eighteen-year-old girl gets the jump on me?

Impressive, but it doesn’t matter. I see red, and it has nothing to do with the blood.

She’s already halfway across the clearing, but there's nowhere to go. Forest and lake on all sides. She doesn't know the terrain. Her feet fumble. She loses her footing and hits the ground hard, her cuffs making it difficult to absorb the fall.

I slow down. I want to know where this goes.

She scrambles up fast and keeps running. Rather than paying attention to where she’s going, she repeatedly turns her head toward me, unaware of what surrounds her. Just like when she lost her phone in the cemetery.

Now she’s out on the wooden pier.

Realizing her mistake, her wide eyes lock on mine as I close the distance. I must be a sight. Blood on my face, hands, shirt, rage about to break loose.

“You wanna go swimming?” I mock, indifferent to her obvious fear.

Without giving her a chance to reply, I grab her upper arms and push her straight into the lake. The splash is huge and the water ice-cold. She shrieks, unable to get a word out.

I leave her in long enough for the shock to hit, not long enough to be dangerous. She shakes violently, soaked to the bone and too stunned to curse. That’s a first step toward getting her mouth under control.

Like a sack of laundry, I throw her over my shoulder. She kicks and pounds her fists into my back. Her voice reclaimed, she unleashes a scream before shouting every insult in the book.

I carry her onto the porch of my cabin. She doesn’t stop flailing until I set her down, and she immediately takes a step back.

Water drips from her clothes. Her hair sticks to her face in wet strands, her gaze pure venom, promising revenge.

I unlock the cuffs with the key I pull from my pocket. “You’re not going in there like this,” I say, giving her a once-over.

She manages a frown although she’s shaking like a leaf.

“Take your clothes off.”

THE SHOWER

Sara

My stomach churns. I gape at him while his words continue to echo in my head, leaving a sting. No way he means that.

Blood drips from his face onto his white shirt, each drop hitting the fabric and spreading into dark red smears and blotches. I watch in fascination. This is on me. I did that, and now I’m paying the price.

He snaps his fingers to get my attention. “I don’t believe I stuttered,” he says harshly, as I haven’t lifted a finger yet.

I swallow hard and release a shaky breath. My limbs quiver so badly it’s nearly impossible to control them. It’s not the cold alone. It’s exhaustion, humiliation, and the last shreds of stubbornness I’m terrified to surrender. My brain barely works. My confidence cracks. All that is left is cold defeat. If I don’t want to freeze to death out here, I’ll have to do what he says. Although I doubt he’d get paid if he left me to die.