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I’m going to die here today.
My heart thunders in my chest, the fear becoming all too real. I need to get out before I’m roasted like a marshmallow over a campfire.
The ticking continues and I flick my gaze back to the explosives that sit in the very center of the living room, directly in the center of the cabin. It tells me there’s only thirty seconds left before it takes my life and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Twenty-nine.
Twenty-eight.
Damn it. What do I do? I need to get out of here. I don’t want to die like this. I wasn’t supposed to die here. I was supposed to have a long happy life with the boys, getting dicked every second of the day. This isn’t how my story is supposed to end.
I race through the kitchen and start searching through the drawers, desperate to find something to break through the solid windows, the soft ticking of the bomb somehow following me from room to room, even over the sound of the flames overtaking the cabin.
I scramble through the drawers, not finding anything that will help. It’s all plastic utensils and tea towels. Nothing that can help. The panic sets in full force and I grab the espresso machine off the counter and launch it at the window, only for it to rebound back at me, breaking into a million pieces on the hot floorboards.
I should jump away from the wreckage, but I’m too caught up in the images I see out the window. The four boys stand by an SUV, pointing and laughing at my misery. They did this to me. How could they? I trusted them. I loved them.
Grayson holds a phone, capturing my demise for the world to see while King wears that normal hard expression, but the smugness in his eyes speaks volumes. Cruz though, he really breaks my heart, the way he howls with laughter as though watching me die is the best damn entertainment he’s ever had. But where’s Carver? He was just here a second ago, but now he’s gone.
The soft ticking continues and I put the boys to the back of my mind, doing everything in my power to forget them as I race back into the living room. My gaze shifts toward the bomb.
Fuck. Eight seconds left.
I wasted too much time in the kitchen.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I’m out of time. All I can do is try to save myself when the bomb goes off. It’s inevitable. I’m all out of options.
I scan the room, the ticking telling me that I have only mere seconds to make a decision.
Five.
Four.
Three.
FUCK.
I dive behind the old couch and duck my head down, my eyes clenching in fear as my whole body shakes. The flames are burning so hot that my skin is covered in sweat. It’s hard to breathe, the smoke is so thick, but that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is the ticking telling me that my life is about to be over.
“WINTER?”
I hear the boys’ laughter clouding my mind and I wrap my arms around my head, desperately trying to keep myself protected, but it’s too late. This is the end.
BOOM!
My eyes spring open into a dark room to find Carver hovering over me, his hands at my shoulders, violently shaking me awake. “Winter, babe. Wake up.”
My eyes begin flickering around the room, searching every dark corner, every shadow, and crevice, checking for the flames that threaten to consume me. “You’re safe,” Carver tells me, his eyes boring into mine with a desperate panic. “It was just a dream.”
I let out a heavy sigh and take slow, calming breaths, keeping my eyes focused on his until the fear finally begins to ease. “Where are we?” I ask, taking another moment to glance around. The last thing I remember is giving Carver shit from the passenger side of the stolen SUV, and now I’m here in someone else’s bed in a room that I don’t recognize.
“You crashed in the car so I pulled into a cheap motel,” he explains. “We don’t have to stay here if you don’t like it, but I thought you’d be more comfortable in a bed.”
I nod and relax back into the bed, unable to deny the fact that even though it’s the worst bed I’ve had the displeasure of sleeping in, it’s the best option I’ve had since first arriving at the now non-existent cabin nearly three days ago.
Carver drops back beside me and pulls me into his arms, his warm hand rubbing up and down my side. “Are you alright?” he asks, noticing just how freaked out I am by the nightmare that felt so damn real. “I thought you didn’t get nightmares when you’re with me.”
“I thought I didn’t either,” I murmur, placing my hand against his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “But for the first time, you’re the reason for the nightmare, not the solution.”
