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The sound tears from my throat, primal and desperate, echoing through the quiet forest. I twist around to see Asher, his eyes widening in alarm as he drops the axe and starts running towards me, his expression a mix of fear and determination.
”Solange!” he yells, panic in his voice.
But before he can reach me, they’re upon him—two dark figures emerging from the shadows, wielding a crowbar. I watch in horror as they slam it into Asher’s side, the impact knocking him off balance. He stumbles, his grip on the axe lost, and falls to the ground with a pained grunt.
“No!” I scream, my knees caving, my voice raw with terror.
The men waste no time. They grab him roughly, dragging him away from me, as he drifts in and out of consciousness. I lunge forward, desperation lending me strength as I try to reach him, but I’m grabbed from behind.
I fight with everything I have, clawing and kicking, but they overpower me easily. I catch a glimpse of Asher being hauled away through the trees, his face a mask of pain and fury. Tears blur my vision as I’m pulled further into the dense undergrowth, my heart pounding in my chest.
They lead us away from the cabin, into a shed hidden among the trees. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the smell of rotting wood. They push us forcefully into chairs, binding our wrists and ankles with rough rope that cuts into my skin.
I struggle against my bonds, adrenaline still coursing through me. Asher meets my gaze from across the dimly lit barn, his jaw clenched in defiance.
”Look at me,” he says, his words hoarse. ”I won’t let anything happen to you.”
”Shut the fuck up, asshole!” one of the men barks, his knuckles meeting Asher’s jawline and I struggle not to burst into tears. ”If I wanted you to talk, I would’ve thrown a fucking tea-party.”
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare. But as I glance around the shadows dancing in the corners, I realize just how trapped we are.
“Who are you?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
One of the men steps forward, his voice low and menacing. “We’re the owners of the cabin you and your pretty little boyfriend decided to occupy,” he growls with a sneer.
I exchange a glance with Asher, a knot of dread tightening in my chest. “We didn’t know,” I protest, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We crashed nearby and—”
“Yeah, yeah we’ve seen the wreckage,” another man interrupts, his tone dismissive. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you trespassed.”
My mind races, trying to formulate a plan, trying to find a way to appeal to their humanity. “Please,” I plead, desperation creeping into my voice. “We’ll go. Just let us go. You don’t have to hurt us.”
They exchange a look that sends a chill down my spine. “You’re right,” one of them says coldly. “We don’t have to. But we want to.”
I swallow hard, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. “What are you going to do with us?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
The man’s lips curl into a cruel smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” he taunts. “We’re going to kill you.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence, and for a moment, everything around me blurs. Fear grips me like icy tendrils, squeezing the breath from my lungs. The reality of our situation crashes over me like a wave, overwhelming and suffocating.
“No!” I sob, shaking my head in denial. “Please, don’t!”
But deep down, I know they will and there’s nothing we can do about it. Dizziness washes over me. I hear Asher call my name as if he wants to comfort me, but it’s useless, his voice like an echo. My vision blurs, the shed spinning around me, and then everything turns black.
7.
Asher
The sight of Solange slumped in her chair, unconscious feels like a cut straight into my flesh and I don’t do that well with pain. My foster-father liked to cause me pain, it amused him until I one day made sure he’d never be amused again.
Solange’s breathing is shallow, and panic surges through me, until I allow a cold calmness to settle over me. The men stand before us, their faces contorted with malicious glee. One of them reaches out, to thumb her lips and the veins on my neck pulse.
”Do not touch her,” I warn and their eyes flash.
”Who asked you, lover boy?” one of them mocks. ”You sit there in your chair and look pretty, and we’ll give your bitch what she needs.”
I take a deep breath, meet their gazes with an unsettling calmness, a predator assessing its prey. I’m always eerily composed when I do that, the process always enjoyable.
“You’re going to regret this,” I say evenly, my voice a quiet menace.
