my love

Chapter 04

The front door was ten feet away.

Emma’s vision swam from the blow to her face, but she forced her legs to move. Her bare feet slapped against the warped hardwood floor, each step sending jolts of pain up her bruised knees. The pen still jutted from the man’s thigh—she could hear him snarling behind her, fabric tearing as he ripped it free.

"You little—!"

She didn’t look back.

The door had a deadbolt. Rusted, but sturdy. Her fingers fumbled with the latch. Click. A rush of cool air hit her face—freedom, just beyond the threshold.

Then a hand closed around her ankle.

She kicked back blindly, her heel connecting with something solid. The grip loosened, and she lunged forward, stumbling onto a sagging porch. Sunlight stabbed her eyes after hours in the dark. The world outside was a blur of overgrown grass and a dirt road leading into dense woods.

No neighbors. No cars. Just trees and silence.

Emma didn’t stop to think. She ran.

Tall grass whipped at her legs as she sprinted toward the tree line. Behind her, the man’s footsteps thudded against the porch, then the dirt. He was slower now, limping, but still coming.

"You won’t make it," he called, voice ragged with pain. "You don’t even know where you are!"

She didn’t care. Anywhere was better than that house.

The forest swallowed her whole. Branches clawed at her arms, roots threatened to trip her, but she wove through them like a hunted animal—sharp turns, sudden stops, anything to break his line of sight. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heartbeat a drum in her ears.

Then, the ground disappeared beneath her.

Emma barely had time to yelp before she was tumbling down a steep ravine, dirt and leaves flying as she skidded to the bottom. Pain exploded in her side. She lay there, dazed, staring up at the patch of sky through the trees.

Get up. GET UP.

She rolled onto her knees just as a shadow loomed at the top of the ravine. The man stood there, gripping a tree for balance, his jeans dark with blood. He was breathing hard, his mask slightly askew now, revealing a slice of stubbled jaw.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Then he started climbing down.

Emma scrambled backward, her hands hitting something cold and metallic—a length of rusted pipe, half-buried in the dirt. She wrapped her fingers around it.

The man paused, eyeing her makeshift weapon. "You really think that’ll stop me?"

She tightened her grip. "Come find out."

He laughed—a low, ugly sound. "I like you. Most of them cry. Beg. You’re different."

Them. The word sent a fresh wave of terror through her. How many others had there been?

Emma swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

"Right now? For you to stop running before you hurt yourself worse." He took another step down, his boot sending a small avalanche of dirt tumbling. "You’re bleeding."

She was. A gash on her arm oozed red, mixing with the grime. She hadn’t even felt it.

"Let me go," she said, hating how her voice shook.

"Can’t do that." Another step.

Emma raised the pipe. "Then I’ll make you."

He sighed, like she was a misbehaving child. Then, fast as a snake, his hand dipped into his jacket—and came out with a gun.

The world narrowed to that black barrel.

"Drop it," he said softly.

The pipe hit the dirt.

"Smart girl." He limped closer, the gun never wavering. "Now, we’re going back. And if you try that s**t again, I’ll put a bullet in your leg. Understand?"

Emma nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

He grabbed her arm, yanking her upright. Pain shot through her, but she bit her tongue. No sounds. No weakness.

As he dragged her back up the ravine, she studied his limp, the way he favored his right side. The pen had hurt him worse than he let on.

And that gun? It had no safety. She’d seen the glint of the hammer, still c****d.

He was scared too.

Emma tucked that knowledge away like a hidden blade.

This wasn’t over.