Page 26 of His Hold

“Well, lucky for me, I’m not smart.”

He looks at me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m crazy or just stupid. Probably both. But he takes my money, so I guess he doesn’t care.

The more I ask, the clearer it becomes: Ridgecrest outpost is the kind of place that doesn’t appear on maps. The kind of place you have to want to find. And if Nikolai’s headed there, then that’s where I need to be.

But it’s not just about him. It’s about Irina. About the truth that keeps slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I claw for it. It’s about revenge. And maybe… maybe it’s about something else. The sick need to prove I’m not broken. To prove that whatever he’s done to me – whatever twisted pull he has over me, it’s not enough to make me quit.

I leave the bar, the city’s cold breath gnawing at my skin. Ridgecrest outpost. It sounds like a place you go to disappear. Or die.

It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Because if he’s meeting someone there, then I have to be there, too. I have to see him, hearhim.Findoutwhathe’splanning. I’ve already crossed too many lines to stop now.

***

Following Nikolai up the mountain for over three hours makes me feel like I should have given this much more thought. He is driving up ahead in a sleek, black SUV that has rugged tires spitting gravel as it carves through the winding roads.

And he is moving fast, cutting through the curves as I trail him from a distance in my old, beat-up sedan, struggling to keep up with his aggressive speed. Keeping my headlights off is a gamble, but it’s the only way I can tail him without giving myself away.

The roads grow narrower, snaking higher and higher until the city below is nothing but a blur of lights. I almost lose him a few times, but the slick mud and broken pavement force him to slow down, giving me the chance to catch up.

I kill the engine when he finally parks near the base of a trail. He gets out, his posture tense as he glances around before taking out a bag and locking the SUV. When he starts up the trail on foot, I leave my car a hundred yards back and follow him.

The forest swallows him quickly, and soon his retreating figure is nothing more than a dark blur threading through the trees.

I can’t afford to lose him. But I also can’t afford to be careless, not with him.

The forest is a maze of black shapes as I glide through, and everything looks the same. But I keep him in my sight, hanging back just far enough to avoid detection. He’s heading for what I deduce from my compass on my phone to be the west cabin of the Ridgecrest outpost.

He stops twice, the first time to look over his shoulder. The second time, he scans the woods longer than I’d like. I press myself against the nearest tree and try to calm my hammering heart. God, what was I thinking coming up here?

I hear him curse a couple of times when his foot gets stuck in mud, but then he keeps moving. He seems to be on edge. I wonder why.

It takes an hour to reach the top. The cabin squats there like something dead and forgotten, almost rotting into the ground. I see him slow down and press his phone to his ear. I can’t hear him from this distance, but I watch his face harden and his free hand twitch like he’s ready to hit something.

I duck behind a boulder, keeping my body low to the ground. The ache in my legs feels distant, and the throb in my heart is just background noise. The only thing that matters is him.

He ends the call and pockets the phone. Then starts pacing, his head jerking like he’s looking for something. Or someone.

I inch closer. I know I’m too close. I know it’s reckless. But the compulsion doesn’t care about sense. I need to hear him. To see what he’s planning.

My foot catches on something, a root or a rock, I can’t tell. It’s enough to snap a twig and split a crack in the air like gunfire.

Fuck.

In the blink of an eye, Nikolai’s head whips around, and he is moving faster than I expect. The shot rings out before I can even register the glint of metal in his hand.

The bullet slams into the tree beside me, and splinters spray into my face. I dive to the side, barely avoiding another shot that hisses past my shoulder.

“Come out,” he snaps. “You’ve got ten seconds before I stop playing nice.”

I scramble backward as my lungs seize up. My leg hits something solid, and I lose my footing, collapsing hard against a fallen tree stump. Pain flares through my ankle, so hard enough to make my vision blur.

I try to get up, but my leg refuses to cooperate. The twisted ankle’s already swelling, my skin pulled tight and throbbing like it’s about to split open. And worse, I can feel the blood trickling down my temple where I hit my head.

Everything spins. My pulse pounds in my ears. I make another attempt to rise, but the pain shoves me back down. I can’t move. I can’t run.

Then Nikolai appears above me with his gun aimed at my face. That haunting expression I’ve seen in my dreams far too many times is looking back at me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is this how I’m going to die?

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