Page 19 of Bound to a Killer
I’m going to make it out of here.
Relief floods my lungs as the trees break open and the gravel-strewn path comes into view, my limbs crying out beneath me as I push forward. Almost there.
A pale band of light stretches across the horizon by the time I stumble out of the trees. My feet barely carry me as I reach the road, my body folding inward, hands clutched to my chest as I choke on the frigid air.
Breathing hurts. Everything hurts.
Birds chirp overhead, but aside from that and the wind lashing against my skin, it’s silent. Just me and a wide, empty stretch of nothing. My shoulders sink as I wrap my arms around myself, teeth chattering while I trudge along the narrow road. The longer I keep walking, the more the spark inside me starts to fade.
No one’s coming. Cars apparently don’t come this way.
Swallowing against the rising lump in my throat, I tip my head back to look at the sun, silently begging for its warmth to reach me.
Spring might be near, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it while I slog through ankle-deep slush and half-melted snow, wrapped in fabric designed for vanity, not survival. Even my slippers offer me nothing, no warmth or comfort, the sherpa mottled and falling apart. I might as well be walking barefoot.
Emotions climb up my throat, stinging the back of my eyes as I pause in the middle of the road, watching the distance stretch and stretch.
I’m hungry and cold. My feet cramp from every step I take, ribs aching in agony, and it dawns on me just now how hopeless this all is.
He’s probably noticed I’m gone by now. And he’s got a car.
I’m practically live bait walking out here without the trees to shield me, the sun beaming down like a magnifying glass held over an ant, leaving me targeted, exposed, and seconds from being crushed.
A strangled sob slips from my parted lips, the air in front of me blowing out a plume of white as I give in. I break down, tears falling faster and faster as my nails dig into my elbows, the salty warmth of them the only heat against the overwhelming cold that surrounds me.
Then I jerk back at the sound of an engine, spinning around to find its headlights cutting through the early morning fog as it moves toward me.
My heart lurches, starting slow as I hold my breath and blink through tears, then slamming into my ribs in a rush of panicked bursts.
At first, I’m convinced it’s him. He’s found me, and he’s going to drag me away with him, stealing my last chance at freedom. But as the car draws closer, I realize the shape is off, the color gradually sharpening into view.
It’s a navy blue SUV. It’s not him.
Ignoring the sting in my lungs, I call out to it, renewed hope surging through me, helping me unclench my fingers and raise my arms high. In my rush of excitement, I stumble forward, nearly tripping over myself. The car slows, windows rolling down slightly.
“You okay?” the guy asks, concern knitting his brows, a melancholy frown across his pale, stubbled face. His hair is the color of champagne, soft and golden, like his stubble, like the warm fizz popping in my stomach. “Do you need help?”
I try to catch my breath, but my voice stays a tight rasp. “I need…help. Please.”
He briefly glances over my shoulder, like he’s checking to see if someone else is coming. He’s older. Maybe mid to late twenties.
When he doesn’t find anything suspicious, his gaze flicks back to me, sweeping over me from head to toe in one slow pass. “Jesus, you scared me. Running around dressed like that. What’s your name?” He scrubs at the stubble on his chin.
“I’m sorry,” I chatter, my teeth gnashing against each other. “My name is Aria. C-Can you take me to a police station or let me borrow your phone?”
He inhales deeply, the locks clicking open. “Get inside before you get sick.”
“Thank you.” I shuffle around the car, my legs struggling to keep up, and climb in without hesitation, a weight lifting off my chest. “Thank you so much.”
I huddle close to the warm air spilling from the dash vent, my hands fisted under my chin as they defrost from the cold. He doesn’t drive straight away, instead reaching for his phone, probably to call the police for help.
He clicks his tongue before setting it back down on the console between us. Dread seeps into the space.
Something feels wrong—very wrong. Unnerving
“Unfortunately, there’s no service out here,” he says, low and even, his calm tone anything but reassuring.
“Oh.” My throat closes up, my voice barely a squeak. “Okay.”
