I slide from the bed, staring at the pile as I move across the room toward it.
Right on top of the laundry is a blue flannel shirt.
No.
I stumble backward, arms wheeling as I put too much weight on my sore ankle and lose my balance. My hip crash-lands on the bed, and the frame scrapes across the floor. I cringe at how loud the sound is, gripping the mattress in total silence as I brace myself for someone to come running.
Somewhere out in the house, a floorboard creaks, and my heart leaps into a gallop.
Shit. Shitshitshit.
My uncle must have found me before the wolf could eat me. And now Clint has dragged me to some cabin in the woods, somewhere nobody will hear me scream. He’s been waiting for me to wake up so he can punish me.
So he can teach me a lesson for trying to run away.
He’ll kill me this time. I just know it.
I leap to my feet and race toward the window, shoving aside the curtains. For a terrifying minute, I think the damn thing is nailed shut, until I realize there’s a safety catch on the rail that I have to unlatch in order to raise it. Footsteps are moving through the house beyond the closed door, coming closer. Uncle Clint isn’t hurried, obviously. He probably thinks I’m too injured to get away, especially after finding me at the bottom of a ravine.
Jesus, I’m lucky to be alive.
The fleeting thought flits through my mind a second before something falls to the floor in the other room with a jarring clang.
My luck is about to run out.
Every single thud of those unhurried steps makes my hands shake harder. It’s difficult enough trying to maneuver my fingers above the wrist brace with pain lancing up my arm, but the adrenaline pumping through me makes my hands shake so badly that it’s almost impossible. I finally manage to slide my thumb up with enough force to unlock the catch, then lean my shoulder in and jam the window open.
Cool mountain air gusts into the room, tickling my skin, and I take a deep breath of the familiar scent of distant snow and evergreens, hoping it will calm me.
It doesn’t fucking work, but it hardly matters. The footsteps outside the room are almost here, and I’m running on pure self-preservation instinct now, an almost animalistic drive to just fucking survive.
The window isn’t set high on the wall, thank God, so I don’t have to haul myself up to get through it. As soon as it’s open wide enough, I’ve got my torso out the window, sliding to freedom on my belly with all the elegance of a hippo on a dry water slide.
I land awkwardly on the ground outside, landing on my arms and shoulders. My legs flop out after me, the momentum sending me into a graceless barrel roll.
With a soft grunt, I come to rest on my side. The strange, oversized pajama pants I’m wearing have unfolded at the bottoms. They’re too long—a man’s pair of thin flannels that trail a foot past my feet. I consider rolling them back up and hoping they’ll stay in place, but the reality is, they’re loose and thin and I’m out of time. So I shove the damn things down my legs and kick them off.
My body protests as I use the thick logs on the outside of the cabin to pull myself to my feet. I can put weight on my twisted ankle, thankfully, but it hurts like hell. I know my race through the woods last night didn’t help the situation, but it’s not like I had a choice then, any more than I have a choice now.
I have to get the hell out of here.
Fight, Sable. Run. Stay alive.
I shove away from the cabin, taking a few tentative steps to make sure my legs aren’t going to collapse beneath me. Then I break into a run, trying not to think about the fact that my ass is on display for God and everyone to see. At least the large t-shirt hangs down low enough to cover most of it.
There are other cabins nearby, but I don’t dare knock on any of their doors begging for help. Clint’s good at making friends, and I can’t count on any strangers taking my side over his.
The tree line of a thick forest is only a hundred yards away to my left, and I run in that direction, hoping to get lost in the trees like I did last night. The memory of my dark flight to freedom sends a surge of anger and frustration through me that I channel into my legs.
I can’t believe Clint found me. I must’ve run miles into deep wilderness, through woods and up into the foothills. He never allowed me to have a cell phone; hell, I couldn’t even wear a watch under his rules.
So did he have some kind of tracker implanted in me like a psychopath?
Sadly, I wouldn’t put something like that past him. I wouldn’t put anything past him, and I’m reminded starkly of how foolish my unplanned flight was.
I didn’t think through any of this. I just ran.
And now I have no choice but to keep running.