a

ms were surprisingly calm and comforting, and my eyes don't seem to want to o

en pain and trauma that it's only fair I l

nk I'm back in my bed in Uncle Clint's house. But then a comforting scen

g more m

y and

et achingly

ned protests of my body as I roll into the sheets and take another deep breath. I spread out on my belly, blankets cov

ng agains

the smell, when the events of last night sudden

y chest as I freeze,

spital

rive

. I

f Uncle Clint spitting mad and making chase. There was a deer leading me, and I was

there w

d blur. But what I do remember is enough

f wooden logs like some kind of rustic cabin. There's nothing in the room but a bed and a dresser, and two doors, both closed. A

long was

laundry resting in a basket in one cor

ing at the pile as I move

he laundry is a b

o

My hip crash-lands on the bed, and the frame scrapes across the floor. I cringe at how loud the

a floorboard creaks, and m

Shitsh

nt has dragged me to some cabin in the woods, somewhere nobody will h

e a lesson for tr

this time. I

ize 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, com

m lucky t

a second before something falls to the fl

s about t

e wrist brace with pain lancing up my arm, but the adrenaline pumping through me makes my hands shake so badly that it's almost impo

in, and I take a deep breath of the familiar scent of

e the room are almost here, and I'm running on pure self-preservatio

o get through it. As soon as it's open wide enough, I've got my torso out the window,

my arms and shoulders. My legs flop out after me, t

e 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 i

t weight on my twisted ankle, thankfully, but it hurts like hell. I know my race through the woods last

et the hell

le. Run. S

pse beneath me. Then I break into a run, trying not to think about the fact that my ass is on displa

of their doors begging for help. Clint's good at making frien

direction, hoping to get lost in the trees like I did last night. The memory of my dark fli

ess, through woods and up into the foothills. He never allowed me to

d of tracker implanted

. I wouldn't put anything past him, and I'm remind

through any of

no choice but t

l in a few days. I know that probably means I'm leaving a billowing trail of dust in my wake, bu

mp harder as I go f

ly allowed out of the house to get to know the area, but we drove through it every time we made the trip to the hospital or the few oth

. But I don't let myself look for more than a second, keep

care what he gets up to in his own home, or how he abuses his niece. I can't trust any of

o come down on me like a hammer fallin

ge of relief. I'm almost there. Grass is springier than the packed dirt roa

get away. Please give me a

protection they might offer

tightly around my waist, hauling me off the