Page 57 of Better as It

I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know where I am.

But I know one thing.

They’re going to take my baby.

Unless I stop them.

I run scenarios in my head. Over and over.

There’s a vent—too small to climb through, but maybe I can talk through it. Or send something. What though?

The food tray arrives through a slot in the door. Plastic. But maybe there’s a way to wedge it in the vent.

The camera watches everything.

But maybe they’re not always watching.

I have to find a way out.

I have to believe Justin and the Hellions are looking.

I close my eyes and picture him.

His rough hands. His warm eyes. The way he talks to the baby at night, his voice a gravel lullaby. He’ll come for us. Justin will be here.

Later, when I hear one of the men say, “It’s almost time. She’s too far along. Can’t risk transporting after she has the kid.”

At their words, I know my time is running out.

I sit on the edge of the bed, hands curled over my stomach.

I speak to my baby.

“We’re going to get out of here,” I whisper. “Mama’s not giving up.”

Not on you.

Not onus.

SEVENTEEN

TOON

"In the darkest forest, the bear finds its way; trust your instincts." — Unknown

We findher on the third day.

Tripp works every angle, pulling favors, shaking loose a name from one of our old sources in Georgia. BW tracks a burner ping near an abandoned hunting compound two counties down. The place is off-grid, tucked in the woods like it’s hiding from the world.

It all fits.

We ride at dawn. Me, Tripp, BW, Tank, and two more brothers together in a van. Along with six bikes, three trucks. No cuts. Just weapons and war in our eyes.

I don’t say it out loud, but I know something in me might not come back from this. I’ve been running on fumes—too many skipped treatments, too many sleepless nights, and a body that feels more hollow than whole.

But this?

Dia is worth whatever’s left of me. We hit the tree line fast, parking the trucks and creeping in on foot. BW signals—three men, armed, posted outside the cabin.

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