Page 3 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
The messenger bag slaps against my hip as I run, each impact a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
The story.
The evidence.
Maybe my last chance to expose the truth before they bury it for good.
Keep moving. Don’t look back.
But dread drags me to glance back.
Once.
Twice.
The headlights have stopped at my dead car.
A door opens, slamming shut. Someone's coming after me.
My lungs burn, each breath like swallowing razor blades.
The trees stretch endlessly ahead, their dark trunks blending together into a twisted labyrinth. My legs tremble beneath me, threatening to buckle with each step.
I’m not going to die in these woods.
Light flickers ahead. Not headlights—something steadier.
A structure. A cabin.
New adrenaline surges through me as I push faster, harder. The trees thin, revealing a small clearing. The cabin sits dark and silent, like it’s holding its breath.
No lights in the windows. No smoke from the chimney.
Empty. It has to be.
I stumble onto the wooden porch, my fingers numb as they fumble for the door handle.
Locked.
Of course it’s locked. As if the universe needs to kick me one more time today.
I rattle the handle again, harder, as if desperation can break metal.
Behind me, a twig snaps. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of my own heartbeat.
I turn slowly, the backup burner phone clutched in my fist like a weapon.
My only real weapon is instinct, honed over years of investigating people who didn’t want to be investigated.
And my instincts scream danger.
He stands at the bottom of the porch steps.
Big.
Quiet.
Still.
