Page 28 of My Mountain Man Stalker
A shadow hits the frosted glass of the bathroom window, and then a hand wraps around the edge of the door. Metal scrapes. A guttural curse. Then the lock—someone twists, and the latch snaps.
The door crashes inward with a force that makes the mirror above the sink shatter. Glass sprinkles across my feet. The man in the doorway is there, staring. He’s tall, not somebody I recognize. He smells like cheap cigarettes and oil. For a heartbeat I can’t see his face—just a blur of movement and a boot coming at the tub.
He grabs me by the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Get up,” he hisses. His fingers dig nails into my skin. Pain flares.
I fight like a wild animal. I kick, scream, claw at his face. My nails find his cheekbone and he curses, more surprise than pain. He slaps me across the face so hard it stars white and red in my vision.
“Shut up,” he says. “You’re making this messy.”
“You’re—”
He pins my arm across my back in a way that makes my shoulder pop. Pain explodes, bright and blinding. He lifts me like I’m nothing and slings me over his shoulder like a sack.
My mouth is full of his jacket, and I bite as hard as I can. He hums with the impact and jerks me harder. My phone skitters across the tiles and slams into the wall, screen spider-webbed and useless.
I try to scream for Hale. To scream for Nate, Micah, anyone. My voice is already hoarse. The world tilts. The door swings open because someone—somehow—has smashed it all the way through. Moonlight slices through the room and and I see another man, standing near the door.
It’s Liam.
He looks like a man who’s been starving and found a banquet he doesn’t intend to share. A grin slices his face. “Gotcha,” he says, and it feels like the cabin is yanked into two parts—before and after.
The other man carries me out into the night. The cold cuts my skin raw. The wood of the porch scrapes my back. Through the trees, the sky is a black smear. I feel the world tilt away from me, like a planet spinning out of orbit.
“Get her in the back,” Liam barks to his friend.
“Don’t worry,” the man says in my ear, close enough that I can feel his breath against my cheek. “We’re going to have some fun with you.”
I bite him again, and this time, there’s no gentle catch of surprise—only a growl and a tighter grip. My jaw throbs. I taste copper and defeat.
As he hauls me into the back of a truck, Liam laughs.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He searches me, pulling the SD card out of my pocket. “I’ve been looking forthis.”
“You won’t get away with this,” I tell him, angry that this is happening at all.
Liam and his friend just laugh, and drive away into the night, taking me with them.
11
Hale
I can feel it in my gut.
Micah’s driving like hell’s on his heels—foot hard on the gas, knuckles white on the wheel. Nate’s next to me in the backseat, one hand on his laptop, the other scrolling through thermal drone footage we had to “borrow” from a contact who still owes me a favor.
But none of it matters. Not the footage. Not the license plates we flagged. Not the cold trail we’ve been chasing since dawn.
Because thisfeels wrong.
Too easy. Too clean.
Every clue fed to us. Every move expected.
Micah’s voice cuts through my spiral. “SUV was spotted on the feed fifteen minutes ago. County road. No turns. We’re close.”
“No,” I say, already shaking my head. “We’re not.”
Micah glances at me in the mirror. “You seeing something I’m not?”
