Page 73 of You've Got The Love
“I’m sorry, Amber. But this is me protecting you, the only way I know how.”
Her hand falls from my cheek, and the cold rushes in fast.
“Bas—”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice breaking. “I have to do this.”
The silence after is heavy enough to feel. I stare into the fire until it’s just embers, knowing that even though she’s still sitting beside me, the distance between us has already started growing.
Chapter 40
Bastiaan
The fire is just embers now, a soft orange glow painting the cabin walls in slow pulses. Every time the logs settle, a tiny red eye opens and closes, like the room is trying to stay awake for us. My body is wrecked—shoulders aching, eyes grainy—but my mind… it won’t quit. It’s been running since the first rattle of a door handle earlier, and it hasn’t slowed once.
Every time I shut my eyes, Marieke’s in the hospital corridor—smiling when they wheel her past because she doesn’t want me to worry. Then Amber in this chair by the fire, face pale, trying to be brave. Then nothing. Just the cold feeling that comes after a door closes and doesn’t open again.
Somewhere between guilt and fear, sleep finally drags me under. It’s not real sleep—more like dropping into a hole and hitting the sides on the way down—but it’s enough that the ringing hits me like a slap. Harsh and mean in the stillness. I flail for the noise, my handknocking into the table, fingers sliding until I catch the burner vibrating against the wood. The number on the screen is unfamiliar. I blink hard to focus and swipe.
“Yeah?” My voice is rough, sleep glued.
“Where the fuck is Amber?” Jack’s roar detonates against my ear. I jerk, the phone nearly slipping from my hand.
“What? She’s here. She’s—” The words die as I turn and look at the bed. The other side is empty—the sheet’s cold where her body should be. I blink like that will change what I’m seeing.
No.
I throw the blanket back and stand too fast, everything swaying for a second. My eyes rake the room the way you do when you’ve lost your keys, except this is her—boots, coat, bag—gone. My chest tightens so hard it’s like my ribs are a fist around my heart.
“Bas!” Jack shouts. “They’ve got her. The MC picked her up not far from your damn cabin. They called me. They want me to know they have her. My daughter is in their hands because you weren’t fuckin’ watchin’ her! They wanna meet midnight. Oslo docks. My crew should make it; I won’t be far behind. You need to clock the place. I wanna know where their men are positioned when I get there.”
The words hit like physical blows—each one landing and leaving a bruise. I shove my legs into my jeans, nearly hopping to get them up, the phone trapped between my shoulder and ear. “Jack, listen to me—I’ll get her back. I swear toyou, I’ll get her back.”
“You better, Van der Meer,” he growls, the anger barely masking something rawer underneath. “Because if she dies—” His voice cuts, like it hits a jagged edge. “If she dies, you won’t have to worry about the MC. I’ll put a fuckin’ ‘.38’ between your eyes without breakin’ a fuckin’ sweat.”
The line goes dead.
I’m left standing in the middle of the cabin with my chest heaving and my mind a blizzard. The embers glow dumbly in the grate; the blanket we shared is twisted on the floor. She was here. She is not here. That’s all my brain can handle for a beat.
Then everything else floods in at once. Panic. Guilt. A hot, dizzy fury at myself. I promised I’d keep her safe. I promised, and I fell asleep.
I grab at anything that looks like a solution. Gun. Extra cartridges. Keys. Wallet. Phone. Coat. Boots. I shove my feet in without socks, jam my heels until they thud down. There’s a flashlight on the shelf; I take it. The van keys bite my palm. The door slams behind me, and the night slams into my chest—so cold it steals whatever breath I had left.
The forest is a smear of black-on-black, the snow a pale mistake under my boots. My breath comes out in torn pieces. I stumble to the van, yank the door open, and fall into the seat, hands shaking so hard the keys clack against the steering column before they find the slot. The engine coughs awake, and I grip the wheel until my knuckles ache.
The track is half-buried, rutted and mean; the tyres spit snow as I jerk the van onto it. The headlights cut two whitetunnels through the trees, lighting up branches heavy with powder as if they’re ducking out of the way. The world outside is a blur of movement and shadow. Inside, all I can hear is Jack’s voice: They’ve got her.
I try to pull in breath. It catches high in my chest and stays there, small and sharp. Images snatch at me as I drive: Amber barefoot in the cabin, pad of her thumb on my cheek; Amber looking out the window when we heard the footsteps; Amber laughing once, days ago, head thrown back, because I told her one of Abel’s knock-knock jokes that wasn’t a joke at all. Her body hot and tight around me, her nails clawing into my shoulders, and all I could think was that nothing in my life had ever felt as raw, as consuming, or as fucking right as being buried deep inside her.
How long has she been gone? How long was I asleep? Thirty minutes? An hour? Two? My brain claws at the numbers and comes up with nothing but a lot of white noise.
The phone vibrates against my thigh again. I don’t look—just fumble it up to my ear, eyes locked on the ribbon of road.
“Jack?”
“She’s alive,” he says. The words land, and my grip on the wheel tightens with relief so fierce it hurts. “They called again. Tauntin’ me. Big fuckin’ mistake.”
“I’m on my way.” I don’t ask how I’m supposed to fix this because there isn’t an answer. “Text me the exact spot.”
