Page 40 of Sweet Doe
That fucking grin. That same greasy smirk Alex used to give Sloan. Like a hunter who’s already spotted the kill—tagged it, tracked it, claimed it. Like he thinks she’s just meat waiting to be taken.
My stomach coils.
I look away. Grip the nozzle tighter. Fuel’s low. We’ve got hours, maybe, before the generator dies out. That’s what I’m here for. That’s all.
Except it’s not.
When I head inside the rundown building to pay, it’s worse. Some guy—mid-thirties, thick arms, wedding ring—follows a girl around the drink aisle with his eyes. She’s younger. Way younger. She doesn’t notice, but I do. I see the twitch in his mouth. The way he licks his teeth when she bends for a can of soda. The way hewaitsfor her to look up and give him something back.
She smiles. Just a flash. One of those nervous, polite little things girls are trained to give to keep men like him from snapping, and I fucking hate it.
I hatehim.
But more than that, I hate the thought that that could be Sloan.WasSloan. Out here. In a store like this. In a town full of men who don’t deserve to so much as breathe her air. Touching shelves she touched. Thinking they had a chance.
She didn’t know any better then. She smiled, she talked, she laughed with people like them. Let them into her life. Let themtouchher, because I wasn’t there to stop it.
I hate that now, all it would take is one fucking second—one slip, one breakdown, or snowstorm I don’t make it back from—and someoneelsemight get to claim what’s mine. Get to hear the sounds she makes or see the way her nose crinkles when she’s trying not to smile.
What if I don’t come back?
What if I crash on the road or catch something and die out there, and some hiker stumbles on the cabin while she’s weak and alone?
What if sheruns?
Yeah, she’s sick, and sure I cuffed her, kissed her, but she’s still not all mine in the way I want. Not really. Not in the way that really fucking matters.
I toss a handful of soup cans into the basket. I don’t look at the labels. I don’t fucking care. I need to get out of here before I break something.
One of the men by the door watches me go. Big guy. Flannel shirt. Too clean. He nods at me like we’re the same fucking species.
News flashLumberjack Joe.We’renot.
I slide back into the SUV and sit with the engine off, breathing like I just ran a mile uphill. My hand’s trembling on the wheel.
I can’t fucking do this.
This place—it’s not safe. None of this is safe. Too many roads. Too many people. Too many fucking eyes.
So the idea comes back. Not a whisper this time. A scream.
Alaska.
Or Canada. Somewhere savage. A place where no one goes unless they’re trying to disappear. No neighbors. No stores. No roads. Just trees, ice, and silence.
Just me and my sweet doe.
I’ve thought about it before. Joked about it, even. But now it’s clawing at me, hot and sharp and real.
I could build us a new cabin. Hunt our food. Burn the bridge behind us. Make it so no one could ever reach her. Not without dying first.
Sloan would hate it. She’d scream, kick, maybe even cry. She’d curse my name and tell me I ruined her life. But eventually, she’d settle—because deep down, she knows I’m the only one in this fucked-up world who’s ever truly cared.
And even if she didn’t forgive me for it, I’d still fucking drag her ass out there. I’m not losing her. Not to this place. Not to her past. Not toanyone.
She’s fucking mine.
I start the engine. Hands tight on the wheel, jaw grinding, chest aching with something too big to name.
