Page 6 of Sweet Doe
She scoffs, turning away to look out the window, but I see the shake in her shoulders. The way her fingers twitch like she’s holding back more words. Maybe curses. Maybe something softer. Doesn’t fucking matter. I’ll take both.
“You should be thanking me,” I continue, fingers tapping the wheel as the forest thickens. The snow is deeper here. Untouched. “I saved you.”
“Thanking you? You fuckingkilledhim!”
“Irescuedyou.”
She doesn’t reply. Because even she knows I’m right. She knows shit between her and my twin never would’ve worked out.
“And just so we’re clear?” I add, voice low and sure, “It was always me. Every birthday gift. Every sweet surprise you thought he left at your door. That wasn’t him. My piece of shit brother didn’t remember your favorite perfume. He didn’t knowyou liked lilies more than roses. But I did. I watched. I fucking listened.”
“You’re lying,” she snaps.
“I’m not,” I murmur. “And don’t go thinking this is about you not being enough. You’re not the problem, Sloan—you never were. You’re fucking perfect. It’s them. It’s always been them. Nothing’s ever good enough for that family. Not me. Not you. You just had the wrong brother.”
“You’re a fucking monster.”
“Maybe,” I agree, not bothered in the slightest. “But I’myourmonster now.”
She leans back in her seat, arms crossed tightly. “You think this ends with us skipping off into the mountains and living happily ever after?”
“No,” I say, voice dipping low. “I think it ends with you being mine. Wholly and truly fucking mine. Eventually. Once you remember what it felt like to beg for me in the snow.”
Her face flushes with rage—or shame. Both look the same on her. She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“I know you’re angry. Scared. But you have no idea how many nights I watched you walk home, knowing Alex was going to disappoint you. How many times I parked outside your apartment, jerking off to the sound of you getting dressed in the morning, or showering at night. You think I missed the way you stared at the dark corners of your room, wishing someone would drag you into them and ruin you properly?”
“Fuck you,” she whispers, but her voice is trembling now.
“You already did, twice.” I smirk, eyes flicking back to the road. “In the tree farm, you said Alex never touched you like that before. That’s because it wasn’t him. It wasme. It was always fucking me.”
Another long pause. She doesn’t speak, and I don’t push. Not yet. Her breath fogs the window. Her pulse flickers at the baseof her throat. The trees blur past us, thickening as the elevation rises, snow clinging to their limbs.
Time slips quietly between us.
By the time we turn off the highway, the sun has barely started to crawl above the mountains. The road narrows, turns to gravel, then dirt. The further we drive, the more the world fades—no street signs, no tire tracks, no signs of life but frost-furred branches reaching over the windshield like claws.
We don’t speak for nearly an hour.
Then, just as we crest the final incline, I break the silence.
“I named the ridge myself,” I say, one hand loose on the wheel as the SUV climbs the final stretch of snow-packed road. “Didn’t come with anything but ghosts and overgrowth. Just a stretch of forgotten earth past the ranger stations. No maps. No trails. Just wilderness and silence.”
She shifts beside me, slower now. Heavier. Her eyelids are starting to droop, lashes blinking like she’s struggling to keep focus. The Gatorade’s kicked in—soft, subtle. Just enough to make her limbs feel too warm and her mind feel like it's floating through molasses.
She glances over, but it takes effort. Her head turns in a slow, clumsy arc. Her voice comes out soft, slurred at the edges. “You... named it?”
I nod, eyes still on the road as it levels out. “Wraithrock.”
There’s a pause. Her brow furrows like she’s trying to concentrate, but her mouth doesn’t quite keep up with her thoughts. “That... supposed to mean something?”
I let a grin pull at the corner of my mouth. “Because nothing lives up here that isn’t supposed to be dead.”
The words land heavy in the cab, but she doesn’t react the way she would’ve an hour ago. No snarl. No bite. Just a little shiver under my coat—her body curling in on itself like it suddenly feels too far from solid ground.
She shifts again, this time more like she’s melting into the seat than moving with purpose. Her voice is tighter now. “You really... built a place out here? Alone?”
I glance at her. Her eyes are glassy, blinking too slow. She’s fighting the haze, but it’s a losing battle. My pulse thrums with satisfaction.
