9. Eva

Listening to the music eased my raging anxiety. I was fully aware I still needed to leave, but the snow was falling again outside and I had no car anymore. Yes, I could have asked one of the guys to drop me in the next town. I was sure one of them would have if the roads were still open.

However, the lack of money was a problem. And also, my bag was still in the trunk of Brent's car, so far as I knew.

Silas had returned. I had heard them whispering in the kitchen before they moved out of earshot.

The fire crackled in the hearth while I sat stiffly on the sofa. Under different circumstances, I'd have felt right at home here.

It was a gorgeous room: timber-clad walls and an enormous stone fireplace. In one corner stood a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with a mix of novels, biographies, and random non-fiction titles. There were a few small landscape paintings on the walls, which brightened the place up.

The decor was overwhelmingly masculine, with no pretty cushions or ornaments, but it was tidy, and best of all, it felt like a home.

The house I shared with Brent had never felt like a home. Nothing there belonged to me. Not one thing. Brent rented it off from someone he knew, with the hideous furniture it contained included in the price.

The furniture in this cabin had been chosen for comfort, rather than budget. Some of it even looked hand-crafted. If I was to pick somewhere to live, this cabin would be it.

I loved the whole rustic aesthetic. A woman at work had been reading an interiors magazine on her break, and when she left it in the staff room, I sneaked a look.

There was a feature on rustic interior decor design and the home in it was not dissimilar to this one. In a different life, I would have torn the pages out and added them to my mood board. Instead, I left the magazine behind for someone else to drool over.

There was little point in me musing over interior design choices. I had no home and zero chance of ever making one of my own.

The guys walking in, startling me out of my thoughts. Almost immediately, I tensed. Were they coming to tell me it was time for me to leave?

Silas dropped onto the sofa but not close enough to touch me, leaving me simultaneously relieved and also disappointed. Cole hovered by the fireplace while looking over my head. Eventually, he spoke in a low, measured tone designed to calm rather than rile.

"So Silas went back to your car. Did you have any bags in there?"

My head snapped up. The money! "There was a bag in the trunk, yeah, and my purse was in the glove box."

"The car was empty, Eva," Silas told me. I spun around to stare at him. "Empty? But how?" Something told me I wouldn't like the answer to that question.

"There were footprints all round the car. Someone had been there and cleared it out." He paused for a moment, he and Cole exchanging a look that suggested they were having a conversation I wasn't privy to. "Last night, when I found you, there was a guy at the scene. He ran off when I made my presence known. Do you remember anything yet?"

Oh God. It must have been Brent. I still couldn't remember the actual crash, but I did recall panicking about a car following me. If he knew where I was, he might come here. He might attack the guys.

My thoughts spiraled out of control. Black fog enveloped me like a toxic cloud. I couldn't breathe. Something heavy sat on my chest, pressing me into the sofa. It wasn't until Silas touched my arm gently that I realized I was hyperventilating.

"Breathe, sugar. You're safe. We won't let anything happen to you." The soft rasp of his voice settled the swirling panic in my head and I forced some air into my heaving lungs. In and out. Breathe. In and out.

Some of the panic dissipated, the fog cleared, and when I came around, both guys were staring at me intensely.

"Are you running from someone, Eva?" Cole moved closer to perch on the edge of the heavy timber coffee table. I could see every striation in the polished surface.

"I…" Did I want them to know? Did I trust them? If I was stuck here for a while, they needed to know what I was dealing with. They definitely needed to know the man I'd spent the last few years with was an unhinged psychopath who had promised that if I left him, I was dead. I took a deep breath before telling them my story.

"Two days ago, I left the man who became my guardian after my dad died. He isn't the kind of man to let something he owns go."

"You can't own a person," Silas said, looking horrified. "That's not how it works, sugar."

Bitter laughter threatened to choke me. "In Brent's world, you can." A growl startled me and I looked up. Silas's irises were pure gold, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Calm the fuck down, brother," Cole snapped. Silas took a deep breath and unclenched his fists.

"Did he hurt you?" There was an undercurrent of pure rage in Silas's low voice, but I understood he wasn't angry at me. Nothing about this gentle man scared me.

My eyes stung but remained dry. I'd cried too many tears over Brent. I had none left. Nodding, I looked down, unable to bear the pity on their faces.

"Brent was the only person who stepped in when my father died. I was 14, just a kid. The rest of the town had turned a blind eye to my father's alcohol problem. They didn't want to get involved, even though it was clear Dad was in no fit state to look after himself, let alone a kid."

"Where was your mom?"

I shrugged. "I never knew her and Dad always refused to tell me anything about her. It was just him and me. As I grew older, Dad got sicker, until I had no choice but to care for him instead of the other way around. We managed. Just. Dad worked enough days here and there to cover the rent on our trailer. Once I was old enough to wash dishes at the local diner, I brought in some extra money to pay for food and electricity. Life wasn't great and Dad was mostly absent, but I was OK. Then he died."

I got home from school one day and Dad was on the floor, his sightless eyes staring up at the stained ceiling, an empty bottle lying beside him. Even though years have passed, when I think about that moment, it still makes me want to vomit.

"Brent showed up the day my father died. He offered to help pay for the funeral. He said he'd known Dad for years, claimed Dad had asked him to take care of me if anything happened. Maybe he did, I don't know. All I knew was someone was helping me when nobody else cared. He was fine for a while. Kind and caring. As a cop, people believed him when he said he was my guardian. If I'd been in my right mind, I would have known Child Protective Services should have been informed, but I had no clue about anything. He moved me into his house. Looked after me. Paid for stuff I needed. Never laid a finger on me but from the time I turned 15, he made it clear I owed him a debt, and when I turned 18, he would be collecting."

"How old are you, Sugar, and how did you manage to get away?" Silas reached out and grasped my hand. The feel of my small hand in his large one was strangely comforting.

"I've just turned 18." Which was why I couldn't wait any longer. I knew he had something planned. It was obvious from the way he kept smirking at me that day. "I waited until he left for work. Then I took the car keys and some money I'd saved and drove away as fast as I could. I intended to keep going until I reached New York. I figured he'd never find me there. Only I never made it."

My words trailed off. There was nothing more to say. Brent was still out there, searching for me. Until one of us was dead, he'd never give up.

"You can stop running. Eva. You're safe with us."

Cole's words penetrated the thick layers of trauma around my heart, sparking something deep inside.

Hope.

Hope that maybe I had found a home.

At last.