Tyler's POV
The text burned into my vision like it was seared there with a branding iron. I didn't even realize my fists were curling until my knuckles popped.
They have her. Come alone.
I didn't think. I just moved.
One second, I was standing in the cramped cabin living room, the hum of the old heater filling the air, Erica's presence at my back like a tether holding me still. The next, I tore that tether away and was halfway to the door. My boots hit the wood hard enough to make it groan.
I told myself it made sense—hell, it did make sense. They couldn't hurt Erica. They didn't know where she was. I'd made sure of that when I brought her here. The safe house was off-grid, tucked deep in pine and shadow. No one stumbled onto it unless they knew exactly where to look, and no one knew except me.
That meant I could go. That meant I had to go.
Because if Alexis was still breathing, I had a chance to get her out before whatever hell they were planning became permanent.
I didn't dare look at Erica. If I stayed long enough to see her face, she'd find a way to make me think twice. She'd put her hand on my arm, look at me with that sharp mix of fear and stubbornness, and I'd lose the nerve to leave.
"Tyler?" Her voice cracked from behind me. I kept moving, throwing my jacket on in one smooth motion.
"Where are you going? Come back!"
Her tone wasn't angry—it was desperate, and that made it cut even deeper.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. If I turned around, I'd stay.
The cold slammed into me as I shoved through the door. It bit into my skin, gnawed at my neck, and burned in my lungs, but it felt clean—sharper than the suffocating warmth inside. I jogged across the clearing toward the dark outline of the lot where I'd left the car.
The place was silent except for the crunch of gravel under my boots and the wind hissing through the trees. My pulse thudded against my temples. Every step was a countdown.
I hit the driver's seat like a man possessed, shoving the key into the ignition before the door was even closed. The engine roared to life, a deep, throaty growl that rattled through my chest. I gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, and pulled out onto the narrow dirt track that led away from the safe house.
I drove like I knew exactly where to go—like the road had already carved itself in my head—but the truth was I didn't. I had nothing but the gnawing certainty that if I didn't move now, I'd lose her.
The pines whipped past in a smear of green and shadow. Every turn felt too slow, every stretch of road too long. The speedometer climbed, but it wasn't fast enough—not with Alexis tied to a chair somewhere, waiting.
My phone buzzed against the console. I almost ignored it, but then Molly's name flashed on the screen. One tap, and the message opened.
Address: West Hollow car park.
No questions. No hesitation. Just the coordinates I needed.
Something hot flared in my chest—part adrenaline, part pure rage—and my foot pressed harder on the gas. The tires kicked up gravel as I tore down the road, the engine's growl turning into a snarl.
By now the sun was out in full, bleaching the edges of the forest in blinding light. In my car, it wasn't morning—it was a countdown, every second stolen from me by the bastards who thought they could use Alexis as leverage.
The steering wheel trembled under my grip as I pressed harder. The heat of the sun through the windshield mixed with the cold burn of fury in my veins, and all I could see—over and over—was Alexis's face in that photo.
I wasn't just going to get her out.
I was going to make them regret ever thinking they could touch the people I cared about.
When the car park came into view, I froze.
Cole.
He stood there, leaning against a post like he'd been waiting for me, hands in his pockets, breath fogging in the cold air. The dim yellow light from the lone lamppost caught the edge of his grin.
I slowed my pace, narrowing my eyes. "Where is she?"
He straightened lazily, like this was all one big game. "You're here. That's what matters."
I didn't have time for his crap. "Cut it, Cole. Take me to Alexis."
Something flickered across his face—amusement, maybe. Or the satisfaction of watching me walk right into whatever trap he'd laid. "She's inside. Come on."
He turned without waiting for me to follow. My gut twisted. Every step I took after him felt like I was sinking deeper into quicksand.
There she was.
Alexis sat in the middle, tied to a wooden chair. Her wrists were bound in front of her, rope biting into her skin, a smear of dried blood on her lip. Her eyes snapped to mine the second I stepped inside, wide and glassy.
"Tyler…" Her voice was barely a whisper.
I ran towards her immediately. "Hang on. I'm getting you out of here."
I crouched beside her, working at the knots with stiff fingers. "Did they hurt you?"
Her head shook in a jerky motion. "You shouldn't be here."
"I'm not leaving without you," I muttered, yanking at the ropes until they gave way with a sharp snap.
That's when I heard it—the scrape of shoes against the floor behind me.
I straightened slowly.
From the shadows at the back of the cars, figures emerged. One, then two, then four. All of them holding hockey sticks like bats, the blades taped tight, the ends splintered and sharp.
Every single one wore the same smug smirk I'd seen on Cole a hundred times back when we faced off on the ice.
Cole stepped forward, rolling his shoulders like he was limbering up for a shift.
"You really thought it was just me?" His grin widened, teeth catching the dim light.
The others fanned out, blocking the door. My body went tight, every muscle on alert. My hands curled into fists—not out of fear, but the raw, familiar urge to hit back.
Cole tilted his head, studying me like I was a prize he was about to claim.
"Your blood is ours."