Page 129 of Made for Wilde

But I’m alive. We’re alive.

I start working on the tape over my mouth and use my tongue to find the edge where Adrian’s shaking hands didn’t press it down quite tight enough. It’s slow, painful work. The adhesive burns my tongue and I have to be careful not to swallow any of it.

As I work, my mind begins to clear from the shock and terror of the last hour. Adrian thinks he’s broken me with that slap and thinks he’s proven his power over me.

But all he’s really done is show me exactly what I’m fighting against.

The baby flutters inside me. A gentle reminder of what’s at stake. Not just my life, but the future growing within me. The family Koda and I are building together.

Koda.

For the first time since Adrian revealed the gun, I let myself think about him fully. By now, he knows something is wrong. I should have been back hours ago. He’s probably called my phone a dozen times, maybe driven to the school looking for me.

When Koda realizes I’m missing, he won’t just sit around worrying.

He’ll tear this town apart to find me.

TWENTY-SEVEN

KODA

I get backto my cabin a little after eleven.

The sun is high overhead, filtering through the pines as I kill the engine. Charlotte’s Honda isn’t in the driveway.

That’s odd.

I sit for a second with my hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel and let the silence settle in my chest.

My ribs ache with every breath, and my head still pounds from the meeting with Jason. I’m not sure if we made progress or just circled the same old wounds, but at least we got the worst of it out in the open.

I’d take a hundred more punches if it meant Charlotte gets her dad back.

I step out of the truck and limp up the steps. The cabin will be empty, but some part of me still hopes I’m wrong. I unlock the door and push it open, half expecting her to pop out of the kitchen with some sarcastic comment about my battered face.

But the silence confirms what I already knew.

I step inside and close the door behind me, standing there for a second and listening to the stillness. The place feels hollow in a way that makes my gut tighten.

I pull my keys from the lock and cross to the small wooden bowl on the entry table. Her purse isn’t on the hook by the door where she usually leaves it. I scan the living room and confirm her shoes aren’t by the couch either.

I move through the space, past the couch, and into the kitchen.

On the counter, there’s a bowl of apples. I grab one and pull out my phone as I head toward my bedroom. She said she was just running a quick errand to pick up her trophy. But she should’ve been back by now.

I dial her number and press the phone to my ear as I walk down the hall.

It rings once. Then cuts off and goes straight to voicemail. That’s not like her. She always answers, even if she’s busy.

I try again as I move to the window. Same thing. One ring, then nothing.

The knot in my gut gets tighter.

I lean against the window frame, phone still in my hand, and think it through. Maybe she got held up at the school. Maybe she ran into someone and lost track of time. People do that. Normal shit.

But three hours to pick up a trophy?

I turn from the window and head back through the cabin and into the kitchen again. Then I set the apple down and swipe open my phone with my thumb.