Page 10

Chapter Ten

Savvy

I 've never noticed how different the world looks when everything I thought I wanted turns to ash.

The diner is eerily quiet. No customers remain after Vargan's arrest—everyone scrambled out as soon as the cruiser pulled away, whispering behind their hands.

I stand frozen behind the counter, hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. My knuckles have gone white, and I can feel a slight tremor working through my arms. Willie sits in a booth, head in his hands. I should comfort him. Should say something—anything—but my throat has closed, choked with unshed tears.

"Well," Victor says into the silence, straightening his tie with manicured hands, "that was unfortunate. But necessary."

The smug satisfaction in his voice makes bile rise in my throat. This is what he wanted all along—to corner me when I had no leverage left.

"Get out," I manage, the words scraping past my constricted throat.

He smiles, the expression never reaching his cold eyes. "I'll give you some time to consider your position, Ms. Greene. But know that my offer stands—for now. I can be reached at my office."

He nods to Royce, who's still massaging his throat, glaring at me. They leave together, the door creaking in their wake, a sound so at odds with the devastation they've left behind that I want to rip it fron it’s hinges.

As soon as they're gone, Willie looks up at me, face streaked with tears. "We have to help him."

"I know," I whisper, but how? What can I possibly do against the machinery of a system that's been designed to crush people like Vargan? People like me?

Helen emerges from the kitchen, where she's been watching silently. "Go," she says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I'll close up."

"No," I say, moving around the counter to assess the damage. In a week, my diner has been wrecked twice by the same three men. "I'll help clean up."

It's easier to focus on something tangible, something I can fix with my hands. My mind can't process what just happened, can't accept that Vargan is gone.

Helen stops me with a hand on my wrist before she nods to Willie. "Go," she whispers. She's right. I'm reeling from what just happened, but Willie's hurt worse. The look in his eyes when Vargan admitted to killing someone... I can't let him process that alone.

I nod gratefully, grabbing my bag and keys. "Willie, come on."

Outside, the sun is sinking toward the horizon. My eyes automatically go to the farmhouse, to the motorcycle parked in the yard—Vargan's bike, packed and ready to go. Ready for an escape he’ll never claim.

Guilt slams into me. If I hadn't asked him to stay last night... if I hadn't been so selfish, wanting one more night with him... he would be miles away by now, safe. Instead, he's in a jail cell because of me.

Because I couldn't let him go when I should have.

Anger and fear and regret all ball up inside me until I don’t have a choice but to let them all out the only way I know how. I walk over to Vargan’s bike, and I kick the son of a bitch as hard as I can.

“Savvy?” Willie screams while running toward me. “Don’t…”

He’s too late. The scream ripping from my chest overpowers his words as I sink to my knees. None of what I’ve been fighting for feels worth losing him. I pound my fist into the ground over and over until Willie’s at my side and holding my wrists.

He’s being strong for me. “Savvy, stop. Please, Savvy, stop.”

His pleading voice breaks through, and I still. I can’t fall apart. Willie needs me. I straighten and pull Willie down to kneel beside me, hugging him as hard as possible. When I do, something buzzes nearby. It’s faint but real, and it sounds like a phone. I glance around until the glint of metal in the grass next to Vargan’s bike catches my eye. I reach for it and realize what it is: Vargan's phone.

"He left his phone," I say, picking it up. The screen is locked, but as I hold it, it buzzes again with an incoming call. The display reads simply: "HAMMER."

My heart lurches in my chest. This could be our only lifeline.

"That's his club president," Willie says, eyes widening. "He talked about him."

The phone continues to vibrate in my palm, insistent. I stare at it, frozen.

"Answer it!" Willie urges.

My thumb swipes across the screen, but a passcode prompt appears. "It's locked," I say, frustration mounting. "We need his code."

Willie takes the phone from me, studying it. "Maybe it's..." He types something, then shakes his head when access is denied. "Not his birthday. He never told us anyway."

The call ends, the screen going dark.

"We need to think," I say, pacing in front of the motorcycle. "What would Vargan use as a passcode?"

Willie's eyes narrow in concentration, then suddenly widen. "Wait," he says, rolling up his sleeve. He punches in a number, then another, then another. None of them work. Willie closes his eyes tight and bounces back and forth like he's trying to jog a memory.

"What is it, Willie?"

"I can't remember the right numbers," he says, his eyes still shut. "Eight, four, seven..."

The phone buzzes again—Hammer calling back. I look at Willie. "Give me the phone, Willie."

He shakes his head, expression falling. "No, wait..." His eyes light up. "Eight, four, seven, two, nine, one. It's the marking on his wrist from the camp."

I grab the phone, typing in the numbers with shaking fingers.

The screen unlocks.

I answer just as the call is about to go to voicemail. "Hello?"

A moment of silence, then a deep, graveled voice: "Who the hell is this, and where's Vargan?"

"My name is Savvy Greene," I say quickly. "Vargan's been arrested."

More silence, then a muffled curse. "Arrested for what?"

"Assault, for now. But Victor—the man who set him up—he knows about New York. He's probably already called someone." My voice breaks. "They're going to extradite him."

"Jesus Christ," Hammer mutters. "Listen carefully. We've got a team an hour out from your town. I was calling to tell Vargan to move. The route's open, but it’s tight."

An hour to get Vargan from a jail cell and on his way to the border. My mind races, calculating distances, considering options. We'd need to break him out, somehow get him to his bike, then get him to his team.

"Your team won't make it in time," I say, desperation clawing at my chest. "By the time they get here, Victor will have called New York, if he hasn’t already."

"We've got connections in the sheriff's department two counties over," Hammer says. "We might be able to slow things down."

"And if you can't? If the extradition goes through?" I demand.

The silence tells me everything I need to know.

"Listen," Hammer says, voice low and urgent. "Do not do anything stupid. We've got protocols for this. People in place. You sit tight and—"

"They're going to kill him," I cut in, certainty settling cold in my gut. "If he goes back to New York, he's dead. You know that."

Another silence. "Yes."

"Then I can't sit tight," I say, my decision crystallizing. "I'll get him out."

"Human, you don't understand what you're up against."

"I understand exactly what I'm up against," I snap. "I've been fighting Victor Hargrove for three years. I know how he operates, what he wants, how he thinks."

"And what's that got to do with—"

"Everything," I say. "Because Victor already told me he could make this go away. If I gave him what he wants."

Hammer is quiet for a long moment. "And what does he want?"

"Everything I have."

Willie looks at me, horrified understanding dawning on his face. "Savvy, no—"

I shake my head, silencing him. "Your team. Where will they be waiting?"

"Junction of Highway 16 and the old logging road, just past the state line," Hammer says, reluctance evident in his voice. "But this is a bad idea. Let us handle it."

"You'll be too late," I say simply. "I'll get him there."

I hang up before he can argue further, slipping the phone into my pocket. My heart is pounding, but my mind is oddly clear. This is what it feels like when there's only one path forward.

"What are you going to do?" Willie asks, voice small and scared.

I turn to look at him, this boy who's been my responsibility since our parents died, who I've fought to protect from exactly the kind of deal I'm about to make. His eyes are red-rimmed but determined, so much like our father's it makes my chest ache.

"What I have to," I answer. Then, more firmly: "You're staying with Helen."

"But—"

"No arguments," I cut him off. "This isn't negotiable, Willie. I need you safe."

"What about you?" he demands, tears threatening again. "Who keeps you safe?"

The question slams into me. For years, I've been the protector, the provider, the one who stands between Willie and the world. Now I'm walking into the lion's den with nothing but desperation as my shield.

"I'll be fine," I lie, pulling him into a hug. "Victor won’t hurt me as long as he’s getting what he wants. This will be over soon, one way or another."

I drop Willie at the diner despite his protests, making him promise to stay there until I come for him. Helen doesn't ask questions—one look at my face tells her everything she needs to know.

"Be careful," is all she says, her weathered hand squeezing mine. "Remember what I told you."

I nod, thinking of her words in the diner: Better to have it for a day than never at all.

But this isn't about having Vargan, even for a day. It's about giving him a chance at freedom, at life—even if it means I lose everything I've built.

I drive to Victor's mansion on the hill, the old truck rattling beneath me. Vargan fixed it well, but some things can only be patched so many times before they fall apart for good. I wonder if I'm the same.

Victor's estate is obscene in its opulence—ten thousand square feet of limestone and glass perched above a town where children go to bed hungry. I count three security cameras tracking my approach up the winding driveway, and by the time I park, his assistant is waiting at the door.

"Ms. Greene," she says, professional and cold. She used to work at the Tracker Supply before it closed. I wonder what she had to give up for this job. "Mr. Hargrove is expecting you."

“Of course he is.” He's been expecting me for three years.

She leads me through the echoing foyer, past artwork worth more than my diner, my house, and the farm combined. My boots sound too loud on the marble floors, each step a reminder that I don't belong here. At the end of a long hallway, she opens double doors to a study that's larger than my entire first floor.

Victor sits behind a mahogany desk, Royce standing to his right like some cut-rate consigliere. Both look up as I enter, twin smiles spreading across their faces.

"Ms. Greene," Victor says, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Right on time."

I remain standing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. "You knew I'd come."

"I know a mother will do anything to protect her cubs," he says, smile widening. "And you've been playing mother to this town for far too long."

My hands clench into fists at my sides. "Get to the point, Victor."

He leans back, steepling his fingers. "So direct. Very well. Let's not waste time on pleasantries. You want your... friend released. I can make that happen."

"How?" I demand.

"I have certain influence with Sheriff Dawson," he says with false modesty. "A call from me, and your orc walks out the front door of that joke they call a jail. No paperwork, no record."

The casual way he admits to corrupting local law enforcement should shock me, but nothing about Victor surprises me anymore. He's bought and paid for every authority figure in this town.

"And New York? I assume you’ve called them already."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Yes, I've made some calls. They're on their way, but that will take hours to fly in. Plenty of time for your friend to... disappear."

My skin crawls at how easily he admits to manipulating law enforcement, to having the power of life and death over Vargan.

"What do you want?" I ask, though I already know.

Victor's smile fades, replaced by the cold, hard expression of a predator that's cornered its prey. "Everything, Savvy. The diner. The farm. The house. And your public acknowledgment that selling was all your idea."

I swallow hard, keeping my face neutral, though my stomach churns. "That's all?"

Victor exchanges a glance with Royce, whose expression has darkened. "My nephew may have additional... requirements," he says smoothly. "But those are between you two."

Royce steps forward, eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "I've waited a long time to finish what we started, Savvy."

Something inside me snaps. "Keep dreaming, Royce. I'd rather die."

"That's not part of the deal," Victor interjects sharply, shooting his nephew a warning look. "My agreement is with Ms. Greene alone. Your personal vendettas are your own business."

Royce's face flushes with anger, but he steps back, sulking.

"So," Victor continues, turning back to me. "Do we have a deal? Your entire holdings and public support, in exchange for your orc's freedom?"

The diner. The farm. My parents' legacy. Three generations of my family's work. Gone with a signature.

"Is that it?" I ask, voice surprisingly steady. "Nothing else? You disappear, and this goes away. He walks free."

"Show me what else you think I want," Royce sneers, taking a step toward me. "I bet that green freak has been enjoying—"

"Enough!" Victor snaps. "One more word and you're out of the deal entirely."

Royce falls silent, but his eyes promise retribution.

Victor opens a drawer, removing a document. "I've taken the liberty of drafting a preliminary agreement. We'll need to formalize it with lawyers and witnesses, of course, but this will do for now."

He slides the paper across the desk. I force myself to pick it up, to read the words that sign away everything I've fought for. The terms are exactly as he stated—the diner, the farm, the house, all transferred to Hargrove Development Corp. for a nominal sum of one-hundred thousand dollars.

"This is less than your last offer," I say, more observation than accusation.

Victor shrugs. "You're not in a position to negotiate. Besides, your... friend's freedom seems payment enough."

I stare at the contract, thinking of my father's dream, my mother's garden, Willie. Then I think of Vargan in a cell, waiting for men to come and take him to his death.

"I'll need a pen," I say quietly.

Victor's smile is victory incarnate as he passes me a heavy fountain pen. I sign my name on the line, the ink bleeding slightly into the paper like my heart is bleeding into my chest.

"Excellent," Victor says, taking back the document. "Now, I believe you should call your brother. Tell him you've decided to sell, that you'll be leaving Shadow Ridge. Make it convincing."

My hand tightens around the pen. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"It is now," he says mildly. "You're agreeing to publicly acknowledge this as your idea, remember? That includes convincing your brother you came to this arrangement in your own power."

I set the pen down carefully, afraid that if I hold it any longer, I'll try to stab Victor with it. "Make your call first," I say. "Get Vargan released. Then I'll make any announcement you want."

Victor studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Fair enough."

He picks up his phone, dialing a number from memory. "Dawson? It's Hargrove. About that orc you're holding... Yes. Yes, release him. No paperwork. I've decided not to press charges." A pause. "Yes, I understand New York is en route. That's no longer your concern. By morning, he'll be long gone." Another pause. "I'll take full responsibility. Just do it." He hangs up, smiling thinly at me. "Satisfied?"

"How long until he's free?"

"Dawson is heading to the jail now. Twenty minutes, perhaps." Victor leans forward. "Which means you have twenty minutes to call your brother and tell him the good news."

I take out my phone, my hand shaking slightly. Willie answers on the first ring.

"Savvy? Are you okay? Did you get Vargan out?"

"Willie," I say, aware of Victor and Royce watching me intently. "I've made a decision. I'm selling the diner and the farm to Victor. We're going to leave Shadow Ridge, start fresh somewhere else."

Silence, then: "What? No! Savvy, you can't—"

"It's for the best," I continue, my voice surprisingly steady. "We've been fighting too long. It's time to let go."

"This isn't you talking," Willie says, his voice cracking. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing," I assure him quickly. "This is my choice. I'll explain everything later. I need you to pack some things—just essentials. We'll be leaving tonight."

I hope he understands what I'm not saying—that we need to be ready to run, that nothing will be the same after tonight.

"Savvy—"

"I love you," I say, cutting him off. "Trust me, okay? Just this once, trust that I know what I'm doing."

A long pause. "Okay," he says finally, his voice small.

I end the call, meeting Victor's approving gaze.

"Very convincing," he says. "You might have a future in acting, Savannah."

"Are we done?"

"Almost." He stands, buttoning his suit jacket. "I'll need a formal statement for the Shadow Ridge Gazette, announcing your support for—"

"Vargan's freedom first," I interrupt. "I'll write whatever you want once he's clear."

Victor sighs theatrically. "So distrustful. Very well. We'll drive to the jail together and ensure your friend is released. Then we'll return here to complete our business."

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later, we're parked across from the small sheriff's office that serves as Shadow Ridge's jail. Victor insists I stay in the car while he goes inside. Through the windows, I can see him speaking with Sheriff Dawson, the two men nodding in agreement. My hands are clammy, my heart racing. This is really happening. I've traded everything I have for an orc I've known for barely a week.

And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I wait, every second stretching into eternity. What if this is a trick? What if Victor never intended to free Vargan at all?

Then the door opens, and Vargan emerges, his massive frame dwarfing the sheriff beside him. He looks unharmed but wary, his eyes scanning the street until they land on Victor's truck—on me in the passenger seat.

His expression shifts from confusion to alarm as Victor approaches him, saying something I can't hear. Vargan shakes his head, taking a step back.

I can't wait any longer. I throw open the car door, rushing toward them.

"Vargan!" I call. "It's okay. You're free to go."

He looks at me, amber eyes searching mine. "What did you do?" he asks, voice low and dangerous.

"What I had to," I answer simply.

"She's made an exceptionally generous sacrifice on your behalf," Victor says smoothly. "I suggest you don't waste it by lingering in Shadow Ridge. You won’t want to be here when New York arrives."

Understanding dawns in Vargan's eyes, followed by a rage so profound it makes me take an involuntary step back.

"You sold yourself to him," Vargan growls, the words barely human.

"No," I say quickly. "Just the diner. The farm. It's just property, Vargan."

Just the culmination of my family's dreams. Just everything I've fought for. Just my home, my livelihood, my identity.

"And for a good cause," Victor adds, enjoying the moment far too much. "Now, Ms. Greene, we should return to my office to finalize—"

"Savvy's not going anywhere with you," Vargan interrupts, stepping between us. "Whatever deal you made, it's off."

Victor's smile doesn't slip. "I'm afraid that's not how this works. Papers have been signed. Announcements made. And if you don't leave town immediately, I'll simply call the law myself and tell them exactly where to find you."

Vargan's fists clench at his sides, his entire body vibrating with barely contained fury. For a moment, I think he might attack Victor right there, in front of the sheriff's office.

"Vargan," I say softly, touching his arm. "Please. There's a team waiting for you at the junction of Highway 16 and the old logging road. They can't wait long."

His eyes snap to mine. "You spoke to Hammer?"

I nod. "Your phone. Willie figured out the passcode."

Something like pain crosses his features. "Savvy, I can't leave you here with him."

"You have to," I insist, pressing Vargan's phone into his hand. "This is bigger than me, bigger than the diner. This is your life."

Victor checks his watch, impatience creeping into his expression. "As touching as this is, we're on a schedule. Savvy, the truck. Now."

Vargan growls low in his throat, a sound that makes Victor take a step back despite his bravado.

"I'll find you," Vargan promises me, his voice for my ears alone. "When this is over, I'll come back."

"Go," I whisper, tears threatening. "Just be safe."

He hesitates for a moment longer, then turns and strides toward the SUV meant to take him to the farmhouse.

"Well," Victor says beside me, "wasn't that dramatic. Now, shall we?"

I turn to him, suddenly bone-tired. "Let's get this over with."

As Victor drives us back toward his mansion, I watch Shadow Ridge pass by the window—the diner my father built, the farm my mother tended, the life I've known.

Strangely, I feel no regret. No remorse for letting Victor win this battle. As long as Vargan has a fair shot at reaching freedom, the price is worth paying.

Helen was right. The diner, the farm—they were never what I truly wanted. They were just the things I was fighting for because I didn't know how to fight for what I really needed: connection, belonging, love.

I found all of that, however briefly, with Vargan. And now I've given him the only gift I can—a chance.

It's enough. It has to be.

As we pull into Victor's driveway, I hear the distant roar of a motorcycle engine, fading into the night. I close my eyes, sending a silent prayer with it.

Run, Vargan. Run and don't look back.