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I love you. I love you. I love you.

“I wanna kiss you,” I whispered, the words coming out as soon as the thought entered my mind. His eyes searched mine slowly, like he was making sure I meant it in the only way that mattered here.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he beckoned softly.

“I do,” I whispered back, almost shaking. “I do, because…” Because everything else was wrong. Because nothing about this was safe. Because I didn’t know if there would ever be another moment that felt like this again. Because…no one asked me what I wanted anymore. Jackson shifted slightly against the chains, careful even in the smallest movement.

“Then yes,” he said quietly.

I leaned in like I was afraid the moment would break if I rushed it. His breath caught the second before our lips met. His lips were split, dry, and trembling slightly against mine, and I barely pressed forward, barely let it last for more than a heartbeat, but it still felt like everything stopped anyway.

When I pulled back, I didn’t go far. His forehead hovered close to mine, chains faintly clinking as his hands shifted like he wanted to reach for me, but couldn’t. We stayed in that position until we heard the cabinet being shoved aside. I glanced up at Jackson, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Did you hear the front door slam?”

“No.”

“Do…do you think that's Peter?”

I was on my feet before I thought it through, stumbling toward the stairs, heart slamming so hard, it drowned everything. “Peter,” I started, voice breaking as I reached the base of the steps. Metal scraped somewhere behind the door.

I froze halfway up.

He was coming down.

He had to be.

“Peter?” I called louder this time.

A breathless laugh almost escaped me. I was at the top by the time the basement door creaked. I peeked around the gap, hope surging so violently, it made me dizzy. But the man who stepped into view wasn’t my brother.

It was Wayne.

His eyes found mine instantly, cold and assessing, like I’d made a mistake just by existing there. “Oh,” he said slowly. “That’s what you thought that was, was it?” My stomach dropped so hard, I couldn’t breathe. Behind him, the sound of the cabinet settling echoed like a lock clicking shut.

“No, I…”

He looked past me then, down towards the stairs where Jackson was. I subtly leaned closer towards him, blocking his view. I forced my shoulders to loosen, even as my pulse hammered so hard, it felt like it might give me away. Then, I smiled. “I was waiting for you,” I said softly, despite how my voice was shaking.

Wayne’s attention snapped back to me immediately.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, the corner of his lips circling up on one side.

I nodded, forcing steadiness into my voice I didn’t have. “You took too long,” I added, tilting my head slightly. “I thought you were going to stay up there all day.”

“Were you now?” he drawled, stepping closer. But now he was looking at me, not past me. That was what I needed. I nodded and allowed Wayne to pull me back into the bedroom, clasping the chain around my ankle. “You’re lucky I didn't kill the fucker for the shit he’d just done, walking into my fucking home…” For the first time, I managed to drown him out, walking away from him as I clung to the heartbreakingly familiar scent of my brother's cologne in the air. The chain dragged behind me as I moved, the sound not as scraping as it used to be.

I was once again his prisoner, but never again his victim.

Because if Peter had stopped by, something in my gut was telling me things were going to change. And with Jackson downstairs? Being my anchor once again? A flower of hope was blooming in my chest, its pollen infused with strength and promises spreading into my veins and taking root. I’m getting us out of here, I thought. “Even if it’s the last thing I do,” I whispered, staring at my cracked reflection in the dusty frame beside me.

CHAPTER THIRTY

PETER

Ihad only been to Wayne’s farm a few times as a teenager. Trekking up the long driveway, dropping off tools Dad had borrowed or asking him if he wanted to come over for dinner. He’d always been welcoming and accommodating, offering to drive me back home with a basket of muffins he’d baked.