Chapter 11: No Escape

That night, after a shower, my phone rang—unknown number, D.C. area code. I hung up. Another text: "Rachel, are you coming down, or am I coming up?"

My stomach twisted. He knew where I was. Of course he did.

He called again. I answered, voice low so my parents wouldn’t hear. "Nathan Brooks, what do you want?"

"Rachel Morgan, I missed you."

I almost dropped the phone. I hung up.

He texted again. "If you don’t come, I’ll visit your parents."

I heard their laughter from the living room, safe and happy. My heart clenched with guilt and fear.

"I’ll come down."

"Good. I’ll wait."

I threw on a windbreaker, made an excuse, and slipped out. Nathan’s car waited under the street trees, low profile, forgettable.

I looked around—Mrs. Patterson’s curtains twitched. I ran to the car.

The window rolled down. Nathan lounged inside, wedding ring gleaming. His eyes raked over me, noting every sign of defeat.

"Get in."

"Say what you need to here."

He stepped out, faster than I expected. Then grabbed my chin, pinning me to the car, metal cold through my jacket.

He kissed me, rough and urgent, whiskey on his breath. I struggled, aware of neighbors, of my parents upstairs.

Instinct took over—I slapped him, my nails leaving bloody marks on his jaw.

He let go, eyes dark. Then he smiled: "Get in, or I’ll handle you here. Choose. You know I’m capable of anything."