Free Chill by Stephanie Rowe

out.
    His muscles flexed, itching to do it. He was still enraged by the look of stark terror and utter capitulation on Isabella’s face when Nate had stepped out of the darkness.
    Luke’s blood might have run black, and there might have been bloodstains on his hands, but there would never be any new ones. And he knew all too well that he couldn’t afford to cross the line into violence, not even slightly.
    Because he was, in the worst way possible, his father’s son all the way to his core, as evidenced by the pulsing desire within him to make the man before him pay.
    Luke suddenly realized his finger was closing down on the trigger of the shotgun, and he instantly released it. Shit.
    The black car disappeared back around to the front, and he knew he was out of time. The guys inside would get free, the car would come back, his prisoner would snap at any second.
    With a muttered curse, Luke looked around again and figured out his best option. He pulled Nate off the wall and shoved him toward the Dumpster. The stench was rotting and putrid, and Nate balked.
    Luke pressed the gun toward Nate’s neck. A door slammed and Luke jerked his head around as he heard voices on the back porch.
    Time was up.
    Luke grabbed Nate by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the Dumpster. He slammed the lid shut and slid the lock.
    Nate started yelling instantly, and Luke slipped out of sight as Nate’s comrades came running.
    Luke glanced at the woods, but he couldn’t risk drawing their attention to where Isabel had gone.
    So he went the other way.
    A branch snapped back and slashed across Isabella’s cheek. She gasped at the pain and pressed her palm to her burning skin.
    Her shoulder was aching, and her legs were shaking.
    She was so cold.
    But she was also sweating. She had a bad feeling her shoulder had gotten infected and she was running a fever from it. But she couldn’t stop running. Not yet. She had to keep going. If she stopped, she was so afraid she would never start again.
    How long had she been out there?
    She stumbled over a rock and fell, her hands barely catching her. She dropped her head, succumbing to exhaustion for just a minute. Just to rest for a second. She was just so tired.
    Wearily, she sat down and leaned back against a tree trunk. The ground was frigid, sucking the heat of her body through her jeans. The bark was rough, and her sweater snagged on it. She shivered and hugged herself, trying to hold in her body heat. Her stomach was trembling now, and there was a layer of perspiration on her forehead.
    She was definitely getting an infection. She needed to get out of the woods. Find a doctor. Get help.
    But which way was out?
    She let her head sag back against the trunk and closed her eyes to listen. No sounds of cars whizzing by, to indicate she was near a road. But also, no footsteps of an approaching enemy.
    Just the wind grazing gently through the treetops. The creaks of branches. The scuttle of little feet on the ground. Nature. Alaska. She could smell wet dirt, and dampness in the air, as if a storm were coming, or had just swept through the area. Or both. She’d never smelled nature like this before. Never smelled anything so fresh and clean. She could almost feel all the grime slipping off her soul…
    Something tickled her cheeks, and she slapped at her face.
    Wearily, she opened her eyes.
    A thick black sludge of night. No lights. No people. No homes.
    Just utter isolation.
    Solitude. Fear. Exposure.
    Exactly like the first night she’d gone back to the apartment she’d shared with her mother after her mother had died. She’d huddled in the corner of the floor in the darkness, so terrified, so alone—
    Panic threatened to overwhelm her, and Isabella shuddered and hugged her knees to her chest. No. I will not think about that again. “On the plus side,” she said aloud, her voice startling in the silence. “I’m probably pretty safe out here from the bad guys. So, that’s a bonus. And