Tia

The snow crunches under my already frozen feet. I want to run fast and far, but it’s nearly impossible in these woods where snow drifts are knee high.

I refuse to lie down and give up but the men are gaining ground. It’s not just their boots I hear, it’s their heavy breathing, their grunts as they try to catch me.

They’re so close.

Too close.

Tears gather in my eyes, I blink wildly, not wanting to cry, needing to keep my head, but when I trip over a fallen tree half-buried in the snow, I can’t hold back any longer. My lungs burn as a sob rips from my throat.

One of the men makes a wild noise like a wolf howling as they surround me.

“And where do you think you’re going?” the man hisses through missing teeth.

They hover over me. A group of three, dirty, dangerous men, reeking of alcohol and smelling of urine. The freshly fallen snow and clear air of Alaska feel a million miles away, even though I’m laying in and under it.

These are the men Fallon warned me about. This is why he kept me close. Not in a birdcage, behind lock and key, but under his wing, shielding me from the horrors I didn’t want to imagine.

I should never have run. I should have trusted my men. My husbands. I should have believed that they would protect me.

Fear drove me away from the safety of their arms. Not for myself, but for them.

Worried that my father and the man he sold me to would find me, I forgot about the other dangers that lurk in the shadows waiting to consume and devour.

In this new world, I am prey and the men whose hands grab me now are the enemy.

A knife is drawn, it is pressed under my chin, warning me to stay put.

Where would I go? I ran from the only safety I ever had.

My ankle throbs, my chest heaves. This cannot be the way it ends.  I don’t, for a moment, think this pock-faced man might slice my throat. What he plans is worse than death. I see it in all their eyes.

Lust.

Hunger.

They plan on feeding on me.

Taking me.

Using me.

“Get away,” I yell, for the first time in my life knowing true fear.

“Keep your mouth shut, you little whore,” the man with the knife snarls, kneeling beside me. His two accomplices leer above us, licking their lips and reaching for their groins.

They don’t plan on waiting. They plan to do this here and now.

I spit out a response, “I’m not your whore.”

The men just laugh. “You’re wrong, princess. That’s exactly what you are now.”

I scream, rolling away from them, knowing I might not get far, but a few feet is better than lying here and giving up.

I’ve read the history books. I know that there have always been men in the world ready to take and abuse what doesn’t belong to them. But now, with the population dwindling, and men outnumbering women ten to one, violence has become the norm.

I saw this first-hand growing up, but I wanted to believe Alaska would be different. And even though my husbands warned me, I didn’t heed their words.

Now I will pay for my recklessness.

“Get back here, you little slut,” the knife-wielding man grunts, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me around. He then slams me back down on the ground and positions himself between my legs. The immense weight of him forces me deeper into the snow, my clothing is soaked and my skin nearly frozen. My chest aches with terror as he looks down at me with such evil intentions.

“You can’t run from us,” he says. His words are laced with spit, and it falls across my cheek. I inhale sharply, shocked by his vulgarity. “We already have you.”

“Mac,” one of the men growls. “We should take her to the cabin, she’s a flight risk so long as she isn’t locked up. And we want her alive.” He laughs then, a dark and gravelly roar that clouds the night sky.

The knife is under my chin again and his other hand wraps around my long hair, fisting it and yanking it back. My lips quiver from both the cold and the fear coursing through my veins.

“Fine.” He grabs me by the hair at the nape of my neck and tugs me up. I let out a yelp of pain but he just chuckles. “You’ll be hurting a lot more when I’m through with you.”

My feet are raw, my eyes are frozen open, and every breath feels like I’m swallowing ice as I’m pulled and shoved back through the woods toward the men’s truck.  When I scream for help, the blade of the knife is again pressed under my chin, and it keeps me in check.

I’m not ready to die.

“Get in.” The toothless one opens the driver’s side door. This is the last step I’m going to take before I’m gone forever, and I dig my heels into the snow, realizing just how far I am from home. From my husbands.

My resistance enrages my kidnapper, and he slaps my face, and then barks with rancid breath, “Get in the fucking truck.”

Fighting him is pointless. There are three of them and only one of me. My cheek burns from the back of his hand and I know that fighting is futile.

I ran so I could protect my husbands from the truth I’m hiding. Even if I’m to become nothing but a plaything for these monsters, at least I saved the men I married. That must count for something.

Still, I am not going to bend over and take the horrors they offer. No, the lower forty-eight may believe women are nothing but a means to an end, but I know I’m worth more than that.

We drive for what feels like an hour, maybe more, even though I know barely any time has passed. One of the men is in the bed of the truck and I’m squeezed up front between the other two. They pass a bottle of liquor between them as we drive, hands on my thighs, groping me, so I keep my eyes fixed on the road, memorizing every detail I can manage. Refusing to believe this is the end for me.

I will get free of them.

“Shit,” one of the men mutters when headlights appear behind us. There’s a vehicle coming up behind us, quickly, and I suck in a deep breath, hoping against hope that this is my chance to escape.

The truck flashes its lights, obviously wanting us to pull over.

“What do you want to do, boss?”

“Just keep driving.”

For a moment, I think that the hope of rescue is gone, but then the vehicle behind us accelerates, inching dangerously close to pushing the truck off the road. I dig my fingernails into the dashboard of the truck, no longer just scared of being kept prisoner. Suddenly, the horror of being pushed off the road into an icy death takes hold in my chest.

“Who the fuck is this bastard?” The driver grunts as we come to a stop.

“Just let me do the talking,” the toothless guy says as the vehicle behind us comes to a stop as well. He turns to me, lifting his jacket, exposing a handgun and warns, “Keep your head down or this guy dies.”

A shiver races down my spine, and I don’t doubt he means it.

The truck door opens behind us, but I keep my head down, not wanting to be responsible for anyone’s death.

“You guys in need of assistance?” A familiar, deep, pure male voice asks coming up to the driver’s side.

No. No. No.

I know that voice.

Giles. My husband.

Please, please, please don’t be alone.

“We’re fine,” the driver says, jumping out of the truck before Giles can see me. “You’re the one trying to force us off the goddamn road.”

There is still the pock-faced man in the bed of the truck, but I can’t see what he’s doing. Two of my captives are alone with Giles.

My skin crawls with fear. I’m alone in the truck with Toothless, and he grips my leg, warning me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” His breath is rancid and my heart races. I wish I could turn, lock eyes with Giles. I want him to know I’m here, alive.

“You guys are far from town,” Giles says in the distance. Toothless and I sit silent and still, listening to everything they say.

“Didn’t know that was a crime,” the driver snarls.

There’s a moment of silence, and I can imagine the men staring each other down.

“You need something?” the pock-faced man asks.

Another pause.

“I’m out looking for someone,” Giles says, voice even, and I hear the crunch of snow beneath boots like he’s walking back towards the truck.

No, stop, I want to scream. These men are dangerous. Giles may be military-trained, but three against one isn’t a fair fight. And, they have guns.

“Best you stay where you are,” one of the men says, the threat clear in his voice.

“I’m not meaning any harm, just wondering if you saw a woman wandering in these woods?”

“What would a woman want with you?”

“You’re Janglers, right?” Giles asks.

“We prefer the term mercenaries.”

“I’m Alaskan military.”

“Then you know you have no business with us.”

“And you know I have authority to check your vehicle.” More crunching of snow under boots.

I hear the click of the man’s safety being released, as one of the others yells out another threat to stay where he is. I know Giles doesn’t listen because I hear the argument that pursues.

I struggle to turn, needing to see through the back window. Giles takes a swing at one of the men, and the driver goes flying backward, but the pock-faced man is already charging him, slamming his shoulder into Giles’ gut, and pushing him back against the hood of his vehicle.

Fists fly, and the driver charges again. Giles fights them off. And for a second, I’m in awe of the man. My husband. Red hair flashes in the moonlight, and his face is feral.

Toothless pushes my head back down, fingers digging into my skin.

A blast stuns us both, reverberating in my ear. Toothless jumps from the truck. Apparently, me staying put is now a secondary concern. A gun was shot.

“What the hell?” Toothless shouts.

Now alone in the car, free from my captors’ clutches, I turn to look out the back window once more. It takes me a few horrifying seconds before I realize the pock-marked man is now pointing his revolver straight at Giles’ chest.

Frantically, I glance around the truck for anything to use as a weapon. I open the glove compartment, spilling garbage and papers, and then I see the glint of metal.

A gun.

I pull my gloves off and grab the cold steel in my hands. I’ve never held a gun before, let alone shot one, but I’ve read about them in books. Luckily for Giles, I never forget what I read.

I flick the safety off and hold the gun in trembling hands.

The men argue. Even Giles, who never raises his voice is demanding access to the truck, but a gun is pointed at his chest. It’s suicide to fight them.  There’s a smack of flesh against flesh as Toothless tries to drag Giles to the ground.

Fear strangles me. I need to do something.

“Enough,” the driver screams. “You have five seconds to get back in your truck and drive away, or the next bullet goes into your heart.”

Giles pulls his own weapon, and he’s quick to draw it and point it at the man holding the gun. I barely hear the next words that are exchanged. All I can think about is protecting my husband. He will not die because of me.  

I move out of the truck, fear blazing in my belly, and I catch Giles’ gaze. His lips curl back and his nostrils flare, but it’s the only indication he gives that he sees me.

Ignoring the fear that strangles me, I move around the truck towards the man with the gun.

Giles’ brows draw down in confusion. “Tia, no,” he shouts, his voice filled with worry. No, not worry. Panic.

The man turns, but not quickly enough. I have the gun against his back.

“Drop the gun,” I order, my words shaky.

“You going to shoot me, bitch?”

“If I have to.”

“I don’t believe you-” He moves quickly. So damn quickly, that I don’t have time to think, all I can do is press the trigger.

It’s life and death. All of this.

There’s no time to consider. Only time to act.

Two shots ring out, one after the other, and I feel something sharp against my chest.

“Tia,” Giles screams, but it sounds so far away.

My heart beats in my ears mixed with the sharp metallic sound of the shots’ reverberation. He falls toward me, and with horror I catch his fall, both of us stumbling in the deep snow.

The man’s gaze is on me; wide, shocked, as a sticky warmth soaks through my jacket, coating my hand that still holds the gun.

“Bitch,” he gurgles, as he falls to his knees, his gun dropping from his hands.  

I feel faint, my fingers tremble and the gun falls from my hand into the deep snow as my knees give out. Giles holds me up, his hands are on my waist, not letting me sink into the snow. His voice is desperate, “Are you okay?”

“I... I... I don’t know.” I glance down at the blood that coats my parka. So much blood.

“Look at me,” Giles barks.

I blink up at him. “I think so.”

The other men are cursing, tearing at their hair, but they stay back.

Giles pulls open my jacket, unzipping it, large hands pulling at my shirt, searching my skin. “You’re not shot.”

“No.” But I can’t breathe, can’t think, and my hands are shaking. Another man’s blood covers me.

The man I shot drops to his side beside us, blood gurgling in his throat and foaming at his mouth. And I see the second the light leaves his eyes.

I stand there, motionless, feet cemented to the icy ground, unable to take my eyes off the man at my feet. A small whimper leaves my lips. The adrenaline that is racing through my blood, the only thing holding me up, seems to leave me in a whoosh.

My legs give out completely, and I collapse to my knees, fingers planted in the crimson snow. A small sob bubbles up in my chest.

I barely hear the words Giles says to the other men, or to me. I’m in shock. I know the symptoms. Confusion. Weakness. Rapid heart rate.

One large arm wraps around me, and I’m lifted against Giles’ solid chest.

I’m shaking, my chest feels like it’s bruised, and one thought rolls over and over in my brain - I killed a man.