Chapter 51 Run, Becca, Run
(Becca’s POV)
I held the note quietly as the footstep came closer.
Another note came before dawn quiet as a whisper, sliding beneath the metal door of my holding cell.
I had been half asleep, curled on the cot, when the paper brushed the floor.
The footsteps had disappeared, I believe the constable had finished taking counting.
My heart stuttered as I reached for it with trembling fingers.
“Don’t trust them. Meet me by the fence near the east exit , Kira.”
Kira.
Another message from her.
My throat went dry. Kira had been my one constant before everything fell apart before the accusations, before the handcuffs, before the walls started closing in.
If anyone still believed me, it was her.
I stared at the handwriting for what felt like forever, tracing the familiar curls of each letter.
It was hers. I knew it.
Hope, small and fragile clawed its way up my chest.
The precinct was quiet. The night-shift guards had grown lazy, their laughter fading down the corridor.
Somewhere above, a fluorescent light buzzed and flickered, the hum of the generator steady as a heartbeat.
I waited.
When the intercom crackled, signaling the shift change, I moved.
I shoved the cot against the wall, climbed onto the narrow window ledge, and pulled free the vent cover I’d loosened days ago with a stolen paperclip.
The screws had barely held. The metal gave way with a groan that made my blood freeze.
Silence.
There was no alarms, no footsteps, so I slipped out.
The air outside the cell was sharp, metallic, and cold enough to bite through the thin fabric of my jumpsuit.
Every step sounded louder than it should have; the whisper of bare feet on tile, the faint creak of old doors.
I kept low, hugging the shadows.
“Just a few more steps,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this, Becca.”
The hallway curved, spilling into the back exit. Rain splashed against the windows, thunder rolling across the early morning sky. My pulse pounded in time with the storm.
When I reached the outer gate, I saw her.
Kira.
Standing exactly where the note said she’d be; near the fence, half-hidden beneath a black hood. Her head turned at the sound of my footsteps.
“Kira!” I hissed. “It’s me!”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at me, her eyes wide, her expression unreadable.
Something wasn’t right.
Before I could take another step, a harsh voice tore through the darkness.
“Freeze!”
Floodlights blazed from the watchtower above, searing the night white.
I flinched, blinded, hands raised instinctively. Boots slammed against wet concrete.
Shadows converged, two, three, maybe four officers.
A female officer rushed forward, baton raised.
“Wait, I…”
The strike landed hard against my ribs. Pain exploded through me. I fell, the ground rushing up too fast.
My breath caught, the air knocked from my lungs.
Through the blur of rain and agony, I lifted my head and saw Kira.
She stood frozen near the fence, lips parted as if she wanted to speak. Her face was pale, her hands shaking.
“Kira,” I whispered, voice hoarse. “Help me.”
But she didn’t move.
She didn’t run not fight back.
She just turned and disappeared into the rain.
Something deep inside me cracked.
Morning came so soon, I was glad,that part of my misery could end.
The rest of that morning passed in flashes, cold metal cuffs, shouted orders, the slam of a van door.
They said I was being transferred to federal custody.
But there were no signatures. No escort vehicles.
The two “officers” beside me had uniforms that didn’t fit quite right, badges that gleamed too cleanly under the dull light.
I sat wedged between them in the back seat, wrists bound tight.
Something about their silence unnerved me more than the cuffs.
Half an hour into the drive, we veered off the highway. The driver kept glancing into the rearview mirror, his eyes dark and empty.
My instincts screamed.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Neither answered.
My pulse spiked. I leaned back, feigning exhaustion, and let my breathing grow shallow.
Then I gasped; short, sharp, desperate. “C-can’t breathe,” I rasped. “Please, I—I need—”
The driver cursed. “She’s having a panic attack!”
The van swerved to a stop.
The moment the rear latch clicked open, I moved.
I twisted, kicked my legs upward, and slammed my heel into the side of the officer’s jaw.
He yelped, stumbling back.
The door burst open.
I jumped.
The asphalt tore into my skin as I rolled. Pain shot up my legs, but adrenaline drowned it out.
I ran barefoot.
Mud splattering my feet. Breath burning in my chest.
Behind me, the van’s engine roared to life again, tires screeching.
“Stop!” someone shouted.
I didn’t.
Branches clawed at my arms as I crashed through the tree line. My heart pounded so hard I could taste blood.
I kept moving without a halt.
I stumbled down a slope, my knees scraping rock, until I reached a clearing.
There, ahead stood an old warehouse.
Its roof sagged, walls rusted and streaked with moss. But there was light inside, faint and flickering.
I hesitated only a second before pushing the door open.
The hinges screamed.
Inside, it smelled like dust and oil and faint perfume. Crates were stacked high, some marked with faded shipping labels.
Then a voice.
“Becca?”
I froze.
A woman stepped from behind the crates. Blonde hair tucked into a loose bun, sharp blue eyes, elegant even in a worn sweatshirt.
“Milla Anderson,” I breathed.
Mark’s ex. The one who’d once told me to run from him; who’d said he ruined everything he touched.
She crossed the distance in three quick strides and pulled me into a hug.
“Oh, God, look at you,” she said, voice breaking. “You’re freezing.”
I stiffened, not sure if I should trust her. But her warmth, her tone disarmed me.
“I—I escaped,” I said, my words tumbling out. “They tried to move me, fake officers. Kira set me up…”
I rushed the whole information, panting heavily.
“Slow down.” She guided me to a wooden bench near the corner. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to find you here.”
Her calm felt rehearsed. Still, I was too exhausted to question it.
She handed me a blanket, then called out, “Get some food!”
A young man appeared from the back, carrying a tray of soup, bread, even fruit.
“Eat,” she said softly.
It smelled too good for a warehouse but hunger made the decision for me.
I ate.
The warmth filled my stomach, my muscles unclenching for the first time in days.
“You should rest,” Milla murmured. “You’ve been through hell.”
My eyelids were already heavy.
“Thank you,” I whispered, sinking back. “You’re… the only one who didn’t—”
The words faded. My tongue felt thick. My head started to spin.
“Milla…” I forced my eyes open. “What’s… in the food?”
Her expression changed. The softness melted away, replaced by something sharp and distant.
“Sleep, Becca.”
The world went black.
When I woke, everything hurt.
My wrists were bound. The warehouse was darker now, only a single bulb flickered overhead.
“Milla?” My voice came out as a whisper.
No one was there, then I heard footsteps, echoing through the room.
A shadow moved behind the crates and then he stepped into the light.
He was tall and had this smirking eyes I’d thought I’d never see again.
“Asher,” I breathed.
He tilted his head, the grin cutting deep into his face. “Miss me, sweetheart?”