Chapter 13 Into The Unknown
It had been three months, and Millie was still stuck in a rut. Job applications were going nowhere—every “we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” email felt like a default in her life now. She was starting to wonder if she was cursed, destined to collect rejection letters like some sad trophy case.
Cody was gone, but the sting of their breakup lingered like a stain she couldn’t scrub out. It wasn’t just the betrayal; it was the way it made her feel like an idiot for trusting him. Still, living on her own was starting to feel less suffocating. Sure, her diet was mostly instant noodles, and her bank account was a constant anxiety attack, but at least she was free. That had to count for something.
Now, she was in the back of a shiny black SUV, speeding down a Montana highway with Clara. It was a far cry from Bert’s beat-up cleaning van, which rattled like it was held together by hope and rust. The driver, some guy with a sharp jawline, hadn’t said a word since he picked them up at the airport.
Millie couldn’t help but wonder if this was how organ trafficking started.
She sighed. She and Clara were glued to the tinted windows, watching endless green fields roll by. It was beautiful, sure, but the driver’s silence kept her on edge. She glanced at Clara, who was chewing her lip, probably thinking the same thing.
Her mind drifted back to the day Bert had pulled them into his cramped office. He’d been weirdly cagey, offering them a two-month cleaning gig at some remote Montana estate. The pay was insane—too good to turn down, especially with her bank account screaming for mercy. But Bert had been light on details, just muttering something about “private clients” and “unique circumstances.”
The offer sounded sketchy as hell, but Millie wasn’t exactly swimming in options.
And the contracts Bert shoved in front of them were intense—pages of legal jargon, non-disclosure agreements, and confidentiality clauses that felt like signing away their souls. And they had to hand over their phones for the entire two months. No texts, no calls, no scrolling through social media to numb the boredom. Complete radio silence.
Millie’s stomach churned just thinking about it. Two months cut off from the world sounded like a prison sentence, not a job. But again, the pay was stupidly good, and she was barely scraping by as it was.
Bert had grinned like he was offering them a winning lottery ticket. “Think of it like a paid vacation, ladies,” he’d said, his eyes glinting. “Fresh air, fat paychecks, and no ex-boyfriends stirring up drama, right, Foster?”
She’d forced a tight smile, the thought of Cody twisting the knife a little. “Yeah, sure.”
Clara, always the practical one, had leaned forward, frowning. “What about rest days? We’re not robots.”
Bert’s smile didn’t budge. “It’s all-inclusive, Clara. Meals, housing, everything’s covered. You won’t need to worry about running to the store or anything.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Rest days aren’t just for grocery shopping, Bert.”
He leaned back, still smug. “Seventy bucks an hour, Clara. Round the clock, even when you’re sleeping or eating. You want rest days that badly? I can give this gig to May instead.”
Millie glanced at Clara, who let out a heavy sigh and slumped back in her chair.
“Fine,” Clara muttered, clearly not thrilled but out of arguments.
Bert clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ve got your flights booked for Monday. Two tickets to Montana.”
Millie’s mind raced. The whole thing felt off—too secretive, too good to be true. But what choice did she have?
She caught Clara’s eye as they sat across from Bert, the stack of contracts staring them down. They shared a look, but the promise of that paycheck was too much to walk away from. With a shaky breath, they both signed the papers, sealing their fate.
Now, bouncing along in the SUV as it twisted through Montana’s mountain roads, Millie felt like they were driving into another dimension. The trees loomed thick and heavy, sunlight barely sneaking through the branches. The world she knew—crappy apartments, late-night takeout, endless job rejections—felt like it was slipping away with every mile.
She pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching the green blur past. Her stomach knotted tighter the deeper they went. Then, the trees parted, and the SUV rolled into a clearing. Three guys stepped into view, and Millie’s breath caught. These weren’t your average ranch hands in dusty jeans. They were decked out in gear—black vests, tactical boots, and rifles slung across their chests like they were ready for a war.
The one with the buzzcut gave their car a cold, hard stare before waving them through. Millie’s heart sank. This wasn’t just some rich person’s estate. It was a fortress.
Clara, who had been quiet for most of the ride, leaned forward, her voice tight. “Uh, excuse me, sir,” she said to the driver, who still hadn’t said a word. “Why are there so many… armed guys out there?”
The driver’s eyes flicked to her in the rearview mirror, holding her gaze for a solid two seconds before looking back at the road. No answer. Just silence that felt heavier than the guns outside.
Millie’s pulse raced. She glanced at Clara, whose wide eyes mirrored her own growing unease. Whatever they had signed up for, it was starting to feel like a lot more than cleaning.
As the SUV rumbled down the dirt road, more men appeared, standing ramrod straight like they were guarding a military base. Their eyes scanned the area, hands resting on rifles that looked way too serious for a ranch. Off to the side, near a cluster of trees, sat a row of beefy vehicles—big, black, and intimidating, like something out of an action movie.
Millie’s stomach twisted.
“We’re almost there,” the driver said, his voice sharp and low. It was the first thing he’d said in hours.
Clara perked up. “Oh, thank god. My legs are screaming worse than that time we pulled a double at the Landers’ place.”
Then the SUV rolled to a stop on a wide gravel driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust. The driver got out first.
Millie and Clara shared a quick glance, both of them hesitating before unbuckling their seatbelts. Their legs were stiff from the long ride, and the weirdness of the whole situation had them on edge.
Stepping out, Millie sucked in a breath of crisp mountain air. It smelled like pine and sweet, maybe wildflowers. A woman stood on the porch steps of a massive house, her silver-streaked hair pulled back neatly. She was dressed in a sharp black skirt and white blouse, looking out of place against the wild backdrop.
“Welcome to Cedar Ridge,” she said, her smile warm but professional, like she was used to greeting nervous newcomers. She stepped forward, offering a hand. “I’m Sheila.”
Millie forced a smile, her mind racing. Sheila seemed nice enough, but the armed guards and fortress vibes weren’t exactly screaming “cozy ranch getaway.”