The road was cracked and narrow, winding like a scar away from the windmill compound.
They'd been pedaling for almost an hour. The windmill's glow was long gone now.
The sidecar rattled. Every bump sent pain shooting through Iyisha's ribs. Her still-bound hands gripped the sides until her knuckles whitened.
Malcolm was still pedaling hard, breath controlled but labored as he pushed them farther from what they'd just escaped.
There was no headlight, only the moon to guide them, casting a pale, ghostly light over the broken road ahead.
Malcolm hadn't spoken since they left. His silence clung to her back like a second skin.
Then — a flash of movement. A deer bolted across the road.
Malcolm swerved hard. The bike nearly tipped.
Her hand shot out, gripping his shoulder.
They didn't speak again.
Malcolm finally spoke after several minutes, voice flat. "We need to get off the road."
Without waiting for a response, he steered the bike down a barely visible path that split from the main road. The wheels jostled over loose rocks and roots, the frame groaning under their weight.
He didn't stop pedaling, not even when the path narrowed to little more than a rut between the trees. They kept going, the woods closing in.
Eventually, through the branches, they spotted something — small, squat, and barely visible in the shadows. A cabin. Maybe a hunting shack, by the size of it. But it had four walls and a door.
Malcolm slowed, breath heavy. "That's it."
Malcolm checked the area first, with the only weapon they had, a small knife in his hand. He stepped onto the porch slowly, scanning every corner of the cabin's exterior before testing the swollen door with his shoulder. When nothing stirred, he eased it open, revealing a musty, cramped interior.
"Go in," he said shortly, gesturing with a tilt of his head.
Iyisha stepped inside the dark space cautiously.
Malcolm wheeled the bike toward the entrance. It barely fit through the wide door, handlebars scraping against the frame as he forced it inside. The space was cramped, but it would have to do.
Iyisha curled into the corner, knees to chest. She wouldn't look at him. She wouldn't admit how close it had been.
Malcolm crouched and checked their gear. Then her.
"You hurt?"
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
Malcolm tsked under his breath and walked back to the bike. He returned, crouched, and began sawing through the ropes around her wrists.
"You don't even care, do you?" she said suddenly, standing.
He looked up. "About what?"
"That I almost got raped. That we almost died."
His jaw tightened. "You think I don't care? You think I dragged you out because I didn't?"
She grabbed a thing she felt on the ground and threw it.
"Then act like it!"
He stepped toward her with measured step.
"You want me to act like I care?" he growled. "You wouldn't survive it."
They stared at each other, breathing hard as fury pulsed between them.
He stood there, breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides like he was holding something in. Rage? Guilt? Desire? She couldn't tell. Maybe all of it.
She wanted to scream. The urge clawed up her throat, raw and unrelenting. She knew it was irrational but she couldn't stop. It was all boiling under her skin.
He moved. One step, two, then grabbed her.
His mouth crashed into hers with desperate force, tasting of blood, breath, and rage. He pressed her against the wall, their bodies flush, caging her in. His hands tangled in her shirt as his tongue forced its way past her lips, hot, demanding, and relentless.
She whimpered against him, startled by the sudden invasion, but her fingers still gripped his hair like she couldn't bear to let go.
Then he lifted her with a growl, her back hitting the wall harder this time, feet curling up instinctively around his waist.
Pain flared up her side, a burst of fire along her ribs, but it didn't stop her.
She could feel him against her, hard and unyielding — a sharp, terrifying reminder of how close they were to losing control.
"Stop," she whispered, breathless.
He froze. Then let go — fast, as if her voice snapped him out of a trance.
She dropped to the floor with a thud, knees buckling, palms scraping the dusty wood. He took a step forward, almost reaching for her then turned sharply away, arms crossing over his face like he was trying to contain something unbearable.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Iyisha's voice cracked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
He faced the wall. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "I didn't mean to drop you."
She pushed herself up and turned away too, lying down with her back to him. Her heart still raced.
She couldn't believe what just happened. One minute they were screaming, the next — kissing. And worse, she'd kissed him back.
Her fingers drifted to her lips, still tingling.
That was the first kiss that made her feel alive and yet, it felt so wrong. She should hate him for it. Should hate herself for not stopping it sooner. But all she felt was heat… and shame… and something deeper she couldn't name.
Malcolm slid down against the opposite wall, the bike wedged between them like a barrier. Still, the room felt too small.
Iyisha lay there, her pulse still racing, her skin tingling like her body hadn't realized the moment was over. Everything inside her buzzed with adrenaline, confusion, and heat.
It was going to be a long night.