Page 82 of Ruthless Possession
But knowing all this doesn't make it easier to drive away.
Matthew's hand falls on my shoulder. "They're in good hands."
"I know." The words come out hoarse. "Doesn't mean I like leaving them."
I watch Carter move across the porch, his pacing methodical and thorough. He catches sight of our headlights and raises his hand again. Not waving goodbye. Waving us on. Telling us to go do what needs to be done.
I force myself to face forward. "Let's move."
Matthew puts the truck in gear and we continue down the mountain, each turn taking us farther from Morgan and Charlie. The pain of it sits in my chest like a physical weight.
"We find Harris," I say, more to myself than Matthew. "We end this. Then we go home."
"Home," Matthew echoes. The word sounds different when he says it. Not like a place. Like a person. Like Morgan. Like Charlie.
I think about Charlie asleep in that strange bed, her unicorn clutched to her chest. I think about Morgan watching us drive away, her face pale but determined. I think about the deer head on our porch. The note. The threat.
My hands curl into fists on my thighs.
"We'll make it right," Matthew says quietly. "For all of them."
For the women Harris killed. For the families he destroyed. And for Morgan and Charlie, who deserve a life without looking over their shoulders.
The road flattens out as we reach the valley. Matthew increases our speed, the truck eating up the miles between us and the Pinewood Motel. Somewhere out there, Harris is waiting. Planning. Thinking he's still in control.
He's about to learn what happens when you threaten the Devil Souls' family.
I pull out my phone and text Greyson: En route to Pinewood. Update?
His reply comes quickly: Room 12 still active. No sign of Harris. Team in position watching.
I show the message to Matthew, who nods once. "He'll come back eventually. Or he won't."
"He'll come back," I say with certainty. "Men like him always do. They can't help themselves."
I think about Morgan's face as we left. The way she stood tall despite her fear, putting on a brave face for Charlie. The woman has more courage than most men I've known.
"We find Harris," I repeat, my voice hardening. "We end this. Then we go home."
Matthew nods, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Home."
The word hangs between us as we drive through the night, leaving the safety of the mountains behind for the hunt that awaits us in the valley below.
The Pinewood Motel sits off Route 9 like something that forgot to die when the highway moved west. We park a quarter mile down the road and approach on foot, the gravel crunching quietly under our boots. The neon sign flickers "VACANCY" in sickly pink light, one letter completely dark.
"You see them?" I ask, scanning the tree line across the parking lot.
Matthew nods toward a dark SUV near the dumpster. "That's Greyson's. Zach and Mason are inside."
We slip around the back of the building, staying in shadow. Room 12 sits at the far end, its curtains drawn but a thin line of light visible in the middle. I press my ear to the door. Nothing. No TV, no movement.
"He's not in there," I whisper.
Matthew checks his phone. "Zach says no one's been in or out for the last two hours."
I try the handle. Locked. I glance at Matthew, who's already pulling a slim case from his jacket. He works the lock with practiced precision, the mechanism clicking open in under thirty seconds.
The room smells like stale cigarettes and industrial cleaner. A single duffel bag sits on the bed, zipped closed. The nightstand holds an empty beer bottle and a phone charger with no phone attached.
