Page 14 of Mine To Hunt

But hearing him weaponize it, throw it back like ammunition, shatters something inside me, leaving a hollow ache that spreads through my limbs until I can barely stand.

"How could you say that?" I whisper, my voice breaking as tears stream down my face, the room spinning around the pain. "They didn't... it wasn't like that. You know it wasn't. You're just saying it to hurt me."

Ryan's face twists as anger swallows it whole, and he grabs my shoulders, shoving me back toward the armchair with enough force that I stumble into it, the cushions catching me as I collapse.

"I need to cool off." He snaps,grabbing his keys from the table, the metal clinking sharply in his hand. "Stay here and think about what you started. I'm out."

The door slams behind him again, the echo reverberating through my chest like a second heartbreak, leaving me alone in the dim light with sobs that wrack my body until my throat burns.

I don't know how many hours pass like that, curled in the chair with my knees drawn up, the tears drying into salty tracks on my cheeks as exhaustion wars with the grief churning inside me.

Ryan's words loop in my head, each one a barb that digs deeper, making me question everything. Our relationship, my worth, the fragile peace I thought we'd built after the crash took my family.

By the time night falls fully, my phone buzzes once more, pulling me back to the present with a dread that's almost routine now.

I wipe my face with the hem of my shirt and pick it up, the new message from the unknown number glowing on the screen. Another photo loads slowly, and my stomach drops as it sharpens.

Ryan again, this time in a dimly lit bar, his body angled close to a different woman, her hand on his arm as they lean in over drinks, laughter frozen in the flash of someone's camera.

The intimacy is undeniable, a mirror to the first photo but fresher, more damning, and attached below it is a simpleaddress.‘147 Oak Street, Downtown.Bar name: The Rusty Anchor.’

My heart races, a cocktail of fury and fear surging through me as I stare at it. Is this a trap? The stalker luring me out, using Ryan's betrayal as bait? Or proof, final and irrefutable, that I need to see for myself?

Part of me screams to delete it, to block and bury my head, but the other part, the angry, heartbroken part that's tired of lies, wins out. I need to know, need to confront whatever this is head-on, even if it means walking blind into the dark.

With trembling fingers, I open my location-sharing app and send my live pin to Maddie and Al in the group chat, a silent insurance policy against the what-ifs swirling in my mind.

Their responses ping almost immediately. Maddie's‘What happened?? Are you okay?’followed by Al's‘Ree. Where are you going this late?’

I type back quickly, my thumbs flying to keep the panic from my words.‘I'll explain later, promise. I'm fine. Just need to handle something. Love you guys.’

It's a half-truth, but it'll buy me time, let them track me if things go south without pulling them into the mess right now. Hitting send feels like crossing a line, a commitment to whatever waits at that address, and I stand on shaky legs, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door.

As I step out into the cool night air, locking the door behind me, my mind races with possibilities that twist my gut. Will I finally see Ryan's real face there? Or is this the stalker's endgame, a trapdesigned to isolate me, to make his‘good for you’promise into something nightmarish?

Oak Street is forty minutes by cab so I hail one at the corner and slide in the back seat. I lean forward slightly, my voice steadier than I feel, and give the driver the address that has been haunting me since the message arrived.

“147 Oak Street. Fast.”

Chapter 6

Her

The cab screeches to a halt in front of a dim pub, the kind of place with a flickering neon sign that buzzes like it's on its last breath. My stomach twists as I fumble for cash, shoving bills at the driver without counting.

"Keep the change." I mutter, my voice barely above the engine's rumble. He nods, eyes flicking to the rearview like he senses the mess I'm walking into, but he doesn't say a word.

I push the door open and step out, the night air hitting me cold and sharp, but it does nothing to clear the fog in my head.

The address from the text, 147 Oak Street, matches the rusty number above the door.The Rusty Anchor.Fitting. Rusty, like everything in my life right now.

My legs feel like lead as I approach the entrance, the muffled thump of music vibrating through the pavement. Part of me screams to turn back, hail another cab, crash at Maddie's, pretend this night never happened.

But the photo of Ryan with that brunette burns in my pocket, right next to the ache from his words earlier.Nothing without me.Your parents... off themselves.

Rage simmers under the fear, pushing me forward. I need to see it. Need to hear him lie to my face one last time.

The door sticks when I pull it, then gives way to a wall of noise and heat, drunk laughter, clinking glasses, bodies swaying like they're all in on some joke I'm not.