UNEXPECTED TURNS

The night went on and Charlotte continued to check her watch. ‘Henry is coming. Henry is coming’. But by ten o’clock, reality sank in—he wasn’t coming. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She refused to cry. That small-town sheriff wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her break.

The tiny lightbulb cast depressing shadows in the cell. This couldn't be happening to her. She'd planned to drink and party with her sorority sisters until she could no longer see her beautiful mother with that man. Oh, how could she marry Lewis Thompson!

He was so different from her scholarly, gentle father. Lewis owned an oil company and wore cowboy boots. So uncouth. Much like the sheriff of this one-horse town.

What was she supposed to do now? Henry was probably punishing her, letting her stew in here overnight before rescuing her in the morning. But what if he didn’t? He had every right to be angry with her.

She needed to talk to her mother, to apologize. Then maybe this whole nightmare would finally be over.

Her heart pounded as she reached into her pocket—her phone. The sheriff had forgotten to take it. Ignoring her brother’s warning, she dialed her mother’s number. One ring. Voicemail. Of course. Her mother was on her honeymoon.

Frustration burned through Charlotte, but she swallowed it down. What was the point? There was no changing the past—her mother had married Lewis.

She stared at her phone, considering leaving a message. But what could she possibly say? How could she explain her behavior when even she didn’t fully understand it?

‘Poise’. ‘Decorum’. ‘Self-control’. She had abandoned all of it the moment she’d chosen to run.

With a heavy sigh, she set the phone on the cot and took in her surroundings. And then it hit her. She was in jail. ‘Actually in jail’.

The realization hit like a slap, leaving her breathless. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t a criminal. She didn’t belong in this place. From across the room, a gruff voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hey, fancy lady, you asleep?" Tosin, one of the other inmates called.

"Leave me alone," she muttered.

"You got a man?"

Could this place be any more pathetic? "Shut up."

"I got a spot out by the river," he continued. "Even got runnin’ water."

Was this idiot for real?

"I wanna marry up and I'd be good to ya, might even put in a bathroom for ya. What do ya say, fancy lady?"

"The only thing I want is to get out of this jail."

"I'll get you out of here."

That caught her attention. "How?" She wanted to take the word back right away. Had she completely lost her mind?

"I got ways."

"Just leave me alone, okay?" The last thing she needed was to get tangled up with this lunatic. Then—something brushed against her ankle. She flinched, yanking her feet onto the cot. Probably a roach. A shudder crawled up her spine. How was she going to survive the night in this place?

"Hey, Adrian!" Tosin suddenly called out. "I ain't feelin’ too good."

"Go to sleep, Tosin," the deputy called back.

"I’m serious! Think that food was bad. I’m gonna be sick."

"You’re testing my patience tonight."

A series of loud footsteps echoed against the concrete. The deputy was coming.

Charlotte shot to her feet, pressing herself against the bars as she tried to see what was happening. Something felt off. Tosin didn’t sound sick—so what was he up to?

"I got a fever," he groaned. "Feel me."

The deputy hesitated, then reached through the bars to check Tosin’s forehead. The moment his hand made contact, Tosin lunged. His thick arm shot out like a striking snake, locking around the deputy’s throat and yanking him hard against the bars. The deputy gasped, choked, and then—just like that—collapsed to the ground in a motionless heap.

Charlotte’s blood ran cold. ‘Oh my God. What just happened?’

She stared at Adrian’s still body, fear clawing at her throat. Was he unconscious—or worse? Panic surged through her, but she swallowed back the scream clawing at her throat.

Tosin crouched, his grimy fingers sliding over the deputy’s belt. His lips curled into a smug grin as he lifted the keys. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reached for the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his filthy, threadbare jeans.

He stepped over the deputy's body and, to her horror, unlocked her door. ‘No! No!’ She took a couple of steps backward and looked for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but her high heels. As he advanced on her, a glint in his bloodshot eyes, she bent down to pick one up.

Before she could reach it, he grabbed her around the neck and jerked her up against his body. A rough, calloused hand clamped around her throat, yanking her hard against his rank, sweat-soaked body. The stench of unwashed clothes and stale breath made her gag. His beard, coarse as wire, scraped her skin like sandpaper, and chills shot down her spine. “I told ya, fancy lady, I got ya outta here."

She tried to scream, but the pressure on her throat strangled the sound. He dragged her toward the door and she realized he was taking her with him. She kicked back with her feet and connected with his shins, but it didn't even faze him.

"Let me go, you beast!"

"Ya wanted outta here, didn’t ya?" he rasped, his breath hot against her ear. "Well, I’m takin’ ya home. You’re mine now."

"What?" The word barely escaped her lips as her body weakened with fear. She wanted out of this place, but not like this.

"The sheriff won’t find us," Tosin muttered, dragging her toward the back door. "Hell, he might not even look. Bet he’ll be glad to see the back of ya, fancy lady."

Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she thrashed against his iron grip. ‘Where is the sheriff?’ The question hammered through her mind like a desperate prayer. Only hours ago, she had wanted nothing more than to be rid of him and now, he was the only hope she had left.

Even worse, she didn't even know his name.