The Cost of Trust

The rain battered the cracked windshield of the old pickup truck as it rattled down the empty highway. Inside, Mia gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. Beside her, Ethan slumped in the passenger seat, his breathing shallow, a blood-soaked rag pressed against his side. The radio crackled with static, occasionally spitting out fragments of a news report: “...escaped convicts... armed and dangerous... last seen near Route 17...”

“We’re almost there,” Mia said, her voice tight. “The cabin’s just off the next exit. We’ll hole up, patch you up. No one will find us.”

Ethan groaned, his head lolling against the window. “You shouldn’t have come back for me, Mia. They’ll kill you too.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “We’re in this together. Always have been.”

The truck swerved onto a dirt road, branches scraping the sides as they plunged into the woods. The cabin emerged from the mist—a dilapidated shack, its windows dark, roof sagging. Mia killed the engine, and silence swallowed them, broken only by the drumming rain. She helped Ethan stumble inside, laying him on a dusty cot. The air smelled of mold and regret.

She rummaged through a duffel bag, pulling out gauze, tape, and a bottle of whiskey. “Drink,” she ordered, handing it to him. He took a swig, wincing as she peeled back the rag to reveal the ugly gash beneath his ribs. “Bullet’s still in there,” she muttered, working quickly to staunch the bleeding.

Headlights flashed through the window, cutting through the gloom. Mia froze, her heart hammering. “They found us,” Ethan rasped.

“No,” she said, grabbing a shotgun from under the cot. “Stay here.”

She crept to the door, peering out. A black SUV idled in the rain, its engine growling. Two figures stepped out—men in dark coats, their faces obscured. Mia’s grip tightened on the gun. She’d known this day might come, ever since they’d robbed that bank six months ago. The money was still hidden, buried under the oak out back, but the law had been closing in.

One of the men shouted her name. “Mia Torres! We know you’re in there! Come out, hands up!”

She glanced back at Ethan, his face pale, eyes pleading. No way out. She’d fight, buy him time. Taking a deep breath, she kicked the door open and fired. The blast lit up the night, and one man dropped. The other returned fire, bullets splintering the wood around her. She ducked, reloaded, and aimed again—until a sharp pain exploded in her chest.

Mia fell, the shotgun slipping from her hands. The world tilted, rain mixing with blood on her lips. The second man loomed over her, his face finally clear. It wasn’t a cop. It was Ethan’s brother, Jake.

“Surprise,” he sneered, holstering his gun. “Ethan promised me half the take if I got you out of the picture.”

Behind him, Ethan staggered out, grinning despite the blood. “Sorry, babe. Family first.”

Mia’s vision faded, the betrayal sharper than the bullet.