4. Brea
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Two weeks. Two long, suffocating weeks since I last saw Keira. After my standoff with Tank, he has been keeping me on a tight leash. If I'm not at work, I am stuck at home. Tank has even gone so far as to ensure that one of his club's prospects follows me to work. Every time I step out of the shop, I expect to see that puppy-eyed prospect lurking around the corner, ready to report back to Tank like a spy. I try to keep my head down, avoiding unnecessary trouble, but the frustration bubbles beneath my skin like poison. Tank has always been controlling. First of my mom, and then as I got older, he set his sights on me. It was subtle at first with early curfews, but it grew into more. Showing up randomly when he knew I was out with friends, and refusing to pay for me to go to college, insisting my mom needed me to work to help out with the bills. Guilt tripping me to stay behind while my friends went out into the world.
Today is no different. I just wrap up an order when I hear the bell over the door ding. My gaze snaps to the entrance as a familiar figure steps through the doorway.
Keira's hair dances in the wind, strands framing her face. Her eyes scan the surroundings until they meet mine.
"Hey," she greets casually, as if weeks of tension and silence hadn't separated us.
"Hey," I respond, attempting to steady my voice.
"I couldn't wait any longer." Her tone carries a fiery determination. "I came to check on you. You stopped texting me back."
Her concern etched on her features tightens my chest.
"I didn't want to get you dragged into this mess," I reply, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the prospect isn’t lurking nearby. The last thing I need is for Tank to find out Keira has been here. "You know how he is."
She crosses her arms and steps closer, her defiance palpable in the air between us. "If he thinks he can keep me away from you, he’s got another thing coming."
Her words wrap around me like a lifeline. "You need to be careful, Keira. He doesn't play games."
"And neither do I," she retorts, fire lighting her eyes as the afternoon sun shines off her leather jacket. She looks fierce, untouchable, completely unafraid. “He doesn’t own you, B.”
The bell above the door chimes, and my heart plummets into my belly as I peer up, expecting to find the prospect in the doorway. Thankfully, it’s just another student. He saunters up to the counter, ordering a flat white, before heading to a group of students huddled around one of our study tables.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my focus snapping back to Keira. The intensity of her gaze lifts me, but the reality of my situation looms over us like a thunderstorm gathering steam. “You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, glancing around again, making sure the coast is clear.
“Too late for that.” She steps closer. “I missed you, B.”
“I miss you too,” I admit, letting the truth spill out before fear can catch it in a chokehold.
“Then let’s do something about it,” she says, her tone shifting to determination. “Let’s leave.”
My breath catches at her suggestion. “Leave. I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” she challenges. “What is holding you here?”
“My mom,” I admit. “She’s all I have left.” If Keira only knew why I put myself through hell, maybe then she’d understand why leaving isn’t an option now. Not unless I knew my Mom is safe, too.
“No, she’s not. You have me, B. You deserve to have a life. A real one. If your mom can’t see that, she doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
“Running isn’t just leaving. It’s saying goodbye,” I reply quietly, the pang of guilt clawing at me. “What if I never get to see her again? What if something happens? I will never be able to live with myself if something happens to my mom.”
“You’ll live with those ‘what ifs’ forever,” Keira counters, stepping even closer. “You’re not living, B. You’re existing. And I refuse to stand back and watch you waste away because Tank wants to control everything. He’s married to your mom. Not you.”
I look into her azure eyes, looking for answers that might alleviate the gnawing anxiety in my gut. The longer we stand there, the more I can feel my resolve wavering.
“Brea, you deserve to be happy,” she suggests boldly, one hand reaching out to curl around my wrist. “Your dad wouldn’t want you living like this.”
“Low blow, Keira. Low fucking blow.”
“Sometimes that is what it takes to wake someone up,” she replies, the intensity in her voice unwavering. Her grip on my wrist tightens. “Let me help you. I don’t know how to make it easier for you, but I know that standing still in this hell won’t help either of us.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It can be,” she states firmly, letting go of my wrist only to place her palm against my cheek, grounding me with her warmth. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice low and steady. “You’ve spent too long living on the sidelines of your own life. What do you really want?”
Her question hangs in the air. The life I’ve led—dictated by others’ decisions—Tank’s orders, protecting my mom, the heavy burden of loyalty to a brotherhood that has suffocated me more than it has protected me.
“I want…” My voice falters as I struggle to shape my longing into words. “I want my own life.”
“Then let me help you. I have some money saved up and a rich aunt in Dallas who has a place we can stay. All I need is for you to say when. My bag is already packed.”
“What about your classes?”
“They can wait, B. Getting you away from all this can’t.”
“And your parents?”
“Dad is off with his new flavor of the week, and Mom is well… Mom. They won’t notice.”
“You’re offering to give up so much for me, Keira.”
“B, you are more important than an expensive piece of paper that may get me an extra thousand dollars at my first big girl job. It can wait until I know you’re safe and sound. Tank’s behavior is getting increasingly erratic when it comes to you.”
“I know, but if we go,” I say hesitantly, “there’s no turning back.”
“That’s right,” she nods firmly. “But isn’t that the point?”
“What if we hit the road and it doesn’t work out?” I ask, my voice wobbly and laced with desperation.
“Then we’ll figure it out as we go,” she replies, unwavering confidence flickering in her eyes. “But you owe it to yourself to try.”
My gut twists at the idea of leaving behind not just Tank but everything I've known, everything that's framed my existence. Yet, standing here with Keira, I’m reminded that life has never felt as vibrant as it does right now.
“I’ve always played it safe,” I confess, “And look where that got me.”
“Look at where you are now,” she counters softly, her hand never leaving my cheek as she leans closer. “Do you really want to be stuck here?”
“No,” I admit, swallowing hard as hope mingles with a tinge of panic.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m ready to go whenever you are, B. It’s your call.”
The words hang between us, heavy with possibility. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine a life beyond this town, beyond Tank's abusive control on my life and my mom’s. A life where I can breathe freely, make my own choices, and live a normal life.
Before I can respond, the thunderous roar of a motorcycle engine shatters the moment. The sound reverberates through the cafe, rattling the windows and sending a chill down my spine. My heart leaps into my throat as panic floods my system.
"You need to go," I hiss urgently, my eyes darting to the door. "Now!"
Keira's brow furrows, confusion and concern etched across her features. "B, what's wrong? Who is it?"
"It could be Tank, or one of his prospects," I explain hurriedly, already moving to usher her towards the back exit. "If they see you here..."
"Then come with me," Keira pleads, her voice laced with desperation. She grabs my hand, her touch electric even in this moment of fear. "We can leave right now. My car's just around the corner. We can go get your stuff, and be halfway to Dallas before anyone realizes you're gone."
For a heartbeat, I'm tempted. The allure of freedom, of escaping this suffocating life, is almost overwhelming. But then reality crashes back in, cold and unforgiving.
"I can't," I whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
"Not yet," I add hastily, seeing the hurt flash across Keira's face. "I need time to plan, to make sure my mom will be okay. But soon, I promise."
Keira's eyes search mine, a mix of disappointment and understanding swirling in their depths. She nods slowly, squeezing my hand one last time before slipping out the door.
The roar of the motorcycle grows louder, then cuts off abruptly. My hands shake as I return to the counter, forcing a smile as customers glance nervously at the door. The bell chimes, and I brace myself, but it's just a group of college students, laughing and chattering as they enter.
The rest of my shift passes in a haze of coffee orders and small talk. Every time the door opens, my heart leaps into my throat, expecting to see Tank's hulking frame fill the doorway. But he never appears, and gradually, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease.
I hang up my apron, its fabric worn soft from countless shifts, and gather my things. My coworker, Jenna, shoots me a sympathetic smile as I head for the door. She knows bits and pieces of my situation, enough to understand why I always seem on edge.
"Take care, Brea," she calls softly. "See you tomorrow?"
I nod, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Yeah, see you then."
The drive home is a blur of familiar streets and stoplight reflections. My mind races, replaying Keira's words over and over. The promise of freedom, of a life beyond this town, feels tantalizingly close. Yet, the weight of responsibility to my mom pulls me back like an anchor. God, I wish dad was still here. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t died.
As I turn onto my street, the sunset's glow has faded, replaced by the harsh glare of streetlights. Our house looms ahead, a modest two-story that's seen better days. The chipped paint and sagging porch seem to mirror my own weariness.
I park in the driveway, next to my mom's ancient Volvo. Tank's motorcycle is parked behind her car. Great. He’s home tonight instead at his clubhouse. I walk into the house from the back door in the kitchen. My mom stands by our small harvest table looking anxious. Tank stalks into the room with a black duffle bag in his hands.
"Got some business out of town for a few days," he states without preamble while running a hand over his beard-covered jawline absentmindedly before locking eyes with mine directly now. “You need to call off work until I get back. Neither of you are to leave the house.”
“Excuse me?” I blurt out. My mother flinches at my response.
“I thought we were past this bullshit, Brea,” Tank fires back. “It’s either here or at the clubhouse. Take your pick.”
The thought of being inside that seedy place makes my skin crawl. A few of his club brothers made passes at me at the last family meet up. Men far too old and married for my tastes.
“She’ll stay home, baby,” my mother answers for me. “I’ll make sure of it.” Her voice is so sickeningly sweet and demure it makes me want to vomit. My father has to be rolling in his grave knowing that my own mom is allowing his daughter to be treated like a second-class citizen under the roof my dad built with his own two hands.
“See to it that she does. One of the prospects will be checking on you both. You so much as step a toe outside of this house, and he will tell me. Do you understand?”
“We do,” my mother answers for me again.
“Good.” Tank steps forward, his hand cradling my mom’s neck tightly as he kisses her in front of me.
A bitter taste floods my mouth as I watch the display of affection between them, a sickening contrast to the storm brewing in my chest. Tank's grip around my mother's neck is meant to reassure her but it’s really a chokehold on the very essence of our freedom. When he pulls away, I’m left staring at my mother’s placated smile, the way she veils her fear beneath the layers of her dutifulness and the bruises he leaves on her.
I forcefully bite down on my tongue to keep from speaking again. I know any further outburst will only escalate his temper, and I have seen firsthand what happens when you challenge authority in this house.
“Brea—” Tank's gruff voice snaps me back. “Do I need to repeat myself? This ain’t a request.”
“No,” I say quietly. The silence after my reply stretches heavy, taut with unresolved tension.
“Good.” He turns toward the door, his leather jacket swishing behind him like warning flags as he moves away. “You’ll be safe inside. Don’t give me another reason to worry.”
The moment he leaves, the air buzzes with unspoken words between my mother and me.
“Mom, why did you do that?”
“Hush,” she hisses at me. “Wait until he’s gone.”
I cross my arms tight against my chest, bracing myself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to spill over. “What’s the point of waiting? He’s already made it clear that we don’t have a say in this house anyway!”
“Please, Brea,” my mother whispers harshly, glancing toward the door as if Tank might burst back in at any moment. “You know how he is. He does this… to protect us.”
“Protect us?” I scoff, unable to keep the disbelief from edging into my tone. “He beats on you, Mom. Don’t pretend like he doesn’t. We both know I’ve seen the bruises or the way you flinch when he raises his voice at you. He’s abusing you.”
Her eyes dart nervously around the room as if looking for an escape route, her lips pressed tight together. "He's not perfect, Brea, but he provides for us. He keeps us safe."
"Safe from what?" I demand, my voice rising. "The only thing we need protection from is him!"
My mother's face crumples, and she sinks into a kitchen chair. "You don't understand, sweetheart. There are things...complications...you don't know about."
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "Then explain it to me, Mom. Because from where I'm standing, we're prisoners in our own home."
She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I can't, Brea. I just...I can't."
The frustration bubbling inside me threatens to spill over. I want to shake her, to make her see sense. “You don’t have to live this way, Mom. We could leave. Just the two of us. We could start over without him.”
“I can’t,” she sobs.
“Then what? Do you expect me to just sit back and watch him beat on you and control my life?” My heart races, pumping indignation through my veins as if it could fuel me to fight this battle.
“Yes.” Her answer is simple but heavy with regret.
I swallow hard and turn away, fists clenching at my sides. What kind of life is this? I’ve spent years trying to carve out my own identity outside his suffocating influence.
I press my palms against the cold countertop to ground myself, letting the chill seep in as I wrestle with my thoughts.
"Mom, you can't just accept this as our reality," I say, the intensity in my voice rising. I whirl around to face her again. "We deserve so much more.”
Her gaze falls to the floor, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something, maybe envy—or is it fear? “It isn’t just us, Brea. There are consequences you don’t see.”
“And what are those consequences?” I demand, frustration boiling over. “More threats? More rules? This isn't living!”
Before she can respond, the front door creaks open, and a tall figure fills the doorway. Dread knots in my stomach as I recognize one of Tank's club prospects, Razor.
“Tank said you two are staying put,” Razor says with an air of indifference. His leather vest adorned with patches that tell stories I'd rather not dive into. “I’m here to make sure you don’t step outside.”
I meet his cold gaze defiantly, but inside, I'm quaking. The man’s presence amplifies every terrible thing that Tank had threatened. My mother moves quickly to stand beside me, her hands gesturing helplessly as if she could weave a shield between Razor and me.
“Go back outside,” I snap at him, summoning all my remaining strength.
“Cute,” he replies, his voice dripping with condescension. “But you don’t get to call the shots here.”
“This is my house.”
“You mean, it’s Tank’s house. I doubt your name is on the deed, sweetness.”
I force myself to stand tall, my heart racing like a motorcycle revving for a race. “I’m not scared of you or him,” I spit back, though my insides tremble with every word.
“Is that right?” Razor takes a single step forward, closing the space between us. The air thickens with tension, a volatile concoction of hostility and irritation simmering just beneath the surface. He leans closer, his presence crushing. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
My mother’s hand instinctively flies to my arm, trying to pull me back from the edge I’m inching toward—panic glimmers in her eyes. “Brea, please,” she whispers, but I shake her off.
“No,” I say firmly, locking eyes with Razor. “You don't get to intimidate me. Not anymore.”
He laughs softly, the sound cold and uninviting. “That’s cute, too.” Then he straightens up, running a hand through his messy hair as he assesses me. “Be a good girl, and do what you’re told.” Razor pivots, and heads back outside. I can hear him laughing from the other side of the door.
“What is wrong with you, Brea? Where is this defiance coming from all of a sudden?”
“Someone has to stand up for themselves around here, Mom. If you won’t, I will. Daddy would be ashamed of you for letting that man treat us like this.”
I feel the hard sting of her hand colliding with my face before I hear it. The shock lingers in the air, confusion spiraling within me as I touch my cheek where the sting blooms.
“How dare you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.
The room feels smaller, every wall closing in like a cage. I blink against the unexpected assault, memories flooding my mind. My father’s laugh, his kindness, the way he always fought for what was right.
“You’re no better than he is, Mom,” I spit back at her. My hand coming to cradle my stinging cheek. I don’t think. I just move as far away from her as I can, heading straight for my room and locking the door behind me. I charge for my phone, pulling up Keira’s name, and type out a text.
We’re leaving tonight. Tank’s out of town. Only problem is he has one of his guys standing guard outside.
Keira responds immediately.
Leave him to me. Get your shit ready, and I’ll text you where to meet me.
I move into action. First, grabbing the go bag that I have had packed for over a week with the essentials, clothes, toiletries, and a few keepsakes including the last picture I have of my dad. I add in the cash from my checks the last couple of weeks, and the gift cards I have left over from my last birthday that Keira and a couple of friends from work gave me. It’s not a fortune by any means, but it’s enough to get us by until I find a job.
I pause only when I hear light footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Brea, baby, I’m sorry for what I did.”
“It’s fine, Mom,” I lie through the door.
“I know it doesn’t make up for what I did, but I am making your favorite dinner tonight.”
The smell of rosemary and garlic wafts under the door, teasing my senses, but it’s a hollow promise. I can’t let myself be swayed by empty gestures anymore.
“Not hungry,” I reply, my voice calm but firm. “You should just leave me alone.”
Silence stretches, thick and unbearable. My heart thunders an erratic rhythm inside my chest, anticipation and dread entwined with every beat. I can almost hear the clock ticking down to my escape.
Maybe she doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation, or maybe she’s chosen to ignore it all along. Either way, I can’t stay here.
With unsteady hands, I zip up my bag and glance around the room one last time—books line on the shelves, reminders of how stories have always been my refuge from this world. But now those pages hold no magic for me. They're just another reminder of everything that was once mine before Tank cast his dark presence over our lives.
I feel my mom’s presence just outside my door, hesitating as if unsure whether to push past it or retreat back down the hall. The thought stings, an ache blooming in my chest like a flower trying desperately to breed hope in barren soil. But a few moments later, I hear her footsteps padding away from my door.
With a deep breath, I take one last look at the walls that have been my prison. They hold memories and ghosts of a past I can no longer abide. My heart races as I slip my phone into my pocket and creep quietly toward the door, ready to seize the moment.
I twist the doorknob gently and step out into the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with tension and an undercurrent of fear that laces every step I take. The house feels too big, every creak from the floorboards echoing like a ticking clock, counting down to my departure.
I glide down the hall towards the back door leading to the small yard—my only escape route. But as I reach for the handle, dread claws at my insides. Razor is still out there.
But I can't think about him now. With renewed determination, I push through the door and squint against the fading light. The cool air hits me like a slap.
I glance around frantically as I step into the twilight, scanning for any sign of movement. Just as I’m about to bolt across the yard to the alley on the far side, Keira’s message pings in my pocket once again.
I’m here. Meet me at the blue house on the next street over. Distraction should be arriving any time.
I start to type back what distraction when the sound of sirens come barreling up our street, stopping right outside of our house.
My heart drops as the red and blue lights slice through the dusk, illuminating everything in a harsh glow. The sirens wail like banshees seeking vengeance, and I can’t help but glance back towards the porch where Razor stands, silhouetted against the flashing lights.
“Freeze!” I hear someone yell in the front of our house. “Hands where I can see them.”
With every ounce of courage that I can muster, I sprint across the yard. Each step takes me further away from Tank's grip on our lives.
I reach the edge of the alley and duck into it. The light from Keira’s headlights pierces through the darkness ahead. She’s parked at the end, her car ready to drive away the second I am inside.
“Brea!” Her voice slices through the night air like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor. “Come on!”
I rush toward her car and dive into the passenger seat, slamming the door.
“Toss your phone outside,” she orders me.
“Why?”
“How do you think Tank’s been tracking you? Toss it.”
I hesitate for a moment, glancing back at the glimmer of lights behind us and the house that has held me captive. The sirens wail again, and I can feel my heart in my throat, choking on the fear that refuses to subside. With a quick decision fueled by adrenaline, I yank the phone out of my pocket and fling it out of the window.
“Now what?” I breathe, adrenaline pumping through me as Keira throws the car in reverse, maneuvering with a skill born from necessity.
“Just hold on tight,” she says, her jaw set in fierce determination. “We’re getting you far away from here.”
Her foot presses down hard on the gas pedal, and the car lurches forward as we speed down the narrow street. I glance sideways at Keira's profile. The resolute lines of her face illuminated by the dashboard lights. My friend, my anchor, as I embark on this leap into the unknown.
The enormity of everything starts to weigh down on me. “What if they find us?”
“They won’t.” She shoots me a reassuring glance. “Razor’s going to have his hands tied for a bit after that call I made.”
“What call?”
“About the peeping Tom outside of your house,” she winks.
“You didn’t,” I gasp.
“I did,” she smiles back. “With any luck, he has a record a mile long, and this will put him away until the rest of the club comes back from whatever they’re out doing. It’ll give us enough time to get out of here.”
As we merge onto the highway, the deep rumble of her engine drowns out any lingering thoughts of Razor and Tank. We weave through traffic, every mile pulling me further from familiarity into uncharted territory.
“You okay?” Keira asks, reaching out to grab my hand.
“I wish I would have told my mom goodbye.”
“Not now, Brea,” she says firmly, her grip tightening as she keeps her eyes focused on the road. “Right now, it’s just us. You have to trust that you did what was best for you.”
I nod, swallowing the lump of guilt surging in my throat. But even as the guilt tries to settle around me, I shake my head, willing it away. The mom I knew and loved is gone. She’ll never leave Tank. Leaving is what’s best for me, and that’s all that matters now.