Chapter 1
A shadow moves across the peephole in my door. I imagine Grayson’s eyeball there, watching. I fight to control the shudder that wants to roll through me. Dread, fear, and anticipation swell inside when he opens the door.
The room shrinks as he glides inside. From my window seat, I stand, and with my hands folded gently in front of me, I submissively focus on the wood floor beneath my sandals.
He moves in close, and with a sigh, he runs a long-fingered hand over his salt and pepper, slicked-back hair. “Are you still mad at me about last week?”
I almost laugh. When has he ever cared if I’m mad? “No,” I whisper.
“You understand why it had to be done, right?”
I nod, recalling the pelvic exam he made me have.
Grayson reaches forward and tenderly takes both of my hands. “Look at me.”
The tenderness in his touch throws me off.
Slowly, I lift my eyes the length of his business suit, past our joined hands, across his smooth jaw, and up into his hazel gaze. In just a few hours, I’ll never have to look into his face again.
With an affectionate smile, he runs a manicured thumb over my knuckles. “You’re such a good girl, Laura. It pleases me that you’re willingly doing this.”
Willingly?
He presses a kiss to my cheek. “Tomorrow’s a big day. Get some rest. Noah Riley will be here first thing in the morning.”
I lie in my bed, every sense tuned as I stare at my bedside clock. 10:58. Grayson will turn the light out at 11:00, after one last check on me.
His footsteps pad down the hardwood floor of the hallway outside my room, and I fake the sleep he expects me to be in by now.
My door creaks open, and I inhale a deep restful breath, before letting it out slowly. He does not move from my doorway as he watches me, and I repeat the long breath in and again out slowly, praying that he’ll buy it.
“Sleep well,” he finally whispers.
My heartbeat rages as the door clicks closed, and I become certain it’s thrumming so loudly that he might hear it, too. I stare at the light glowing under my door, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to go out.
Finally, it does.
By now my best friend, Brynn, is waiting for me on the other side of the woods in the exact direction Grayson hopefully won’t think I’ll run.
11:06.
It’s time.
I roll out of bed, and before I slide my window open and set off the silent alarm, I double-check the exterior camera mounted over my window that I moved a careful inch away. Good, it’s still in the position I put it in.
Two stories below, bushes will—with any luck—pad my landing. I hope I don’t break anything. It doesn’t matter. Even if I do, I’m still going to run.
I take a deep breath, and before I give myself any more time to think, I flip the lock on my window, slide it up, and jump. With a soft grunt, I land butt first in the bushes. My bare feet hit the wet grass, and I take off running, using only the limited moonlight to see by.
Behind me, the silent alarm switches to a loud buzz and all the exterior lights flick on. Adrenaline kicks in and I tear into the woods. Branches whip across my skin as I thrash my way to freedom. In the distance, Grayson yells and the sound of his anger propels me to what feels like light speed.
A quarter mile later and gasping for breath, I leap over a downed tree and burst from the woods onto the gravel back road. Brynn’s car sits idling, her lights off and the back door already open and waiting. I dive in, and without a word, she drives off.
A few miles down the road, she turns her lights on. “No one’s following us.”
Sucking in a breath, I sit up and look out the back window.
“We’re good,” she assures me in a calm voice. But her death grip on the steering wheel tells me she’s just as scared. In the rearview mirror, I take in her familiar round face. She gives me a forced smile that makes her dimples sink in. “We’re good,” she says again.
I have to focus. I don’t have time to be scared.
“I bought size six in jeans and small for the T-shirt,” she tells me. “Hope it all fits.”
I unzip the duffel bag she placed in the back. Inside are the clothes plus running shoes. Quickly I change. “They do.”
Brynn keeps driving, taking as many turns and back roads as she can. Neither of us speaks. Almost as if we think someone might hear us and drag me back. Tense seconds tick into minutes and hours later she pulls into the parking lot of a Greyhound bus station.
“Your bus leaves at four-thirty.” Over the seat she hands me a ticket, and I note her shaky hands. “Remember to head east toward Boston and change buses as often as you can along the route.”
I grab her fingers and squeeze them. “It’s okay,” I tell her, though I’m not sure it is.
She nods. “I found you a potential job as a roadie. It pays cash and keeps you moving. Plus…it’s music.”
“Music…” I don’t bother asking what kind. It doesn’t matter. Just the thought of it makes me relax a little.
Brynn hands me an envelope. “Your new ID is in there, along with two hundred in cash. I’m sorry it’s not more.”
“Brynn, that money was supposed to go toward—”
She waves me off. “You are much more important.”
“I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
She waves me off again and nods to the envelope.
“That fake driver’s license looks real to me.
Just be careful with it. Try to use it the least amount possible.
Don’t take any chances. Remember to operate in cash only.
You’ll find scissors and dye in the duffel.
Do your hair as soon as you can to match your ID. ”
In the shadow of the car, I stare at Brynn, taking in her curly dark hair and gentle expression. As I do, everything in me pangs, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. “Thank you, Brynn, for everything. I love you.” Those words shouldn’t feel like claws scraping down my throat, but they do.
“I love you too. Now go,” she says, reaching over the front seat and giving me a friendly push. “I don’t want all our careful planning to go to waste.”
I want to hug her, but if I do, I probably won’t let go. I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing, so I quickly grab the duffel bag and get out.
She sticks her head out the window as she pops the trunk. “There’s a surprise in there for you.”
I shoot her a confused look. “But you’ve already done so much!”
She makes a shooing motion with her hand, and I walk around, raising the hatch to find her guitar. I suck in a breath.
“Take it. Please. You’ve played that thing much more than I ever have.”
Lifting it out, I hug it to my chest. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” She gives a reassuring nod. “Laura, that is your guitar.”
I hug it tighter, thinking of all the times I played it and lost myself. My best friend, my only friend, is amazing.
“Now listen, this is your chance for a new life. As of right now, Grayson no longer has power over you. You remember that.” With one last wave, she pulls off.
I stand, duffel bag in one hand, guitar in the other, my guts twisting as my lifeline drives away.
After her taillights have disappeared, I head into the brightly lit bus station, and keeping my head ducked, I rush across and into the bathroom. There are only two stalls, and I pick the handicap one so I’ll have room and privacy.
Brynn, my lifeline, is gone. The rest of this is up to me. I look at myself in the mirror. I look scared, yes, but also elated, and it’s the latter that bolsters me.
Taking the scissors, I hold out a long clump of my blond hair…
It’s why I insist you keep your hair long. It’s the only thing you’ve got going for you.
Clenching my jaw, I put the scissors at my chin and whack it right off. With it, a harsh laugh escapes. Holding the long and thick blond chunk out in front of me, a wry smile creases my lips.
I cut the rest of my hair up to my chin, put on latex gloves, and tear into the burgundy-red dye.
I stay in the handicap stall for half an hour as it sets.
Someone comes in to use the one beside me and then leaves.
I spend my time staying as still as possible, like even if I move somehow Grayson will know it.
Finally, it’s time to rinse the dye out, and as I do so in the handicap stall’s solitary sink, they make an announcement for my bus to Boston.
I clean the mess the best I can and shove everything in the garbage, and I wedge a baseball hat over my wet head.
With my duffel and guitar, I hurry across the mostly empty station and out into the loading bay.
I don’t think I breathe the entire time.
I don’t lift my head either, but from under my cap, I scan the area.
“ID and ticket,” the driver says.
With clammy, shaky fingers I hold out both, and he takes them. If he notices my unsteady hands, he doesn’t mention it. Then he’s waving me on, and I’m boarding. I’m boarding!
I find a seat halfway back and tuck in, lowering my cap even further and surreptitiously staring out the windows. One by one people continue to board and I don’t make eye contact with any of them. An elderly gentleman sits down beside me and proceeds to fall asleep.
Eventually, boarding is done. The driver takes his seat. Slowly, we pull away. As we do, I take what feels like the first breath I’ve had. My new name is Eve Lake. Though I’m only sixteen, my fake ID says I’m eighteen.
And I am officially running for my life.