Chapter 7 #2
My breathing turns shallow as the road blurs, panic clawing higher while my thoughts scatter. I can’t even speed. Drawing attention would make everything worse. I may have a new identity, but the cops could still run my prints, and then they’d find out about Eden.
I just need to survive whatever is about to happen. Then I’ll worry about saving enough money so I can take Milo from school and run.
The SUV’s headlights fill my mirror, closer now, as my past presses in from all sides.
When I first met Barrett, I thought my life would finally be good. That I’d have a family who cared.
But I was dead wrong.
AGE THIRTEEN
The pavement is still warm under my bare feet, the skin on my cheek throbbing where my mother’s hand landed. Hunger hits my stomach while I keep replaying the fridge door opening, how I was about to grab the leftover pasta until my mother snatched the container out of my hands.
Rotten girls don’t get to eat, she’d said. If I wanted food, I could go get a job.
My sister wasn’t home. But she’s never home much these days. She’s twenty and way cooler than me. She’s probably at her boyfriend’s house.
I wish I was an adult like her. Katherine doesn’t have to deal with Mom and Dad much anymore. Lucky her.
I lower onto a bench by the grocery store, embarrassed as people walk by and give me pity-filled looks when they glance at my bare feet.
I would’ve gotten my shoes before I ran out of the house, but my mother was being crazy, cursing at me and hitting me for trying to eat her food, so I did what I always do and left.
Just without shoes this time—which, in hindsight, was a very bad idea.
I don’t know what I did to make her hate me. I try to be good, but sometimes maybe I’m not. I don’t do good in school or have many friends, but I don’t do drugs or drink like Dad does.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast at school. I would’ve had lunch, but Sophia spilled milk all over my food on purpose and I didn’t have any money to buy a second lunch. They don’t give us free seconds.
The street stretches out in front of me, empty except for a girl coming out of a car. She’s around Katherine’s age, and pretty too. She looks me up and down as she approaches the store, her brown eyes narrowing.
“You okay, kid?” she asks. “Need help?”
The words catch me off guard. No one ever asks if I need help. I’m always on my own. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so I shrug, trying to look like I’m not about to cry.
She digs into her bag and holds out a large KitKat bar. “Here.”
The wrapper crinkles when I take it, my fingers clumsy as I peel it open, desperate to put anything in my stomach. The first bite makes my eyes sting, sugar and relief hitting all at once, and I turn my face away so she doesn’t see.
“I’m Jess.” She drops down beside me like we’ve known each other longer than two minutes.
We sit there for a while, cars passing without slowing. She tells me about the place where she stays, about the people she lives with and how they look out for each other. Truthfully, it sounds too good to be true.
Then she asks, “You wanna come check it out and hang for a bit? It’s better than sitting out here with no shoes on.” She pops a brow, a smile forming.
I probably shouldn’t go, but I’m cold and I don’t wanna be out here anymore. My head tips forward and I nod before I can talk myself out of it.
She leads me into her car, and we drive for about twenty minutes before we end up at a large house, like three of mine. The white fence looks sturdy, not like the broken-down one at my house. Even the lawn is trimmed. Her family must be very rich.
We step out of the car, and I freeze as the door shuts, suddenly aware of my bare feet and stained shirt.
Jess starts up the driveway and turns to me. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”
I ignore my own thoughts and follow her inside the house. As soon as we enter, the smell of food, something vegetably, drifts up my nose, and my hunger is all I can think about.
Inside, voices grow loud and two teenagers pass us by, saying hi to Jess while they give me curious glances. Are they her siblings?
As we walk into the living room, I notice three more teenagers sprawled across couches, while a few older people hover to the left. Two heads turn when we make our way into the kitchen, an older man and a younger one. Their eyes take me in, like they’re curious about me.
Goose bumps spread over my arms. I should go. I don’t know what the hell this place is…
“Who’s this?” the older man—maybe Dad’s age—asks. He’s got kinder eyes, like the color of the ocean.
“Found her outside,” Jess explains. “She was hungry.”
He holds her stare before he nods thoughtfully. “What’s your name, kid? I’m Barrett, and this is my house.”
“You have a lot of kids.” My mouth thins.
He laughs as he moves toward the stove, pouring what looks like chicken noodle soup into a bowl. When he places the bowl in front of me and hands me a spoon, my eyes grow.
“Eat,” he tells me.
You don’t have to tell me twice…
Hopping on the chair at the counter, I taste the soup and almost groan. It’s really good, and I don’t even like soup.
“So, what’s your name?” Barrett asks, sitting across from me.
“I’m Eden.”
“Nice to meet you, Eden. You live close?”
Swallowing down the broth, I tell him where I live without giving him my actual address. He might be a killer or something. A killer who makes good soup.
“Got parents?”
I nod, staring down at the soup.
“Ah, got it. That’s alright, kid. My parents were shit too. It’s why I told myself that when I got older, I was going to build a place for kids like me. Kids who don’t have much, kids who need a family to depend on. And that’s what we have here: a family.”
“That sounds nice.”
He grins, folding his arms over his chest. “Look, we’ve got space for you if you want it. So if you ever find yourself in need of food or a bed to sleep on, just call Jess and she’ll get you.”
Emotions clog up my throat. “I don’t…I don’t have a phone.”
“That’s no problem. We’ll get you one.”
“For real?” Tears throb behind my eyes.
“Yeah.” His smile makes me feel safe. “Like I said, we’re a family. We take care of our own, and I have a feeling that’s what you’re gonna be too.”
I did become part of their family, even if I didn’t understand what kind of family it was until I was deep in it.
That place wasn’t a home; it just felt like one for a while. They were no more a family than my own, the same devil in a different mask. And like every other time I mistook kindness for safety, it came with a cost I didn’t see until it was too late.
Being with them worked for a bit, when the risks were small. But the stakes kept climbing and the demands grew heavier. I stayed anyway because it was still better than being home. I came and went when I wanted, and my parents didn’t care enough to notice.
Camille eventually did. Called me every name she could think of once she knew what I was doing for Barrett. It kept the lights on, though. Covered groceries too. And when Mom got diabetes, I paid for her insulin. Camille sure as hell wasn’t stepping up.
I probably should’ve let Mom die. But I didn’t want that kind of karma over my head, so I played good daughter right up until the night I shoved her into the pool and held her face there until Camille ripped me off of her.
Headlights flare in my mirror, and the road snaps me back into focus as the SUV stays right where it is, close enough to keep the fear in me alive.
The light turns yellow and then red. My foot eases off the gas, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might give me away.
The SUV rolls to a stop behind me without hesitation.
Hands tighten on the wheel and the terror continues to suffocate me.
When the light turns green, I hit the gas, turning left, and the vehicle continues to tail me, a car length behind me now.
The streetlights blur at the edges as my thoughts scatter. It would be just like Eli to play games, to scare me before making a move.
My grip tightens on the wheel. If it is him, did Barrett send him to kill me? He was second-in-command, but Barrett was always the one calling the shots.
Another turn. Then another. Residential streets now—quieter, narrower, houses pressed close together like they’re listening. A stop sign appears, and my stomach drops when the SUV slows with me, its headlights washing over the back of my car, lighting up every scratch and dent like a target.
A gas station flashes by before a main road opens up ahead, and my instinct screams to take it and disappear into traffic.
But that’s where they’d expect me to go.
Instead, a narrow side street appears at the last second, and I take it, heart slamming as tires hum over uneven pavement.
The houses thin out. Warehouses replace porches.
The streetlights space themselves farther apart, leaving long stretches of shadow between pools of light.
The SUV hesitates at the corner. For one awful second, it turns too.
Then it doesn’t.
The vehicle rolls past the street, headlights continuing straight onto the highway, the dark shape shrinking in the mirror until it disappears completely.
Relief crashes into me as I pick up speed, my hands refusing to loosen their grip, eyes scanning every side street, every alley mouth, every parked vehicle that could hide another set of headlights.
Minutes stretch. Then more. The road curves away from anything familiar, pulling me farther from the diner, farther from my sister’s place, farther from anywhere someone might think to look.
Eventually, a narrow alley appears between two buildings, dumpsters lining one side, brick walls rising close enough to block the sky. The car slips into the darkness and I cut the engine, silence rushing in so fast it leaves my ears ringing.
I’m too afraid to move at first, not sure if it’s safe to stay here overnight.
But I don’t have another choice. I climb into the back, kick off my shoes, and pull the fleece blanket around myself, tucking it over my head.
The phone stays beside me, close enough to call for help should something happen.
Kirill appears in my mind. Would I really be able to call him if I was ever in danger? I don’t know what he does or if he cares enough to help, but he’d be the only one I could think of.
My gaze stays open, fixed on the rear window, waiting for headlights to flood the alley, for a door to open, for a gun to point at my head.
But hours pass and nothing happens.
The fear never really leaves, but exhaustion pulls me under anyway, even as I fight to stay awake.