Make Your Move (Hannaford Prep #2)

Prologue

ALEXANDER

My arm is sore.

My fingers have pins and needles shooting down them, and my shoulder aches where the sling digs into my skin.

The doctor who came to visit me gave me medicine for it, but I refuse to take it.

I tried them once, the last time he came to fix me, but they made my head feel funny and I don’t like them.

I couldn’t think properly, like everything was happening in slow motion, and that scared me more than the pain ever could.

I have to be fast.

Mommy is packing a bag in my room, and I don’t know where we’re going.

She’s crying. She does that a lot but this time her face isn’t sad, she looks angry, even with tears streaming down her face.

My sister is holding a little bag under her arm and she’s already wearing a coat and polished shoes.

Her eyes are wide and frightened, but she isn’t crying.

We don’t cry anymore.

“Listen, Ash, we need to go. Leon is getting the car and bringing it around. Is there anything you need me to pack? I have your blanket,” Mommy says, and she’s whispering like it’s a secret.

It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I shake my head anyway.

She never uses my nickname while we’re in the manor, even though I prefer it because my father hates it.

The last time he heard her call me Ash, he slapped her so hard across the face that she stumbled back against one of the door frames and ended up with a black eye.

It was right before my fifth birthday party, the one Mommy planned for my sister and I without my father knowing, and she had to cancel it so no one would see.

I’m scared he heard her say it now and he’s going to hit her again.

My good hand shakes.

“We’ve got to leave now. Ash, Floss, hold Mommy’s hands.”

Mommy tugs us both out of my room and down the hall. When we get to the stairs, she looks around, then quietly opens the hidden door behind the big, ugly painting. I bite my lip and look at Floss. She’s so white that she looks sick.

We are never allowed to use the servants’ stairs.

Once the door is firmly but quietly shut behind us, Mommy pulls us both down the stairs much faster than we were moving before. She’s sobbing, even with her lips clamped shut, she can’t hold in her tears.

I'm scared. Mommy doesn't cry like that. Even when Father hits her or calls her terrible things, she never, ever makes noises like that. Her hair is coming loose from the carefully pinned-back style she prefers; another slip I’ve never seen before, and I really start to panic. Mommy likes things done a certain way, to always look her best, and she wouldn’t ever leave the house like this.

When she pauses at the bottom of the stairs, glancing around like she’s checking if we’re still alone, one of her hands reaches down to pet Avery’s hair, smoothing it down like she’s worried my sister is looking messy, even though Mommy is the one sobbing.

When she glances down at me, I only stare back up at her, certain my face is still perfectly blank, the way she taught us both, but I must’ve missed something.

She pauses, taking a slow breath before she tucks one of her errant, blonde curls behind her ear with a watery smile.

“It’s okay, Ash. I know it’s sudden and you must be so scared, but we’re leaving here now, and I promise we’re never coming back.

I’ll make sure you’re never hurt again, my love.

We have to go quickly. Hold my hands tightly, both of you, and if anything happens, run .

Stay with Avery, though, okay, Ash? Promise me—no matter what, you’ll both stay together and run. I’ll be right behind you.”

I nod, still not making a sound, and I look past Mommy’s legs to find Avery doing the same. Even without Mommy’s instructions, I wouldn’t leave my sister behind. The only person in the world I love as much as I love Mommy is Avery.

We make it to the kitchen. I've never stepped foot in the kitchen before; our meals are all served to us at the table in the formal dining room.

I don't even know where in the manor the kitchen is.

Mommy pulls us through the room, the staff all avert their eyes and ignore us, and we get to the side door when I hear his voice.

“Where are you going, Mommy?”

I hear those words over and over again, long after my mother has been buried.