Chapter 7 Bonnie
BONNIE
PRESENT DAY
The phone screen blurs in my hands.
Dad’s in jail. Someone snitched. You need to get out of there. NOW.
My brain stutters. Dad arrested. Someone betrayed us. This wedding is a trap.
I have to run.
I shove the phone back into my bodice.
Voices echo from the main hall where everyone waits—Savage Legion and Ruthless Devils packed together to witness my surrender. I hear heavy footsteps pound down the hallway toward me. Someone is coming to collect the bride.
I run, my dress catching on my legs and nearly tripping me. The window is old, painted shut from years of neglect. I grab a wooden chair from against the wall and swing it with everything I have.
Glass explodes outward in a shower of glittering shards. I dive through the opening without thinking, my arms up to protect my face. The frame catches my dress and rips, tearing both the fabric and my skin. I hit the ground outside and roll, losing my shoes somewhere in the grass.
There’s no time to go back for them. I scramble to my feet and run. Concrete burns under my bare soles, then grass, then gravel that cuts like knives. The compound spreads before me—buildings I’ve known my entire life, suddenly a maze I need to escape.
It’s quiet and empty outside. No one stands watch by the garage or near the fence line. Everyone crowds inside for the ceremony, eager to watch the president’s daughter become the sacrificial lamb.
I cut left around the garage and stay low. My dress drags behind me no matter how hard I bunch the fabric in my fists.
Behind me, someone shouts. They found the broken window.
At the back fence near the old storage shed, there’s a gap at the bottom where the chain-link is bent up from years of dogs squeezing through. I used to sneak out that way when I was fifteen, meeting boys Dad would have killed if he knew about.
I run for it. My lungs burn. The dress fights me with every step, catching on my legs and trying to trip me. I round the corner of the storage shed at full speed—
And slam directly into two people against the wall.
I stumble backward. Pedro has his pants around his ankles, and another guy from the club is pressed between him and the brick wall. Both of them freeze when they see me, eyes wide with shock and something close to terror.
“Jesus Christ, Bonnie—” Pedro starts.
“Get a room,” I gasp and push past them.
“Wait, what’s—”
But I’m already gone, sprinting for the fence line. Behind me, the shouts multiply. They fan out across the compound to search.
The gap sits exactly where I remember it. I drop to my knees in the dirt and start to crawl through. My dress catches immediately on a bent metal. I yank, and the fabric tears, but not enough.
The opening is smaller than I remember, or I’m bigger now at nineteen than I was at fifteen, or this stupid dress takes up too much space.
I pull harder, but the metal bites into my dress even harder. My back scrapes against the fence as I shove forward inch by inch.
I feel my hips jam—there’s too much fabric bunching around them. Damn this dress. It’s trapping me half in and half out like some kind of sick joke.
I hear voices closing in, boots crunching on the gravel. They might be thirty yards away, maybe less, and I’m stuck. I’m fucking stuck.
I twist to the left. The skirt tears, but I’m still stuck. I reach behind me and grab the bottom of the dress where it bunches around my thighs. I pull hard. The hem rips away. Still not enough room.
I grab more and tear it. My hip scrapes against the fence wire and cuts deep. Blood runs down my leg, but I keep ripping.
One more push. I squeeze my hips through, and then I’m free on the other side. I scramble to my feet. My legs shake so hard I can barely stand. Blood runs down my back and sides and drips onto the ground at my feet.
But I’m through.
The tree line sits fifty yards ahead. If I can reach the woods, I can hide.
My foot lands wrong on something sharp. Pain shoots up my leg. I stumble but catch myself. I grit my teeth and keep running. My feet leave bloody prints on dead leaves and pine needles, but I can’t stop to worry about trails.
The trees swallow me whole. I crash through underbrush that tears at what’s left of my dress.
Branches whip my face and arms. Thorns snag in my hair and rip free, taking strands with them.
The white silk screams my location to anyone who looks, so I stop behind a massive oak and rip at the skirt with both hands.
Layers tear away until I can move freely.
The bodice stays because my phone sits tucked inside against my ribs.
It’s my only link to Jackal, to rescue, to any hope of survival.
My feet bleed from a dozen cuts. Gashes cross both soles. One deep slice splits my right heel almost to the bone. Every step feels like I’m walking barefoot across broken glass.
Behind me, I hear engines roar to life. Shit.
I push off the tree and run deeper into the woods. No idea where I’m going.
The forest floor slopes down. I half run, half slide down the incline. My foot catches a root hidden under leaves, and I go down hard on my hands and knees. The phone digs into my ribs through the bodice, but I don’t care about the pain. I get up and move. I refuse to stop moving.
A creek cuts through the bottom of the ravine, water running fast and cold over smooth stones. I splash through without hesitation. The water shocks my ruined feet, stings every cut and gash, but it washes away some of the blood. Maybe it’ll throw off the scent if they bring dogs to track me.
The other side of the creek rises steeply, with mud and loose rocks, roots that stick out like handholds placed by someone who wanted to make this climb possible but barely.
I grab the first root and pull. My foot slips in the mud. I catch myself with my other hand, fingernails digging into the earth that crumbles under my grip. I pull again. Climb six inches. My arms scream from the effort. My legs shake so hard I can barely keep my footing on the slick incline.
Halfway up, my grip fails. My bloody hands can’t hold on to the root. I slide back down in a rush of mud and loose rocks, land hard on my ass in the creek. Water soaks through what’s left of my dress.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I want to stay down here, to curl up in this freezing water and let them find me. Let this nightmare be over.
But Jackal’s words echo in my head. You need to get out of there. NOW.
I need to get out of here. Whatever it takes.
I get up, water dripping from my dress and hair. I approach the embankment again, and this time I look for better handholds before I start.
I climb. One handhold at a time. One foothold after another. My muscles burn as if someone has lit them on fire. Twice I almost fall, but I catch myself each time, holding on with every ounce of strength I have left, and keep going up.
At the top, I collapse on flat ground. My chest heaves. My vision swims with black spots at the edges. Can’t rest long. They’re still coming. I can hear engines, shouts, the organized sound of a manhunt closing in.
I force myself to stand and look back through the trees. The compound sits in the distance. My home. My prison. The place where everyone I love still thinks I’m about to become Marcus Stone’s wife.
Dad’s in jail. Jackal is states away. Ash, Ghost, Titan—do they even know I ran? Do they know Dad got arrested?