Chapter Eight
HOPE
My heart has been beating in my ears since the moment Wilson dropped me off home. My cheeks burn from how hard I’ve been smiling.
I finally did it.
For once, life gave me something good. Even the tension from earlier seems to have drained from the living room. Although, I suppose that can also be attributed to Dad’s being passed out from smoking dope. It serves me well. I didn’t want to deal with any bullshit after a good day out.
Mom’s in her room. It’s so deadly quiet in the house, she might be sleeping off Dad’s outburst from earlier. I don’t bother anyone, tiptoeing through the house to my bedroom. I might be spending more time with the teacher, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have homework to do for Monday morning.
The early evening sun turns to night around me, as I slog through the documents for my business administration class.
One thing I realized about Wilson, the first day we met, was how he likes to play games with the questions he asks.
He puts subtle hints among the notes to easily identify a solution, to those who care to follow his breadcrumb trail.
Hours pass while I work through the assignment.
I guess the sweet release Wilson and I shared in that musty motel room was enough to clear any fog from my mind.
Now, more than ever, I know what I want.
Success is only a backdrop for the future.
Doing well in these classes will serve the eventual purpose of self-sufficiency.
With Wilson Delaney at my side, for the first time, tomorrow doesn’t feel hopeless.
For the first time in a long while, the future actually feels bright, and God it feels good.
Somewhere near eight PM, when I’m mostly finished with my assignment, I hear a knock at the door. The mood in the house hasn’t changed since I stepped inside, and until now it’s been incredibly quiet.
A desperate part of me thinks it’s Wilson, who can’t get enough. He’s already back, to whisk me away. But, somehow, I doubt that. With the way I drained him, he’s probably already passed out. The thought makes me smile.
I get out of my chair and start plodding towards my bedroom door. If it is Wilson, by some rare miracle, I don’t want to miss a second with him. If I’m honest with myself, it’s probably one of Dad’s drug dealers delivering another batch of green.
“Who is it?” Dad’s voice breaks the silence, calling out to whoever knocked.
I crack open my door and stare down the hallway at the front door. Dad steps out of the living room, still dressed in his boxers but this time he’s wearing a mustard-stained wife-beater shirt. I’ve never seen a more fitting sight.
“This for you?” he asks.
“I thought it was for you,” I say.
“Hmmm,” Dad grumbles.
Another knock comes at the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Dad says.
He reaches for the handle, and without looking through the peephole, swings it open carelessly. To his and my surprise he’s greeted by the butt of a rifle to the bridge of his nose.
I scream because there’s nothing else I can do.
Dad crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes, gripping his now bleeding face. He doesn’t scream, but the terrified noises from his mouth chill me to the bone. I jump back into my room, easing the door shut, hoping no one saw me.
I press my ear against the wood, doing my best to hear whatever’s going on out there. It wouldn’t surprise me if Dad has gotten mixed up with the wrong sort of people and they’ve come to collect. This will be his penance for years of ill-doing.
I don’t feel bad, and I won’t. Karma has a funny way of catching a person.
“Good evening,” someone says with a cheerful tone. “So nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ward.”
I fucking knew it. They’re here for Dad. At least this will be over soon.
“Luke?” Mom’s voice comes from the hallway. “What’s going on—“
Then she screams.
“Mrs. Ward,” the mysterious voice greets. “So sorry to interrupt you this late on a Saturday, but I’m here on a pressing issue.”
“What’s it you want?” Dad asks.
“I understand your daughter has taken the fancy of my competitor,” comes the reply.
My heart suddenly clenches in my chest and I drop to my ass. A wave of panic crashes over me. This is because of Wilson? They’re not here for Dad, but for me?
“Hope?” Dad asks. “What’s it you want with m—“
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before there’s another thud. No doubt another blow to the head.
“I’m not going to ask you to hand her over to me, Mr. Ward. I’m going to take her. We can do it the easy way, with you bringing her, or we can do it the hard way,” the stranger says.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. The phrase repeats over in my head.
Wilson said it himself; getting involved with him is trouble. But how could I have known this is what he meant? I thought it was a bullshit saying that anyone who was older would say, to keep their nose held high and out of trouble. How was I supposed to know he meant actual danger?
Who are these people? What has he gotten himself into? Why the fuck are armed men chasing a night-school teacher?
“What’s the hard way?” Dad asks.
“You’ve become acquainted with one end of my colleague’s rifle. Would you like to meet the barrel?” the stranger asks.
“No, no, we can resolve this without the need of that,” Dad says. “Hope. Come out here, Hun.”
“Luke, no,” Mom protests.
“Hope.” This time Dad shouts my name.
Run.
It’s the only thing I can do now. Climb through my bedroom window and pray whoever’s chasing me doesn’t take it out on my parents.
I need to get to Wilson. He’ll be able to protect me. He’ll know what to do.
I hear the unmistakable scrape of leather soles against the hardwood floor outside. They’re coming to my room. I launch off the floor and start sprinting for the window, but I barely get it open before my door swings open.
“There she is,” the stranger says. “Hope Ward. Wow, you’re such a pretty little thing. Much better up close than on a dance pole.”
I freeze in fear.
How long has he been following me, if he knows what I do?
“Where are you headed, my little dancer?” He asks. “It’s unseasonably cold out. Don’t think you’d make it very far dressed in a pair of short-shorts and a crop-top.”
Bile burns the back of my throat. I’ve felt fear before, but never like this.
Followed, stalked, hunted… That’s what I’ve been, for God knows how long.
And tonight, of all nights, they make their move?
Why not sooner, before Wilson and I finally had each other?
Why not later, after we’d had more time together?
Why now, when I’m still riding on the thrill of ecstasy and pleasure.
“Who are you?” I ask.
I turn to face him. He’s tall, bespectacled, dressed in leather, and wearing a disgusting smile.
“I’d say a friend, but let’s face it, we both know it’d be a lie,” he says.
“What do you want with me?”
“Seems you found yourself a valuable asset to Wilson Delaney. Seems I found myself a bargaining chip.”
“What do you want with Wilson?” For a brief moment, fear subsides to rage. It doesn’t last long.
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” He doesn’t approach me as he speaks, but I can see the silver barrel tucked beneath his sleeve.
If I try and flee, he’ll shoot me. He doesn’t have to threaten it more than he already has.
“Made the ultimatum to your old man. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.”
“You’re going to shoot me?” I swallow. It hurts going down.
“No. Can’t use you as a tool to get to Wilson with a bullet in your head,” he says. I sigh in relief. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve gotta keep being pleasant, neither. Don’t make me drag you out here by your hair. It’s too pretty to get ripped out.” There’s malice beneath his pleasant tone.
“How are you going to get to Wilson?” I ask. I’m trying to buy time and figure a way out of this mess.
“Build it, and they will come,” he says. “In this case, take it and his pussy-whipped ass will follow.”
The stranger removes his glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his coat. He thumbs the bridge of his nose, stretching his gun-wielding arm to ensure I see it.
“What can I do but oblige?” I step towards him, cautiously. “And my parents?”
“What about them?” He crooks a brow.
“You’re not going to…”
I fear their fate, after seeing the faces of the stranger’s dangerous companions. Watching enough movies and TV shows will put ideas into a person’s head.
“I’ve got no qualms with a deadbeat dad and Xanax-wasted mom. Come along and they’ll go on their way as if nothing ever happened.”
The stranger steps out of my doorway and waits for me to pass him. He doesn’t grab at me, or make any sudden moves; just guides me back to the front door.
“Let’s get out of here, boys,” he says. The two men who are with him follow, still holding guns aimed at both my parents.
“No, Hope,” Mom shouts. The stranger tilts his head to her, and her protests fall silent.
Always look out for number one. That’s what Wilson said, right? Even in the case of my parents, it’s true.
They don’t shove a bag over my head, as I expected they might.
Instead, the man who collected me from my room acts disturbingly polite.
He opens the back seat door and shuts it after I enter.
He gets into the front, ensures I buckle my seatbelt, and then he starts driving. His men follow in a car behind us.
We don’t speak on the drive, which leaves me with a lot of time to think about the situation. What the hell has Wilson dragged me into? I can’t help but fear the outcome.