Chapter 2 | Heather
Heather
T he door burst open with a bang that made us both jump.
"Miss Heather! Miss Heather!" Loubie Lou stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her chubby cheeks, her one-eared rabbit dangling from her grip. "Bunny's hurt! Bunny's hurt real bad!"
Mom and I looked at each other, and despite everything... we smiled.
"Oh no," I said, sliding off the bed and crouching down to Loubie Lou's eye level. "What happened to Bunny?"
“I dropped him down the stairs.” She hiccupped back her tears. “His arm is floppy... and, and, he's crying!" She thrust the rabbit toward me, her lower lip trembling. “He needs a plaster!”
I took Bunny with all the solemnity the situation demanded, examining his loose arm where the stitching had given way. His stuffing was showing, white cotton spilling out like tiny clouds. "This does look serious. But you know what?"
"What?" Loubie Lou hiccupped.
"I think I know exactly what Bunny needs." I lifted the rabbit to my lips and placed a gentle kiss on his injured arm. "There. That's a magical kiss that soothes any injury Bunny could ever have. It's the most powerful medicine in the whole world."
Loubie Lou's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Really. But it only works if you give Bunny lots of love and maybe sing to him while he heals."
She grabbed Bunny back, clutching him to her chest and immediately began a tuneless lullaby. "There, there, Bunny. Miss Heather's magic kiss makes it better."
From the bed, Mom laughed—a real laugh this time, not the bitter sound from before. "I'd forgotten," she said softly, "how easy it used to be to fix things."
Loubie Lou skipped out, satisfied that her crisis had been resolved, leaving Mom and me alone again. But something had shifted in the room, some small measure of peace settled over us like dust motes in the weak sunlight.
"You're going to be fine," Mom said, and for the first time in weeks, I almost believed her.
As I left her room, closing the door so she wouldn’t be disturbed, I leaned against the cracked wall outside, letting the sound of the children's whispers from the kitchen wash over me like water.
They were probably discussing Bunny's miraculous recovery, or maybe arguing about who’d get to help wash the dishes. I smiled as I listened.
Then I heard a sound that could turn my blood to ice in an instant. Heavy boots on gravel, confident and deliberate, the rhythm of men who knew they owned whatever ground they walked on. My stomach dropped like a stone thrown into a deep well.
The fifteenth. How had I forgotten?
I pushed away from the wall and hurried toward the courtyard, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. Maybe if I got to them first, before they reached the children—
Too late. Three Alphas in pressed suits strode through the courtyard gate as if they'd built it themselves, their polished shoes clicking against the stones with military precision. They moved like sharks cutting through water, all sharp angles and predatory grace.
The children who'd been playing outside suddenly burst into motion.
Denson, who had been carefully arranging his collection of smooth, colorful pebbles in a neat row, leaped to his feet, sending the stones tumbling in all directions.
Macey, crouched low with a stick in hand, her fingers stained with the earth as she sketched intricate patterns in the dirt, dropped her makeshift pencil and dashed off, leaving her designs unfinished.
They scattered in every direction, like leaves caught in a sudden windstorm.
The leader was a man I'd come to know too well over the past six months. Tall and lean with silver hair slicked back and eyes the color of a winter sky, he smiled the way a blade might smile. His suit probably cost more than we saw in donations all year, and he wore it like armor.
Behind him, his two enforcers flanked him like bookends. One built like a brick wall with hands the size of dinner plates, the other wiry, with quick eyes that darted everywhere at once, cataloging exits and weaknesses. They'd done this before. Too many times.
Children's faces appeared at windows, pale and frightened, before quickly disappearing behind curtains. I felt their fear with a physical pain in my chest, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
"Miss Heather," the leader said, his voice as smooth as expensive whiskey. "Right on time. It's the fifteenth."
"I know what day it is," I said, stepping between him and the building where the children huddled. "We're a little short this month. Donations have been—"
He raised one perfectly manicured hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. "Not my concern. You know our terms. Protection for this little sanctuary of yours costs money. Money, or we take what you own."
His gaze slid past me toward the windows where little faces had been peeking out, and his smile widened. There was something hungry in that expression, something that made my skin crawl.
"We don't have anything else," I said, hating how my voice shook. "The children need—"
"The children," he rolled the words around his tongue like he was tasting wine. "Yes, let's talk about the children. Some of them are getting older, aren't they? More... valuable."
The brick-wall enforcer chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Boss is right. That red-headed one looked about ready to me."
"Mark the older girls," the leader instructed, never taking his eyes off me. "They'll be ready soon enough."
Before I could move, before I could think, the wiry enforcer brushed past me like I was made of paper.
His hand shot out and grabbed Susie's arm as she tried to slip past the courtyard entrance.
She'd probably been trying to get to the kitchen, to help with the little ones, and walked right into his reach.
"Let go of me!" Susie screamed, her voice cracking with terror and rage. She kicked at his leg, her sneaker connecting with his shin hard enough to make him grunt.
"Feisty," he said, grinning. "I like that."
Something roared to life in my chest, a fury so hot and bright it made everything else fade to white noise. I launched myself forward, putting my body between Susie and the man who still held her arm.
"Leave her be," I snarled, my hands curled into fists at my sides. "She isn't of age yet."
The leader's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Isn't she? She looks old enough to me." He took a step closer, invading my space until his gasoline scent coiled around me, making my nose burn. "Tell me, girl... do you bleed?"
Susie's face went scarlet, but her voice was steady when she answered. "No."
The leader's expression darkened like storm clouds rolling in. For a moment I thought he might hit her, or me, or both of us. The air crackled with the kind of tension that came right before lightning struck.
Then he smiled again, but this time there was no warmth in it at all. "Well then. I suppose we'll have to wait." He nodded to his enforcer, who released Susie with a little shove that sent her stumbling toward me. "But we will be back when she reaches her womanhood. Won't we, sweetheart?"
Susie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the trembling that had taken hold of her whole body. But her chin stayed up, defiant even in her terror.
"You have one week," the leader continued, his attention back on me.
"Find the money, or we'll start taking inventory of your.
.. assets." His gaze swept over the building, the courtyard, the windows where I knew children were watching.
"This could be a nice place. It would be a shame if it burned down. "
The fury in my chest was so intense I could taste copper on my tongue.
Every muscle in my body screamed at me to lunge at him, to rake my fingernails across his perfect face, to hurt him the way he was hurting us.
I wanted to tear down walls, to scream until my throat was raw, to fight with everything I had.
But I couldn't. Because if I did, if I gave in to that rage, they wouldn't just take the money we didn't have. They'd take the building. They'd take the children. They'd scatter my family to the winds and leave nothing but ash and regret in their wake.
So I stood there, trembling with suppressed violence, and watched them walk away. The leader's cruel laughter echoing off the courtyard walls long after his footsteps faded, and I knew that sound would haunt my dreams for days to come.
Susie pressed closer to me, still shaking, and I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "It's okay," I whispered, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I won't let them hurt you."
But even as I said the words, I wondered how many more promises I could make that I might not be able to keep.
The silence after they left was heavier than rubble, thick and suffocating and full of things that couldn't be unsaid. It pressed down on the courtyard like a storm, turning the air itself into something that had to be fought through with each breath.
I stayed frozen in place for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Susie still tucked under my arm, both of us listening to the echo of those polished shoes fading into the distance.
The leader's laughter had died away, but it left something poisonous behind, a kind of contamination that clung to the stones and the walls and the space between heartbeats.
Slowly, carefully, the children began to emerge from their hiding places.
Denson crept out from behind the old water barrel, picking up his collection of smooth pebbles, which he clutched in one fist. Macey appeared at the kitchen window, her sketch stick forgotten, her wide eyes darting between me and the gate as if those men might materialize again at any moment.
They moved like deer after gunshots, every step tentative, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Loubie Lou had her thumb jammed so far into her mouth I was surprised she could breathe around it.
Manny dragged his broken truck behind him, the grinding sound of its wheels somehow mournful now instead of simply annoying.
One by one they gravitated toward me, drawn by some instinct older than language.
Loubie Lou pressed herself against my legs, Bunny's remaining ear clutched in her tiny fist. Denson took my free hand, his fingers ice-cold despite the afternoon warmth.
Even Macey, who was usually shy around the others, moved shoulder to shoulder with Manny.
I crouched down, gathering as many of them as I could into my arms, breathing in the scent of their unwashed hair and the lingering sweetness of breakfast porridge. They felt so small, so breakable, like birds with hollow bones.
"It's okay," I whispered into the tangle of their heads. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."
The words tasted like ash in my mouth because I wasn't sure they were true. How could I protect them when I couldn't even keep the hounds away? How could I keep them safe when men in expensive suits could walk through our gates like they owned the place?
But I said it anyway because they needed to hear it, and sometimes the lie was kinder than the truth.
The day passed in a blur of forced normalcy. We ate lunch, thin soup stretched with water. The children played games in the courtyard, their laughter subdued and careful. I helped with lessons, mended clothes, and pretended my hands weren't shaking every time I heard footsteps outside.
Night fell like a curtain being drawn, and I tucked each child into their beds with extra care, extra kisses, extra whispered reassurances. Susie clung to me longer than usual when I said goodnight, her arms tight around my neck.
"They won't really take me, will they?" she whispered.
I smoothed her wild red hair away from her face. "Not if I can help it."
Another lie. Another promise I wasn't sure I could keep.
When the last child was settled and the building had let out its nightly groans and sighs, I made my way to Mom's room. She was awake, propped up against her pillows, her eyes bright with the fever that had been growing stronger each day.
"I heard voices earlier," she said as I settled into the chair beside her bed. "Loud voices."
"Just some men from town," I said, which was technically true even if it left out everything that mattered.
She studied my face in the dim lamplight, and I knew she wasn't fooled. She'd been reading my expressions since I was small enough to fit in her lap, and twenty years hadn't dimmed her ability to see through my careful facades.
But she didn't push. Instead, she reached out and took my hand, her fingers warm but as dry as autumn leaves.
I sat there as the city settled into sleep around us, listening to her labored breathing. "I'll protect you," I whispered to her sleeping form when her breathing finally evened out. "I'll protect them all."
The words hung in the air like a prayer or a curse, and I wasn't sure which I meant them to be.