Chapter 2 - Amelia
I watch Jenny follow her mountain of a brother out of the room, clutching my phone so tightly my knuckles turn white. The messages from Derek glow accusingly on the screen. Each one makes my heart race a little faster, my breath come a little shorter.
*Tick tock, Amelia. I'm getting closer.*
My hands shake as I silence the phone and slip it into my pocket. Even here, surrounded by men who look like they eat danger for breakfast, I can't shake the feeling that Derek will walk through that door at any moment. That's what he does. He finds me. Always.
"You really should eat."
I startle at the gentle voice beside me. It's the woman who introduced herself as Luna when we arrived. The one with kind eyes who immediately sat Anna down with a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread without asking questions.
"I... I don't know," I answer honestly. My stomach has been in knots for so long I can't remember what hunger feels like anymore. Fear has become my constant companion, crowding out every other sensation.
"You need your strength." Luna says, already moving toward the kitchen.
My eyes drift back to Anna, who's twirling spaghetti around her fork. Her little face is so serious, so focused on the task. She's been quiet since we left Riverbrook, too quiet for a five-year-old. Children shouldn't be this still, this watchful. The realization breaks my heart all over again.
"Mommy, this is the best 'sketti ever," Anna announces, sauce ringing her mouth. It's the most animated I've seen her in days, and the sight brings unexpected tears to my eyes.
"Is it, sweetheart? Better than mine?" I manage to ask, blinking rapidly.
She nods. "Way better. No offense."
A surprised laugh escapes me, and for a split second, I feel almost normal. Then my phone vibrates in my pocket, and reality comes crashing back. I don't need to look to know it's him. It's always him.
Luna returns with a plate of food and sets it in front of me.
"Eat," she says, and there's something in her tone that reminds me of my grandmother, a woman who brooked no argument when it came to taking care of people.
I pick up the fork and take a small bite, surprised when my stomach rumbles in response.
I can't remember the last time I ate a proper meal.
The past three days have been a blur of gas station snacks and drive-thru coffee as we zigzagged our way to Blackwater Falls, taking back roads and switching cars twice thanks to Jenny's planning.
Jenny. My friend who risked everything to help us escape. Who came up with the entire plan when I was too broken and terrified to think straight. Who suggested her estranged brother's motorcycle club when every other door had closed in our faces.
"Jenny’s brother doesn't want to help us, does he?" I ask when Luna sits down beside me.
"Tank is... complicated. But he's also loyal to family. And if Jenny asked for his help, he'll give it."
"Tank? Is that really his name?"
A small smile plays at her lips. "It's what they call him here. His real name is Marcus."
"Are you part of... this?" I gesture vaguely around the clubhouse, not even sure what to call it. My knowledge of motorcycle clubs comes entirely from TV shows Derek used to watch, ironically enough.
"I'm King's... well, I guess 'old lady' is the term, though I hate it." She wrinkles her nose. "I'm with the president of the club."
"Oh." I try to reconcile this soft-spoken woman with what I imagine a biker president's girlfriend would be like. "And they... they can really help us? Keep us safe from Derek?"
Luna's expression sobers. "The Savage Riders protect their own. If Tank decides you're under their protection, then yes, they can keep you safe."
"Even from a cop?"
"Especially from a cop."
I want to believe her. God, how I want to believe that someone, anyone, can shield us from Derek's rage.
But I've been disappointed too many times.
By the system that was supposed to protect us.
By the restraining order that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.
By friends who stopped answering my calls when Derek showed up at their homes in uniform.
My phone vibrates again, and this time I can't stop myself from pulling it out. Another message from Derek:
*You know running only makes it worse.*
A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. I can't fall apart. Not now. Not in front of Anna.
"Mom?" Anna's small voice pulls me back. "Is Daddy going to find us again?"
The innocence in her question, the resignation behind it...At five years old, my daughter already knows the pattern. We run. He finds us. We pay the price.
"No, baby," I say, reaching out to smooth her hair. "Not this time."
"You promise?" Her blue eyes, so like her father's that sometimes hurts to look at them, search mine for reassurance.
Before I can answer, the door to the office opens, and Jenny emerges with Tank behind her. His face is unreadable, but something in Jenny's posture gives me hope. She walks straight to me, takes my hands in hers.
"They're going to help us," she says, her voice steady but her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Tank says we can stay here where it's safe while they... handle things."
"Handle things?" I repeat, glancing up at the massive man now standing at the edge of our little group.
"Your ex-husband won't be a problem much longer," Tank says, his deep voice steady. "First step is getting you both somewhere secure. We have a safe house about twenty miles from here. Remote. Defensible. No paper trail connecting it to the club."
"And then?" I ask, afraid to hope but unable to stop myself.
His eyes meet mine, and I'm struck by how much they resemble Jenny's—same shape, same shade of brown, but where hers hold warmth, his hold something colder. Something dangerous.
"And then I pay a visit to Riverbrook."
A shiver runs down my spine. There's no threat in his voice, no bravado. Just calm certainty.
"He's a cop," I remind him, as if he could have forgotten. "He has friends. The entire department backs him up."
"I was a cop too, once," Tank says, surprising me. "I know how they think. How they operate."
"What... what are you going to do to him?" I ask, conscious of Anna's presence.
Luna seems to sense my concern. "Hey Anna, want to see if we can find some ice cream for dessert?"
Anna's face lights up, and she eagerly hops down from her chair to follow Luna into the kitchen, leaving us adults to speak freely.
"We're not going to kill him, if that's what you're worried about," Tank says once Anna is out of earshot. "Not unless we have to."
"Then what?"
"We're going to make sure he never comes near you or Anna again." He pauses. "But I need to know everything. How long were you married? When did the abuse start? Who are his friends on the force? What's his patrol schedule? Everything you can tell me."
The clinical way he asks these questions should be comforting. He’s a professional gathering information, but instead, it unleashes something in me. All the fear, all the pain, all the hopelessness I've been carrying bubbles up until I can't contain it anymore.
"Eight years," I say, my voice breaking. "We were together eight years. He was charming at first. So charming. The perfect gentleman. It wasn't until after we were married that he changed. Or maybe he didn't change, maybe he just stopped hiding who he really was."
The words pour out of me now, unstoppable.
"It started with little things. Checking my phone.
Questioning where I'd been. Getting angry if dinner wasn't ready when he got home.
Then it escalated. Grabbing my arm hard enough to leave fingerprints.
Pushing me against walls. Telling me no one would believe me if I reported him. "
I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face, but I can't stop. "After Anna was born, it got worse. He'd say I was a terrible mother. That I was lucky to have him. That if I ever tried to leave, he'd take Anna and I'd never see her again. And I believed him because I've seen what he can do."
Jenny puts her arm around my shoulders, anchoring me as the storm of words continues.
"The first time he hit me, really hit me, Anna was two. I dropped a plate, and he backhanded me so hard I fell. I had to tell everyone at work I slipped on a wet floor. Last month, he broke two of my ribs because I got home late from work. I told the ER doctor I fell down the stairs."
I lift my gaze to meet Tank's, no longer caring about the tears or how pathetic I must look.
"Three days ago, he came home drunk and threw Anna's stuffed bear in the trash because she left it on the couch.
When she cried, he grabbed her by the arm so hard it left bruises.
That's when I knew we had to leave. I could take whatever he did to me, but not my baby. Never my baby."
My voice finally fails me, and I collapse against Jenny, sobs wracking my body. All the terror and shame I've been carrying spills out in an ugly, messy torrent. I cry for the woman I used to be. For the mother I'm trying to be. For all the times I should have left but was too afraid.
Through my tears, I see something change in Tank's expression: a crack in his stoic facade. For just a moment, raw fury blazes in his eyes before he banks it down again.
"He'll never touch either of you again," he says, his voice a low rumble of absolute conviction. "I promise you that, Amelia."
And God help me, despite everything, despite years of broken promises and shattered trust, I believe him.
When Anna returns, ice cream smeared around her mouth and chattering about how Luna showed her the motorcycle pictures on the wall, I feel something unfamiliar bloom in my chest. It takes me a moment to recognize it.
Hope.
It's fragile and frightening. Hope always is when you've had it beaten out of you, but it's there.
For the first time in years, I allow myself to imagine a future where we don't look over our shoulders.
Where Anna doesn't flinch at loud noises.
Where I don't wear long sleeves in summer to hide the bruises.
My phone vibrates again in my pocket, but this time, I don't reach for it. Let Derek send his threats. Let him think he's closing in. For the first time, I'm not running scared.
I'm standing my ground.