My spine snaps straight. It isn’t the harshness in his voice that has me on edge, but rather, the urgency.
Dumbfounded, I look to Mario, and find him a lip curl away from all-out snarling at my dad. He’s glaring at the two men with distrust and wrath that burn hotter than the underworld beneath our feet. But what can he do? If he calls the police and accuses me of trying to buy beer just to get me away from them, I would still end up going home with Dad later, and Mario could get his license revoked if they find out he’s sold to me before. And if he claims Dad’s a threat to me, it’ll only separate me from Layla.
I could run… But where would I go? I couldn't leave my four-month-old sister alone, nor did I have anywhere safe to take her.
My mind is spinning over different scenarios, but each time, I come to the same conclusion. I'm helpless.
“I’ve actually been needing some help around this place. Why doesn't she stay here with me, and I’ll pay—”
“You got eyes for my daughter or somethin’, buddy? Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business, huh?” Dad snaps, glaring at Mario.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, glancing at the strange man nervously. He’s still staring at me, sending a cold shiver down my spine. Whoever he is, he’s the reaper, and wherever he takes me, I won’t be going anywhere but down.
“Go with him, Molly. I’m not gonna tell you again,” Dad barks.
Working to swallow, I hesitantly step away from the counter. Sparing Mario one last glance, I tuck my chin down and walk toward the man, adrenaline releasing into my veins with an intensity I’ve never felt before. My pulse is thundering in my ears, and I’m beginning to feel nauseous.
A wicked smile curls one side of the stranger's lips, and my stomach fills with acid, bile teasing the bottom of my throat.
“Your dad and I are good friends, don’t worry,” he assures, grinning wider as if that’s supposed to ease my nerves .
It feels as if there is glue on the bottom of my feet, making each step difficult as we head toward the door.
I can't do this. I can't just let this man take me so easily. Wherever I'm going, I won't go without a fight.
I'll take Layla and find somewhere for us to go. Because wherever that is, it has to be better than where we are now. Even if I’m a fucking fugitive wanted for kidnapping, I’ll find a way for us to survive.
Just as the man opens the door, the bell chiming, I take off down the aisle to my right.
“Hey!” Dad shouts, prompting his friend to whip around. He wastes no time charging after me, causing my heart to jump in my throat.
Instinctively, I grab a few items from the shelves and throw them on the ground behind me. Bags of chips, granola bars, and other foods scatter across the dirty tile, but it doesn't deter him. He jumps over them, his finger skating across my shoulder as I round a corner, only to find my dad standing right there. I scream, nearly smacking directly into his chest.
His arms come up to wrap around me, so I duck below him, scarcely evading them. I just manage to squeeze past him, hearing their muttered curses from behind me.
“Goddammit, you little bitch!” Dad spits.
Heart pounding viciously against my rib cage, I dart down another aisle, seeing Mario come into view. He’s holding a baseball bat while speaking frantically on the phone with people who I assume are the police.
“Get here now!” Mario shouts over the phone.
I send more items flying to the ground. This time, it's bottles of soda, all bouncing on the ground, causing some of them to pop open or completely explode.
Quickly, I glance over my shoulder just as the two men stop short of the spillage. I catch sight of the demonic look passing over my father's face. And I know that whatever they have planned for me, it'll make my home life seem like Candy Land.
They split up, Dad going in one direction and the man running to the opposite aisle. They're going to trap me.
Panic invades my senses, and I attempt to backtrack and climb over one of the shelves. The man rounds the corner and charges toward me.
I'm determined to keep going, until I see him reach into the back of his jeans in my peripheral, followed by a distinct click.
I freeze, hanging halfway on the shelf with ice running through my veins, then peer over my shoulder.
Mario is now staring down the barrel of a gun, his face frozen in terror while the man holds it steadily. His face is twisted in anger as he pants heavily.
“I will fucking shoot him. You really want that death on your hands, little girl?” the man hisses.
A thunderous expression is on Dad’s face as he stomps toward me, pointing toward the back door labeled for employees only.
“Let’s go. Right fucking now!”
I have no choice but to listen.
There’s no more running.
I had an opportunity but couldn’t get to the exit in time. And as tempted as I am to keep fighting, I won’t risk Mario’s life.
Panting, and tears blurring my vision, I climb down from the shelf and head toward the door. As I pass Mario, I wave, whispering the word, “Bye,” before heading toward the door.
With a deep breath, I walk through the stockroom and out of the back exit. I follow the man through the back alley, my dad breathing down my neck as we walk. There, I'm surrounded by three more men.
There’s no chance to scream. Not as they grip my biceps, slap a cloth over my mouth, and drag me into their black van.
It's over for me. I'll never get to see Layla again.
Even worse, she’ll never see me again—the only person who took care of her—kept her safe.
The only question I have is, will her fate be worse, or mine?
Molly
Fourteen Years Ago
June 18th, 2008
I read over the last word I wrote on the page before snapping the journal shut. It’s a diary I’ve been secretly writing in for the past couple weeks. It’s been my only form of release, but I refuse to take it with me, even if it was the only thing that kept my detonating sanity somewhat intact. It's the only outlet I had for my pent-up rage.
And it can burn with the rest of this house, for all I care.
I hope to God another girl never finds this journal. That would mean she replaced me, and no one—no one—should ever have to experience the horrors of this house. No one innocent, at least. I wouldn't care if Francesca, Rocco, or any of his friends got a taste of their own poison one day. It's the least they fucking deserve .
My broken heart is pounding heavily against my chest, the jagged pieces cutting up the inside with each beat. However, the adrenaline coursing through my veins mutes the pain. The only thing I can feel is determination and fury. So much fucking fury.
I'm not waiting any longer. I can't.
Francesca has something planned for us in two days, and while I suspect we’ll be auctioned off, she never said.
All I know—I can’t be here when it happens.
Another day in this hellhole, and I'll lose my fucking mind. Another day without Layla, and I'll kill anyone I have to, even if it ends in my own death. It'll only be my body that dies, anyway. They've already destroyed my soul, and all that's left is an empty house that has seen as many tragedies as the one I'm planning to escape tonight.
My pulse thuds in my ears as I quietly slide out of my bed and tiptoe to the hole beneath the floorboard. When I first arrived here, I noticed the panel was loose, and after a week's effort, I finally managed to pry it up. It was just a dirty hole, but now it's the home of all my secrets and heartache.
With trembling hands, I set the journal inside, carelessly dropping the pen in after it. Then, I slide the wooden piece back into place.
There's no clock in here, but Rocco and his friends have quieted completely, which means they likely passed out. According to Francesca and her constant complaining, that typically happens around two or three AM every night.
I've been preparing for this for months.
And now that it's finally here, I'm terrified I missed something. A small detail I didn't plan for when I've done nothing but plan.