When I was back in Harmony Hills, courage felt like an impossible mountain to climb. I’d never be strong enough to fight back against my mama or Leader Allen. I’d never be free.
Then I got pregnant. From the first time Delilah kicked inside me, courage came easy. I’d do anything for her. That’s how I got the strength to steal the rifle. And it’s how I get the strength to bolt from my car. My Mary Janes slap the gravel, breath coming in freezing bursts. The whole world seems to blur, as if I’ve fallen through cracked ice.
From far away I hear shouts, the sound of boots coming after me.
Please, God, I pray. If there was ever a time I need to be delivered from evil…
He never answered my prayers before. He doesn’t do that now either.
A hand wraps in my long hair. I’ve never been able to cut it. There’s so much I never got to do. Then I’m yanked back, legs scraping against sharp rocks, landing hard on my palms.
Jimmy John sneers down at me. He swings one leg over me, climbing on top right in the parking lot. They aren’t just going to hurt me, I realize. They’re going to kill me. If not from my injuries, then from exposure. I’m never leaving the Last Stop after tonight. More men surround me, some carrying bottles of liquor, shouting, cheering. There’s no walking away from this.
An inhuman roar splits the night, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I see the whites of Jimmy John’s eyes a second before he looks up. Something slams into his face, and he topples backward. I don’t wait to see who hit him or why.
All I can see are two men fighting, hulking shadows in the dark. The other men have backed up to give them space. One man pins the other to the concrete, his fists a steady rain. The one slumps, his open mouth revealing the glint of gold. Jimmy John. Is he unconscious? Dead?
The man who’s beating him swings toward me.
Shock jolts through me. “Luca?”
“Get out of here,” he growls.
His face is twisted in a snarl, the light in his green eyes almost otherworldly. It wasn’t God who answered my call for help. It’s the devil himself, come to bring me home.
I don’t want to see who wins the fight. I run like the hounds of hell are at my feet.
It takes only minutes to run from the parking lot to the road, but it feels like eternity in these shoes. Loose change spills from my apron, but I don’t have time to stop.
For a breathless moment I hear someone following me, footsteps pounding closer. I glance over my shoulder in time to see a man running after me. The report of the gun echoes through the cavernous landscape. The man falls to the ground, revealing Luca holding a gun. He saved me.
Our eyes lock. Time stills. There’s only him and me in the endless frozen desert, the black hole on land. He found me here. He must have been the one asking questions about me.
A punch to his jaw breaks the connection. While he’s down, they jump on him like a pack of hyenas, tearing at him from all sides. Luca is built for fighting, muscle packed on muscle, but he doesn’t stand a chance.
They’re going to kill him.
That’s what they would have done to me. Every cell in my body wants to run back and help him. I know I’d die too, but some things are worth dying for. And that’s why I have to leave. Delilah needs me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper before I turn and run.
Chapter Five
By the time I see my apartment over the hill, I’ve lost them.
There aren’t any footsteps behind me. The men were too busy beating the life out of Luca to follow me. An image flashes through my mind—Luca’s powerful body, the pack of men surrounding him. My stomach clenches, and I put my hands against it, doubling over.
The night air is thick in my throat, threatening to choke me. Tears prick my eyes, but I force them back. There’s no time for weakness. No room for emotion in my life.
I climb the rickety metal steps that sway when you use them. The wind plays a haunting melody through the rusted rails, growing louder as the night gets cold.
A rustle of white ruffled lace.
Mrs. Lawson opens the door before I can knock. She listens for the telltale song of the stairs. “What a night,” she says, shivering at the gust of outside air. “Come inside, child. Quick.”
I step into the dimly lit room, looking at the comforting family pictures for the last time. Mrs. Lawson is a large black woman who gave birth to four sons. They’re shown as babies, as children. As smirking teenage boys. A couple are wearing military uniforms. Then the pictures stop. I’ve never worked up the courage to ask what happened to them, and now I never will.
The heat in her apartment abrades my skin, a painful warmth. “Is she okay?”
“Of course, child. She went down easy tonight. You must have tired her out with all that story time. How many times did you have to read about that mouse?”