I have to quell the panic rising in my chest. When the shadow pulls back and moves across the window again, I realize our stalker is moving around the house to try the back door.
“We’re going to play that game again, Katie,” I whisper as I put my finger to my lips to silence her.
She nods, and glances at the door.
“It’s okay, honey. Remember last time? We’re going to have a special nighttime vacation. It’s going to be exciting.”
I grab my bag from a nearby chair and check that all our important papers are still zipped in the side pocket. Then I quickly cram it full of all the stuff we need and press the still-bagged milk and juice on top before zipping it up. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to flee into the night.
Standing in the living room taking one glance at the life we’re leaving behind, I hear the back doorknob rattle. This time it’swith more force. I know they’re not going to give up when they throw their whole body against the door. My daughter’s breath catches, and she pulls at the edge of my coat. I quickly scoop her up, throw the bag over my shoulder, and head for the front door.
The noise from the back door becomes louder until the frame shakes. He’s truly trying to break it down. I bolt out the front door and run into the night, just as I hear the sharp crack of the back door frame giving way. My sneakers hit the sidewalk with a light thud, and my legs pump for all I’m worth. Getting away becomes my all-consuming goal.
“Hey, stop! Wait!” a voice calls out.
Damn it. I thought we had a head start. It’s an obvious lie, so I don’t look back. My one and only option is to move faster. I put on a burst of speed, not knowing if he’s falling behind or how long I can maintain this speed. I’m trying to get to the minimart again. I don’t know what I’ll do once we’re there, but surely, he won’t hurt us in a crowded place?
When he shouts again, I realize he’s not fallen behind—he’s closer than ever. The buildings become a blur under the streetlights. There are a few people around and some cars pass, but no one stops to help us.
The roar of motorcycle engines splits the night air. Suddenly I see several heading towards us, head-on. The sound fills the street with an almighty rumble.
Headlights flood the road right in front of me. I keep stumbling forward, raising one arm to shield my eyes. The leader of the pack swerves hard around me and heads towards the man who’s intent on catching me. I turn just in time to see him collide with our stalker. He turns his bike sideways and slams into himshoulder first. The rider leans over, spits on him, and kicks him in the stomach with one big-booted foot.
I realize all too late that Katie is watching the whole thing. I start backing away, using the sudden appearance of the bikers as a diversion so we can escape.
The man chasing us staggers to his feet, but the other bikers come and ride circles around him, shouting and calling him a wife-beater. My mouth falls open when I realize these men have come to my rescue.
The lead rider breaks away from the pack and circles back around to me and Katie. He once again spins his bike sideways but doesn’t slam into us the way he did the man chasing us. Instead he pulls up to a stop.
I can hear sirens in the background and I panic. The last thing I want is the police involved. I take another step back just as he pulls off his helmet, and I’m stunned to discover that I know him. It’s Slate Jackson, the man who made sure I got out of Kabul in one piece.
It’s been four years since I last saw him.
For a second, I can’t begin to make sense of him being here, showing up just in the nick of time when I need him the most. But it’s him. He’s even got the same handsome face, dark hair, and blue eyes.
The same eyes I see every day in my daughter.
“Slate? What are you doing here?” I ask, with sirens growing closer in the background.
“I’m saving you and your daughter’s ass.” Scooting forward, he grits out, “Get on the back of my bike. Put the kid between us and hold on tight.”
Katie trembles in my arms. Glancing in the direction of the sirens, I ask, “Is this safe?”
“Not really, but I’ll ride carefully. We’re not going far, just a few miles. You can decide if riding on my bike is riskier than what you’re facing when the cops arrive.”
I make a snap decision to trust him because he was always trustworthy when I knew him before. “Alright but just go far enough to get us out of this situation.”
“Get on,” he growls.
I climb behind him, with Katie secured between us. My hands find his waist, looping my fingers through his thick leather belt. I hope for the best as his bike begins moving, swerving through traffic until we hit the beltline leading out of town.
Suddenly, his club brothers fall into formation around us, with two in front and two behind in a moving wall of protective chrome.
The wind hits my face as we cruise along the highway, but all I can think about is Katie and the fact that because of me her life has been upended again. She’s pressed tight between my chest and Slate’s back, and her small fingers are digging into my jacket. I feel like she at least has some protection between our warm bodies.
As Slate tries to get us somewhere safe, I realize that something about being on his big Harley is soothing for her.Maybe it’s the fresh air swirling around us or the vibrations of the bike, but she’s calming down, which is a relief because it enables me to let go of a tiny bit of my own anxiety. I whisper against her ear, telling her she’s safe, that Mommy’s here.
Like my daughter, I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. It’s a strangely appealing experience, considering the circumstances. I just want to make it through this situation so my daughter and I can start over anew, someplace far from LA. This city has too many eyes and ears for us to go unnoticed.
