Sleep tugged at her edges, heavy and slow.Still, every time she drifted close, her mind betrayed her.The darkness behind her eyelids wasn’t soft.It came alive with sounds she knew too well.The thud of boots on concrete, the low rumble of engines, her father’s voice echoing through smoke and laughter.Then came the laughter.The kind that scraped down her spine.
“She’ll do.”
“She’s good collateral.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll treat her nice enough.”
Each word pressed against her chest until she couldn’t breathe.She saw their faces.Men she’d known all her life, her father’s brothers, their patches glinting red in the light of the bar.They were smiling.Grinning.Watching her like she was something to bargain with, not someone who’d grown up cleaning their cuts and pouring their beers.
In the dream, she tried to speak, but her voice didn’t work.The floor tilted.The sound of engines grew louder, closer, until the walls of the clubhouse shuddered.Hands grabbed her arms, rough and heavy, dragging her backward.She could smell oil and whiskey and smoke.Someone laughed near her ear.
She jerked, trying to break free, but the harder she fought, the more the dream tightened around her.Hot breath, the weight of hands, her father’s voice again.“You think you can run from me, girl?You’re mine until I say otherwise.”
Her lungs burned.The air thickened.
Then suddenly she was small again.Mara was barefoot, sitting on the steps of the clubhouse while the bikes roared away into the night.She could still hear her father shouting orders inside, but back then she hadn’t understood the words.
She’d sat with her knees pulled to her chest, staring out into the dark and dreaming of someone who might one day come for her.A hero.A savior.
In those childish dreams, he was faceless but kind.He’d ride in on a gleaming bike, cut through the noise and chaos, and hold out a hand to her.He’d say her name like it meant something.He’d take her far away.To somewhere quiet, somewhere clean, and somewhere she could finally breathe.
Of course that was just a story she’d told herself when she was little and didn’t know better.There were no saviors.No white knights.No one rode in to rescue girls like her.
Reality was harsher.Crueler.The only person who was ever going to save her was herself.
The dream twisted again and her savior’s hand became her father’s grip.
Mara gasped awake before the last word finished.The room was still.Her heart thudded against her ribs hard enough to hurt.Sweat slicked her skin despite the chill seeping through the window.
For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was.Then the motel came back into focus.Four cracked walls.The steady hum of the rain.The knife glinting faintly on the nightstand.
She swallowed hard, pressing a trembling hand to her throat.
“Just a dream,” she whispered.“Just a dream.”
Chapter Two
