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.*
