I want to believe that Alaina’s whisper network and Patricia’s business cards and Maria’s fake DA investigation add up to something. That being watched means being protected. That the numbers I’ve been collecting all night are more than just evidence of how many women have needed escape routes before me.
But I keep thinking about what Alaina said.
Twelve relocated. Six helped quietly. Four restraining orders that were never filed. And names that never made the news.
They’ve been fighting this war for years.
And Marcus is still hunting.
The car moves through Center City. Past the office where I’ll have to go back on Monday. Past the streets I’ve walked my whole life that suddenly feel like enemy territory.
I press my hand against my hip. Feel the bruises blooming under my palm.
I’ll find you.
He wasn’t lying.
I lean my head against the cold window and watch Philadelphia blur past. This city I’ve loved my whole life. This city that’s been trading women for power since William Penn laid the first stone.
I thought I knew how the world worked.
I thought if you kept your head down and did your job and didn’t make waves, you’d be safe. That’s what my mother always said. That’s what my grandmother still believes. Work hard. Don’t complain. Don’t make yourself a target.
I did everything right.
And I’m still running down service corridors in borrowed dresses, collecting business cards from women who can’t save me, wearing a dead woman’s ring because I was stupid enough to hide in a stairwell at 2 AM.
One decision.
One moment of curiosity.
And now there’s no way out.
Alex’s hand finds mine in the dark. Squeezes.
I squeeze back.
It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. But right now, in this car, speeding away from a man who promised to find me?—
It’s all I have.
Eighteen
Dawn creeps across the window.
Orange beams that streak across my bedroom, discoloring the furniture in shades of rust and amber.
I’m staring at the business card in my hand.
ALAINA DUPREE Former Speaker, Pennsylvania House of Representatives
Two phone numbers. One printed. One handwritten on the back.
I’ve been staring at this for three hours. Very productive. Very healthy. This is fine.
Except it’s not fine.
Because the Former Speaker of the Pennsylvania House gave me her personal number. After rescuing me from a serial killer’s elevator. Using a drunk city councilman as a distraction.
