“I wasn’t going to run!”
“Whatever. Tell that to the bosses later.”
He doesn’t understand. I can’t leave. Not without Noah.
“You're healthy as a horse, sweetheart.”The kind nurse looks like she auditioned for Barbie before coming to work as she flips through my medical chart.
Sitting on the hospital bed, I nod my head instead of giving her a verbal reply.
What am I supposed to say? Yeah, the man who kidnapped me kept me up to date on my vaccines because that meant he could get more use out of me. Even while I was pregnant, he found “customers” who had a pregnancy kink.
The nurse’s slight smile gives away her sympathy. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.” My southern drawl slips out.
She chuckles. “Oh, please, honey. Ma’am is for old people. Just call me Nurse Amy.”
I don’t feel the small curve of my lips, but I know it’s there. It’s my “I’m going through the motions” smile. I’ve been going through the motions for the last eight years. It’s been longer than that, if I’m being honest with myself.
Shivering in my donated scrubs, my toes curl. My desperation to escape this place makes an itch spread across my skin. I don’t like hospitals. I’m a cliché, but with my history, no one can blame me. And there’s more than just my dislike of hospitals that has me yearning to get out of here.
The door bangs open, and in rushes my little mini me.
“Mom!”
Gawking in disbelief, my mouth falls open, and my thoughts of discomfort are gone. Pure joy sparks in my chest, and I leapoff the bed, meeting my son halfway. “Noah!” I catch him when he jumps, and we wrap our arms around each other.
Looking up, I find Nurse Amy and a beautiful brunette woman exiting the room, shutting the door behind them to give Noah and me some privacy.
Noah buries his face in my neck, and silent tears roll down my cheeks as I rest my chin on top of his head. I silently curse the assholes at the club who used to mock me when I’d beg for a glimpse of Noah.
Fortunately, those men got what they deserved.
My little boy may only be six years old, but he’s big for his age. His weight becomes too much to hold, so I sit back down on the rock-hard bed, situating Noah in my lap.
Leaning back, I look him over, taking in all the small changes that have transformed his little features since I saw him a month ago. He’s taller, and his hair is longer. The scar running along the side of his face has faded a bit. Nausea churns in my stomach as I recall the day he got it, but I don’t let the guilt show on my face. He doesn’t need a complex about his appearance.
Brushing off the remorse, I allow myself to clutch onto this time with him. “How did you get here, Little King?”
“Mrs. Dahlia and some of her friends got us out of the house. They killed all the shitbags?—”
“Language,” I chide. I can’t let myself think too much about all the horrible things he’s heard while growing up in that damned house, or else I’ll fall apart, and I won’t be able to put myself back together.
“Sorry, Mama,” he concedes even though he doesn’t look contrite. It’s like I have a sixteen-year-old rather than a small child. “Mrs. Dahlia’s friends shot all themenin the house, and then we walked out the front door. They were really nice and got us ice cream. Then Mrs. Dahlia’s boyfriend took us to his house in Bosh-ton. There were guards everywhere with guns, but theyweren’t mean, and I was allowed to play outside with August and Margaret.”
A hole opens in my chest, and I struggle to keep a smile on my face as Noah tells me all about his adventures. I hate that something as simple as going outside is a big deal to him. With Anthony and all his men dead, I’m going to start a new life for us. Noah deserves a home where he can play in the yard whenever he wants.
The guilt fades as gratitude overwhelms me. I will forever be in Dahlia’s debt. She and her friends have given me an opportunity to have what I never thought was possible—a real life.
CHAPTER ONE
RAVEN, TWO MONTHS LATER
“Mom! Hurry! I’m going to be late!” Noah stands at the front door with his backpack slung across his back and one hand on the door handle.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Hopping on the stairs on one foot, I slide my shoe onto my other foot. I got up early to get ready, but everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. My coffee spilled on my nice shirt, I burned my wrist on my hair straightener, and I messed up my eyeliner when my “just in case I didn’t wake up on time” alarm went off. I jumped at the sudden noise, and when I looked back in the mirror, there was a black streak going from the corner of my eye all the way to my hairline. With the way I’m scrambling to get my shit together, it would seem like this is my first time hunting for a job.
Oh, right! Because it is!
