Chapter One
In this moment, I would give anything to have Dorothy’s red slippers and click the heels three times.
There’s no place like… New Orleans.
My bedroom door rattles as someone on the other side thumps on it, hard. Hot flashes run through my body and I shudder. The banging grows louder and louder. I need to get the hell out of this house. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Eighty-five days until his deadline.
I should have already been on the Los Angeles–New Orleans train. LA is a big city, but not big enough to escape the monsters I’m running from. I’ll find peace in New Orleans.
“Open the door. I know you’re in there,” a spluttering male voice says.
My eyes snap open. He’s one of Charlie’s henchmen. I stay quiet a moment longer. Why do I have the worst luck? My eyes dart between the two suitcases, which stare back at me accusingly, and my bedroom door, which is waiting to swallow me whole.
My phone starts ringing, interrupting the mental calculations of my chances of escaping unharmed.
“It’s probably Charlie,” the croaky voice says from the other side of my bedroom door. “He wants you to stop fighting and come with me. Now.”
His voice holds so much threat that my hands shake involuntarily. I clench them into fists and release. I repeat the action a few more times, but no matter what I do, my hands continue to shake.
My phone rings again. I forgot to put it on vibrate mode. I quickly scan the room but can’t locate the source of the beeping.
My mission right now—stall him and find my damn phone.
“You’re kidnapping me, aren’t you?”
Charlie’s henchman laughs maliciously.
“You can either ride in the back seat or in the trunk. Depends on how much you fight. Either way, we’re leaving together.”
Is my phone still ringing or is there ringing in my ears? When it stops, I bring my attention back to the imminent threat and my brain finally makes the connection between the male voice and the face.Shit. My kidnapper is at least a foot taller than me, and from what I recall, he fills the width of the doorway. Shit, shit, shit,shit.
That door is the only way out.
I had locked myself in my bedroom as soon as I heard my mom and yet another man partying in the living room. It must have been his plan all along—get Mom to pass out as usual so he can easily take me.
Many times I made myself disappear as soon as I sensed she’s going to be up a while drinking, doing drugs, and allowing whoever into the house. But today I needed to pack.
For once I was hoping everything would go according to plan.
My run away plan.
I slide my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and touch the train ticket to New Orleans. The paper crinkles between my damp fingers.
Maybe if I don’t say anything, he’ll give up and leave me alone.
Bang, bang, bang.
Wishful thinking. The force shakes the door, and I gasp as it clatters in the frame. The lock won’t hold much longer.
“He doesn’t like to wait.”
My throat goes dry. I search my small room for anything I can shove in front of the door to slow him.
Until… what?
My dresser is too heavy. What else? I push the two suitcases I packed this morning against the door, naively thinking they’ll help.
