When we pulled into the motel parking lot and the adrenaline began to settle, we got out of the car and headed inside. Erich opened the door, and we stepped into the lobby. The desk lady was fast asleep in a wooden chair behind the counter, her gray hair tied in a messy bun, her feet propped up. A small television played muted soap operas in front of her. She didn’t stir as we slipped past and made our way to our room.
We reached the room, and Erich opened the door, barely waiting for me to step inside before shutting it firmly behind us. He turned to face me, his palm flat against the door like he was bracing it shut. His knuckles had swollen further, red and angry from the punches.
My back pressed against the same door, and he stood too close—his arm near my neck.
If he was impressed, it didn’t show.
“What thehellwas that?” he asked.
He was inches from my face. I flinched at the sharpness in his voice—and at the thought of that same hand holding my throat against the door, the fingers snuffing the dreaded life I had from my body. I was the child who colored all over the drywall with a marker, and I didn’t know better.
I stared at him for a few seconds, searching for something to say—anything—but nothing came.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes darkened, cold and unreadable. He waited.
He had no idea how suffocating it felt to have him standing that close. To be cornered like that. The door behind me, the only exit blocked.
I forced myself to move, slipped past him and dropped onto the edge of the bed. He didn’t stop me.
I unwrapped the jacket in my arms, pulled out the wallet, and held it out to him. “Here. Take it.”
His hand fell from the door as he turned, eyes darting from me to the wallet before stepping closer and taking it. He began sorting through it.
I took his silence as permission to continue.
“I had no idea what I was doing, just that I needed to fit in.”
Erich said nothing. The wallet sat in his hand. His expression had shifted—not angry anymore, but uncertain.
He sat down beside me on the creaking motel bed, the thin sheets bunching under us. After a moment, he sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders.
“You need to know what you can handle.”
It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was close enough. I didn’t need more than that.
I turned to look at him. I hadn’t expected to stay with him more than a few days, but I knew now I wasn’t ready to be alone. Not yet. Not after that.
I reminded myself I wouldn’t last much longer without someone to make sure I wasn’t making life or death mistakes. Such as the one he interrupted.
There was also a lot I needed to tell him if I planned on following him around the country, even for a little while. A lot he needed to know about me which could change the way he thought of me.
I took a breath, my eyes dropping to the floor.
“My name is Camille Chambers,” I said quietly. “I was born in Belham, Mississippi.”
Chapter 8 – Camille
Erich listened carefully as I explained who I was and how he came to find me. He wasn’t fiddling with anything or staring off at the walls. He was focused, hands clasped in his lap, though I imagined his fist was starting to ache from throwing punches at the man from the bar. He was giving me the space to say what I needed without interruption.
“I grew up very privileged,” I started. “The Chambers family is old money. Traced back to the antebellum South. They pride themselves on their name, their money, and their opinions. They’re hypocrites who care only about themselves and their wealth.”
I could feel the bitterness creeping in, but I pushed through. I had to tell someone, and if that someone was a shady con man, so be it.
“I was raised to know who I could talk to, who I couldn’t, why we were better than everyone else, and what was expectedof me as a child in that family. It was implied my whole life they’d decide how my future unfolded—where I would go, who I would become. I always assumed it would be an arranged marriage with one of their friends’ sons. And if it wasn’t that… maybe I’d be a duchess of England or something.” I let out a hollow breath. “I didn’t question it. They were my family. I lived to make them proud. I trusted them. Who doesn’t trust their parents growing up?”
Erich finally spoke. “You ran away because of an arranged marriage? Is that even legal?”
