Chapter 4

The rest of my shift passed in a blur of coffee refills and goodbye glances.

Every familiar face felt like another door closing—the retired cop who always ordered blueberry pie, the young mom who brought her kids in for Saturday breakfast, the truckers who treated me like a person instead of property.

By closing time, my hands were screaming from carrying plates, and fresh blood had seeped through Ryder's careful bandaging.

I was gathering my things when Jenny, the overnight cook, stuck her head into the break room.

"Hey, sugar. Your man's here."

My heart stuttered. "Marcus? But he's not supposed to—"

"Nah, the suit's outside in his fancy car. Some businessman type is at the counter. Says he needs to speak with you privately."

Relief made my knees weak. Just a customer. But as I walked out, that relief curdled into ice.

I knew him. Lawrence Chen. Marcus's business partner.

He sat at the counter in a suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary, his Rolex catching the fluorescent lights as he stirred his untouched coffee. When he smiled, I tasted bile.

"Tessa." He patted the stool beside him. "Join me?"

It wasn't a request. I sat, keeping space between us that he immediately closed.

"Marcus asked me to escort you home." His hand settled on my knee. "Ensure you arrive safely."

I knew what that meant. Lawrence had "escorted" me before, on nights when Marcus wanted to remind me just how completely I belonged to him. To them.

"I can walk," I whispered. "It's not far."

"Now, now." His fingers crept higher. "We both know Marcus wouldn't approve of that. Anything could happen to a pretty girl alone at night."

The irony might have made me laugh if I wasn't fighting the urge to vomit.

"Let me clock out."

"Of course." His smile widened. "I'll wait in the car."

The moment he left, I ran to the bathroom and threw up everything in my stomach. When I finished, I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection.

Three years. Three years of being passed around like a party favor whenever Marcus wanted to secure a business deal or punish me. Three years of dying by inches.

Ryder's words echoed in my head. When you're ready.

But I wasn't ready. I was terrified.

Through the bathroom window, I could see Lawrence's Mercedes idling in the parking lot. Marcus's BMW was behind it. They were boxing me in.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: Don't keep us waiting, baby.

Another buzz: Remember what happened last time you tried to run?

I did remember. The bruises had lasted weeks. The other scars had lasted longer.

But something was different now. Maybe it was Ryder's kindness. Maybe it was knowing this was my last shift, my last taste of anything resembling freedom. Or maybe I was just finally, finally tired of being afraid.

I opened my phone's browser with shaking fingers and typed: Hellfire MC.

The results showed a motorcycle shop on the edge of town. Twenty minutes by car. An hour's walk.

Another text from Marcus: Five minutes, Tessa. Then we come in.

My breath came in short gasps. Think. Think.

The bathroom window was small, but I was smaller than I used to be. Marcus had made sure of that.

"Jenny?" I called, stepping out of the bathroom. "I'm heading out. Thanks for everything."

"Take care, sugar." She didn't look up from the grill. "You'll be missed around here."

I waited until I heard Lawrence's car door open—him coming to check on me—before slipping back into the bathroom and locking the door.

The window protested as I shoved it open. Old brick bit into my palms as I pulled myself up and out. My ribs screamed. Blood from my reopened cuts smeared the white windowsill.

I dropped into the alley behind the diner just as someone knocked on the bathroom door.

"Tessa?"

I ran.

Not toward the street where their cars waited. Not toward our apartment or any of my usual haunts. I ran deeper into the maze of alleys and side streets, my sensible work shoes slapping against wet pavement.

Behind me, I heard shouting. Car doors. Engines.

I ran faster.

Left turn. Right turn. Through a gap between buildings barely wide enough for my shoulders. Every breath was fire in my lungs, but I didn't stop.

Headlights swept the alley ahead. I ducked into a doorway, pressing myself into the shadows as Marcus's BMW crawled past.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Lawrence's voice carried through the night. "You're only making it worse, baby."

They were right. Every second I ran was another bruise waiting to happen. Another broken bone. Another night of being reminded who owned me.

But maybe... maybe that was better than another three years of slow death.

I waited until the car passed, then darted across the street toward the industrial district. The motorcycle shop was there somewhere. I just had to—

Hands grabbed me from behind.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat as Lawrence spun me around, slamming me against a brick wall.

"Stupid bitch." His breath was hot on my face. "You really think you can run from us?"

"Please—"

"Shut up." He pressed closer, one hand around my throat. "Marcus said to bring you back alive. Didn't say what condition you had to be in."

His free hand ripped at my uniform. Buttons scattered across the pavement like broken promises.

"Always wanted to try you without big brother watching," he growled. "Bet you're even prettier when you cry."

I fought. Really fought, for the first time in years. Kicked and scratched and bit until I tasted his blood.

He backhanded me hard enough to send stars exploding behind my eyes. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."

As he reached for his belt, I saw headlights approaching. Marcus, coming to help his friend teach me a lesson.

But the engine didn't purr like Marcus's BMW.

It roared.

The motorcycle hit Lawrence from behind, sending him sprawling. He rolled away with a curse as the bike skidded to a stop between us.

"Get on," Ryder growled.

I didn't hesitate.

The bike leaped forward as I wrapped my arms around his waist. Behind us, Lawrence was shouting into his phone. Ahead, I saw Marcus's BMW turning onto the street.

"Hold on tight, darlin'."

Ryder gunned the engine. We shot between cars like a bullet, my torn uniform whipping in the wind. Every turn took us further from the city center, from the cage I'd lived in for three years.

I pressed my face between Ryder's shoulder blades and breathed in leather and freedom.

For the first time since I'd met Marcus Reynolds, I felt something other than fear.

I felt alive.