Chapter 2

AVA'S POV

My lips parted, and I almost kissed him back. Then, the image of my little boy waiting in a cold, dark apartment flashed through my mind.

 

No.

 

I pulled my right hand back and struck him across the face with everything I had left. The sound rang through the quiet room like a gunshot.

 

Damien’s head snapped to the side. The force of the strike made him stumble back a step, breaking his hold on me. His hand slowly rose to touch his reddened cheek, his silver eyes wide with shock as he stared at me.

 

I stood there, gasping for air, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. "Don't you ever touch me again," I whispered, my voice trembling with cold hatred. "If you come near me again, I swear to God I will kill you."

 

Damien didn't move. He just stood there, watching me with a look of pure heartbreak. I didn't wait for him to speak. I grabbed the door handle, yanked it open, and ran out. 

I didn't stop running until my chest burned and the rain soaked straight through my cheap waitress uniform. 

 

The neon sign of the Moonstone Club faded into the dreary fog behind me as I practically threw myself onto the last night bus heading toward my district.

 

My whole body shook. My palm still stung from the impact of striking Damien’s face. Four years. Four years of fighting to survive, of picking up every scrap shift I could get to buy diapers and milk, and he had stepped back into my life in a single second.

 

I am never letting you go again. His low, raspy voice echoed in my ears, louder than the hum of the bus engine.

 

"No," I whispered under my breath, pressing my forehead against the cold glass of the window. "You don't get to do this. You don’t get to decide when to leave my life and waltz in back! I won’t give you the grace!” 

 

When the bus finally screeched to a halt at my stop, I sprinted down the narrow, trash-littered alleyway toward my apartment building. 

 

I pulled my key out from my apron pocket with trembling fingers, taking the rickety concrete stairs two at a time up to the third floor.

 

I just needed to grab Lucas, throw our clothes into a bag, and leave the city before sunrise. Damien had too many resources. If he wanted to find where I lived, it would only take him hours.

 

I reached my door and jammed the key into the lock. It wouldn't turn.

 

I frowned, jiggling the key violently. That was when my eyes landed on the heavy, yellow-painted padlock hanging right above the main handle. A bright orange notice was slapped across the 

rotting wood of the door.

 

EVICTION NOTICE. PREMISES SEALED DUE TO UNPAID RENT.

 

"No, no, no," I gasped, dropping to my knees and yanking on the metal padlock. "Mr. Miller, please! You said I had until the weekend!" I hammered my fist against the door, but the apartment was dead silent. 

 

My heart pounded furiously against my ribs. All our things were inside. Lucas’s winter coat, his favorite toy car, everything was locked away.

 

The sound of soft footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. Mrs. Gable, the elderly lady from down the corridor, peeked out of her doorway, her eyes filled with pity. "Ava? Is that you?" she called out quietly.

 

I scrambled to my feet, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "Mrs. Gable. Where is Lucas? Where is the babysitter?"

 

"The landlord came two hours ago with a locksmith," the old woman said, stepping into the dim hallway wrapped in a faded cardigan. "He kicked the young girl out and locked the place up. The girl was terrified, dear. She didn't know what to do, so I told her I would watch little Lucas in my apartment until you got off your shift."

 

Relief washed over me so hard my knees almost buckled. "Thank you," I breathed out, following her into her apartment. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Gable."

 

In the corner of her tiny living room, curled up on a worn velvet couch under a fleece blanket, was my three-year-old boy. Lucas was fast asleep, his thumb resting near his mouth, his dark brown curls messily sticking to his forehead.

 

"I tried to talk to Mr. Miller," Mrs. Gable said gently, handing me my son's small backpack. "But he was furious about the overdue rent. He said he’s changing the locks permanently tomorrow."

 

"It's fine," I whispered, carefully lifting Lucas into my arms. He groaned softly, burying his small face into the crook of my neck, his little arms instinctively wrapping around me. "We'll manage. We just need to go."

 

"Where are you going to sleep at this hour, child? It's pouring outside."

 

"I have a friend with a room," I lied, forcing a faint smile to reassure her. "We'll be fine."

 

I thanked her again and hurried back down the dark stairs into the pouring rain. With Lucas asleep on my shoulder and his backpack slung over my arm, I walked six blocks down to the cheapest boarding house in the district. 

 

The place was run-down, the paint peeling off the walls, but the greasy manager behind the counter didn't ask questions when I handed over my last crumpled fifty-dollar bill for a single night stay.

 

I carried Lucas up to the room. The room was small, smelling of damp carpet and faint bleach, containing nothing more than a squeaky twin bed and a cracked plastic table.

 

I laid Lucas down on the mattress, pulled the thin blanket over his shoulders, and sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. Tears finally spilled over my eyelashes.

 

How had my life turned into this? I was twenty-seven years old, homeless, penniless, and running from a man who possessed enough power to crush me without even trying.

 

The rain kept pouring outside, rattling hard against the cracked glass of the window. I sat on the edge of the squeaky mattress, watching Lucas's little chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. 

Every time I shut my eyes, all I could see was Damien’s face, the hunger in his eyes that looked like he'd been waiting to catch me, the heat of his lips when he forced that desperate kiss onto me, and the sharp crack of my hand striking his cheek.

 

My heart was still hammering against my ribs. I knew Damien. He wasn't the kind of man who let things go. If he searched for me for four years, he wouldn't just sit back after I slapped him and ran.

 

I need to get us out of Silvercrest before sunrise, I thought to myself, rubbing my forehead. First train out. It doesn't matter where it goes.

 

A sharp, sudden knock echoed against the thin wooden door. I froze instantly. My breath caught in my throat, and my body went completely rigid.