Page 2 of Mountain Hero

And I’m ashamed of myself for ending up here.

For all my self-proclaimed independence, I’m still doing exactly what Thomas tells me to. I’m hurrying to clean and cook and make myself look presentable because if I do, there’s a better chance he’ll leave me alone. If I fulfill the duties he expects of me, he doesn’t seem to care if I scurry off to the bedroom later. If I’m quiet, I’m much less likely to draw Thomas and his friends’ attention.

Tonight’s like all the other nights in the month I’ve been here—now that all my cooking and cleaning responsibilities are done, I’m back in my bedroom, trying to concentrate on reading one of the old books I scavenged from the basement. It’s a musty copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, which is a good book, but nothing like the escape my longed-for romance novels would give me.

One ear is perked, always listening for some sign of trouble. Raised voices. Glass smashing. Something heavy falling over. There’s no one else aside from Thomas at the house right now, but that doesn’t mean one of his buddies won’t come over.

I really hope not. If it’s just Thomas, he’ll drink a few beers and fall asleep on the couch, and I won’t have to deal with him again until breakfast.

As I burrow under the covers, a tremendous wave of despair crashes over me. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I swallow against them.

Crying isn’t going to get me out of here. Neither will pleading, reasoning, or trying to escape.

Especially not escaping. I learned that the hard way. Even now, I can vividly remember the pain as Thomas struck me over and over, promising to make it worse if I tried it again.

I still might have, had he not brought my aunt into it.

My sweet, kind, wonderful aunt who’s done so much for me. Aunt Linette, who is finally getting to enjoy her retirement—taking cruises and renovating her kitchen just the way she always wanted and visiting friends she hasn’t seen for years. My aunt, who still lives in a suburb of Albany, which is close enough for Thomas to get to in just a few hours.

If it were only me suffering the consequences of failing, that would be one thing. I might be brave enough to fight back, or try to break one of the permanently-locked windows.

But with Aunt Linette dragged into it? I have to come up with another way.

And I will. Eventually, I’ll find a way to escape and get my aunt to safety. I just have to keep watching and waiting for the perfect time; the moment when Thomas slips up and I can finally make my move.

Unfortunately, that leads to the terrible question that never leaves my mind—how long will I have to endure this?

During the day, when I’m focused on cleaning and doing everything I can to avoid Thomas, it’s easier to keep my mind from going into dangerous places. But at night, when I’m alone in my room? That’s when the claustrophobic hopelessness is harder to ignore.

I hear footsteps in the hallway—not right by my door, but closer to the living room—and my stomach lurches. My chest gets tight.

Please. Let him just be using the bathroom. I’m already feeling on edge and raw tonight. I can’t deal with anything else.

But like most of my life since I was dragged here, my hopes are nothing but that.

Thomas flings the door open so hard it bangs against the wall and ricochets back at him. For a second, I think it might hit him in the face and I let myself hope, please, let it hit him, I know it won’t get me out of here, but it would be so rewarding to see it.

But he catches it. Of course.

By the time I scramble to a seated position, he’s at the side of the bed. I flinch as he grabs my arm in a punishing grip, his fingers digging into my skin. Then he yanks me out of bed, snarling, “What do you think you’re doing? If you have time to read, you have time to clean. Cook. Do something useful.”

He snatches the book up from where I dropped it on the mattress and flings it across the room. “When we get back, I’m throwing that out. It’s a waste of fucking time.”

My heart shrivels. The tears threaten to escape no matter how hard I’ve trained myself to keep them in.

“Please,” I whisper. “I cleaned everything. I was just looking at it for a minute. Don’t?—”

“Shut up!” he barks, and shoves me against the wall. My teeth clack together, catching the tip of my tongue. Coppery blood mixes with the lingering taste of toothpaste. He leans close enough for me to see the small cut on his neck and the pimple starting on the tip of his nose.

“You’re going to make yourself useful,” he continues. A slick smile pulls at his lips. “You’re going to help me make a bunch of money.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m just as confused as before, but much more terrified.

We’re in a borrowed car—probably one of his friends’, but knowing Thomas, it could be stolen—heading through town toward an unknown destination.

Nowhere good. That’s a certainty.

Before I got into the car, I couldn’t help noticing the mud smeared all over the plates and the darkly-tinted windows I’m pretty sure are illegal.

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