Page 12 of Cheshire

“Look at you,” he sneered, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. “Pathetic. You’re just like your mother -- weak and useless.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” I gasped, choking on my own fear. But he didn’t care. His fist connected with my stomach, driving the breath from my lungs. The pain radiated through me like wildfire, but I forced myself to stay conscious. If I passed out, he might think I was dead. With my luck, he’d bury me alive.

“Next time,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, “you won’t be so lucky.” The threat hung heavy in the air, a noose tightening around my neck. I knew, deep down, that one day he would make good on that promise.

As he finally stepped away, I curled up into a tight ball, trembling sobs racking my battered body. I could still feel the weight of his cold gaze, like a predator stalking its prey. And I knew time was running out. Something had to change. I couldn’t keep living like this -- a life that was nothing but pain, fear, and darkness.

“Remember what I said,” he whispered. And as he left the room, slamming the door behind him, I knew my only chance at survival was to escape. Somehow, some way, I had to get away from him -- no matter the cost.

I heard his steps as he went downstairs, and I listened intently. It didn’t take long before the front door opened and shut. Although, he’d tricked me before. This time, I waited. Staring at the clock, I watched as the minutes ticked by. When another fifteen passed, I thought he’d really left.

My heart thundered in my chest, like a wild animal caged and desperate for escape. I knew this was my chance, the only one I might get. With shaky hands, I wiped away the tears that stained my cheeks. Time to run.

I forced myself up, every bruise screaming in protest. I had to move now, while he was gone. I crept to the door, my breath shallow and ragged. The wood felt cold against my palm as I leaned into it, listening once more for any sound of movement in the house. When it remained silent, I turned the handle, wincing at the soft creak it made.

The hallway stretched before me, shadows looming like silent specters. I hugged the walls, feet barely making a sound as I padded across the floor. Fear clawed at my insides, threatening to choke me, but I couldn’t stop. Not now.

Every tiny noise set my nerves on edge, my instincts sharpening with each passing second. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant howl of a dog -- all seemed deafening in my heightened state of awareness. But I couldn’t afford to falter, not even for a moment.

My resolve hardened, fueled by the burning desire for freedom. I couldn’t let him win, not this time. My breath hitched as I reached the back door, the cold metal handle slick with sweat from my trembling hands. One more step, and I’d be outside, away from this nightmare. But I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that there were still obstacles waiting in the darkness.

“Please, please, please,” I repeated like a mantra, praying that luck would be on my side for once. And as I slipped through the door and into the night, I felt a flicker of hope, a tiny spark in the depths of my soul.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, the chill air stinging my battered skin. “Just a little farther.”

But even as I spoke, I knew that the real struggle was just beginning -- and that the road ahead was paved with danger, uncertainty, and the ghosts of my past.

The night swallowed me whole. Step by step, I inched farther from the house of horrors I had once called home. My heart thudded against my ribcage. Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves threatening to shatter my fragile composure.

“Can’t screw this up,” I muttered under my breath, desperation driving me forward like a puppet on strings. “Just have to keep moving.”

And then it happened -- the distant roar of motorcycles shattered the quiet night, the sound echoing through the air like thunder. My body froze, blood in my veins turning to ice. Friend or foe? Underland MC or something else?

“Shit,” I whispered, hugging the shadows of a large oak tree as the rumbling grew louder. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, threatening to tear me apart. If it was the Underland MC, maybe they’d help me. Maria had seemed confident they would. But what if they were just another bunch of sadistic assholes? I couldn’t trust anyone these days but going it alone… that was a death sentence.

Every second wasted felt like an eternity, each heartbeat a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Help might not come again. I waited and watched, fear pinning me in place. But they could betray me… The thought made me want to vomit, bile rising in my throat as I considered the consequences of trusting the wrong people.

“Fuck it,” I whispered, clenching my fists and bracing for impact. “Either way, I’m screwed.”

The motorcycles drew closer, the ground beneath me vibrating with the raw power of their engines. It was now or never -- trust the unknown or face the monsters I knew all too well. Even if the engines I heard weren’t from the Underland MC, anything had to be better than this miserable existence. My breath hitched, and I made my choice. My legs trembled as I clung to the oak tree, poised to make a split-second decision that could either save or doom me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered under my breath, cold sweat trickling down my spine as I hesitated, torn between the devil I knew and the unknown danger that lurked before me.

“Damn, girl, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said a voice, smooth and confident, laced with a hint of amusement. My eyes flicked to the speaker -- Cheshire. His mischievous grin was plastered on his face, his piercing blue eyes sizing me up. The aura of cunning radiating from him made me shudder. But once he got a better look at my face, the smile dropped from his face.

“Shit,” he muttered. “What the hell?”

My gaze swept over the other members of the Underland MC, each one a study in raw intimidation. Hatter towered above the rest, his scarred face and piercing eyes speaking of a life forged in violence. His calm, calculated demeanor sent a chill down my spine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling he was capable of both great mercy and unspeakable brutality.

“Think the sheriff got to her too?” one of them whispered.

They knew about my dad? From the way he’d spoken just now, I had to assume that meant they’d help me.

“Easy there,” Cheshire said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Then what do you want?” I asked, desperately trying to maintain control of the situation. My mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, each darker than the last. I’d thought they may help me, but I had to wonder… why were they here?

“Look, we heard about your father,” Hatter said, his voice measured and steady. His gaze scanned my face and exposed arms. I knew what he saw. The bruises, scars, and fresh cuts. “We don’t want you to suffer at his hands any longer.”

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