Page 7 of Enforce This

I scrambled to keep from landing on my ass and eventually found my feet. I gave the Prez one more awkward glance and ran toward my bike before the cops could mount the hill.

It was a twenty-minute drive to Rochester, and I had no idea how much of a head start the mob had.

I flew down the highway, my heart hammering in my chest. The Prez was dying. His Sergeant at Arms was dead. Our VP would soon be grieving the loss of his entire family, and my brother, the Road Captain, was elbow’s deep in a coke habit.

What the fuck.

To make matters worse, I hadn’t seen Feloni Miller since the night of my going away party, when I left for basic training nearly nine years ago. I was a few months shy of eighteen and she was like nine or ten. I hadn’t paid her any mind at the time. She might have had braces and brown hair if memory served me.

Christ. It was all so ridiculous.

How the hell was I going to save a girl when I didn’t even know what she looked like?

Chapter Four

Trista

Rochester Community College was perfect for me. I grew up on a cul-de-sac about ten minutes from campus. I’ve lived in Rochester for as long as I can remember; ever since my mom married Doug. My earliest memories are of her wedding. I was the flower girl. She was a single mother, just starting over with me when she obtained her dental assistant certificate and found work in Doug’s office. It must have been hard for her, transitioning from life with Mark, to being the wife of a law-abiding orthodontist.

Of course, if you asked my father, he’d point out that they’re both capable of taking out teeth.

The only time I’d ever seen people like my father and his biker buddies was on television. All of his friends had that same threatening, dark sense of humor. Their eyes glistened with danger and they usually smelled like alcohol, and the cheap perfume of club strumpets. Well, that’s what I assumed it was when I was younger. My mother believed it to be marijuana, but who could be certain?

It had been a year and a half since I saw my father. It was at my high school graduation. That was also the last time that I openly referred to him as my father.

The day I walked across the stage to receive my high school diploma was the day I really understood why my mother had left Mark. They called my name in the big auditorium, and the applause and cheering went on forever. I was a softball player and a cheerleader, I was popular at my private school, sure… But not popular enough to have a standing ovation. Principal Woodward wouldn’t even look at me while we shook hands, and he relinquished that hard-earned diploma. He was busy staring at the crowd of leather-clad criminals that were celebrating my achievement.

They didn’t know me, but they were honored to pay respects to the president’s daughter.

I’ll never forget how Principal Woodward’s gaze collided with mine and turned cold. For a moment, I thought he might wipe his hand clean on his pant leg, but in the end, he offered a stiff smile and nodded to encourage me off the stage. It was like the man I had known for four years was suddenly looking at me in a vastly different light. It reminded me of those cartoons where the villain’s mask is ripped off and everyone sees them for who they truly are.

I could feel the judgment and disgust radiating off of him and everyone else as I walked back to my seat.

I never wanted to feel that way again. It was a pity that I didn’t have a normal relationship with my father, but the man was simply incapable of normalcy. My mother swears he wasn’t like that before the war. She said he used to be a good man, but the person they shipped back to her from Saigon was a stranger, someone she didn’t recognize.

He wasn’t interested in a nine to five and he didn’t respect any authority but his own. He created a world, and now it had cost him two wives. One to a divorce, and one to a bullet.

As sad as it was, and as much as I did believe that a good daughter would support her father during his time of loss and grief… I just… Couldn’t.

I blinked, and tried to pay attention to the video the instructor was showing. I needed to focus; I couldn’t let Mark’s bullshit get in the way of my education. My mother was so happy for me when I came home from my last clinical and told her how much the floor nurses claimed to make in an hour.

According to her, it was more than she ever earned back when she had to work.

This was important news to me. It meant I’d never end up tied to a man who put me at risk, like my father, or stuck to one that bored me to death like Doug did her.

My career would be my freedom.

I had it all planned out.

That was me. Everything planned to a T.

I’d been working at the local nursing home since I was sixteen, so most of what we went over in class was usually old news, but I did take note of the technique required to remove sutures when the actress on the video demonstrated.

I was just about to zone out again, when the lights shut off and the blue glow of the emergency signal on the wall began to silently flash.

Peggy, a veteran nurse, and our instructor for the course immediately stood. Her lips parted and she gave a quick look around the room.

“Everyone, remain calm. This is probably just a drill. I’m sure they sent an email warning me that this was scheduled this morning. You guys know how terrible I am with emails. I never check them…” She nervously laughed and fidgeted with the mouse on the desk.

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