Page 71 of Manic

He smirks, unfazed by my defiance. "That can be arranged, sweetheart. But not before you and your daughter do your part to grow our ranks."

I feel sick, memories of my own childhood flooding back.

The fear, the pain, the helplessness.

But I'm not that scared little girl anymore.

I'm a mother now, and I'll be damned if I let history repeat itself.

"You won't touch her," I say, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. "I won't let you destroy her life like you destroyed mine."

"Tindra, unlock the car now!" I scream, my eyes never leaving my father's face.

I hear the click of the locks disengaging and make a mad dash for the driver's side door.

My fingers wrap around the handle, but before I can yank it open, my father's meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder.

I twist, breaking free of his grip, open the door, and dive into the car.

The door slams shut behind me, my trembling hands fumbling with the lock.

"Mom!" Tindra's terrified voice cuts through the chaos. "He's coming!"

I jam the key into the ignition, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

The engine roars to life just as my father's fist comes crashing through the driver's side window.

Glass rains down on me, sharp edges slicing my skin.

His fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing mercilessly. "You're not going anywhere, you little bitch," he snarls, his face contorted with rage.

I gasp for air, my vision blurring.

In the passenger seat, Tindra is screaming, her small hands clawing at my father's arm. "Let her go! Please, stop!"

The primal need to protect my daughter gives me a surge of strength.

With one hand, I grip the steering wheel.

The other fumbles for the gear shift.

"Hold on, baby," I choke out to Tindra.

I slam the car into reverse, flooring the gas pedal.

The sudden movement catches my father off guard.

His grip loosens for a split second, and I seize the opportunity.

I jerk the wheel hard, causing him to stumble.

His hand slips from my throat, and I gasp in a lungful of air.

We're moving now, tires screeching against asphalt.

I don't care where we're going; I just need to get us away from him.

My foot never leaves the gas pedal as we careen over a median, the car bouncing violently.

---