Page 10 of Property of Fox

My mother’s hand instinctively flies to my arm, trying to pull me back from the edge I’m inching toward—panic glimmers in her eyes. “Brea, please,” she whispers, but I shake her off.

“No,” I say firmly, locking eyes with Razor. “You don't get to intimidate me. Not anymore.”

He laughs softly, the sound cold and uninviting. “That’s cute, too.” Then he straightens up, running a hand through his messy hair as he assesses me. “Be a good girl, and do what you’re told.” Razor pivots, and heads back outside. I can hear him laughing from the other side of the door.

“What is wrong with you, Brea? Where is this defiance coming from all of a sudden?”

“Someone has to stand up for themselves around here, Mom. If you won’t, I will. Daddy would be ashamed of you for letting that man treat us like this.”

I feel the hard sting of her hand colliding with my face before I hear it. The shock lingers in the air, confusion spiraling within me as I touch my cheek where the sting blooms.

“How dare you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.

The room feels smaller, every wall closing in like a cage. I blink against the unexpected assault, memories flooding my mind. My father’s laugh, his kindness, the way he always fought for what was right.

“You’re no better than he is, Mom,” I spit back at her. My hand coming to cradle my stinging cheek. I don’t think. I just move as far away from her as I can, heading straight for my room and locking the door behind me. I charge for my phone, pulling up Keira’s name, and type out a text.

We’re leaving tonight. Tank’s out of town. Only problem is he has one of his guys standing guard outside.

Keira responds immediately.

Leave him to me. Get your shit ready, and I’ll text you where to meet me.

I move into action. First, grabbing the go bag that I have had packed for over a week with the essentials, clothes, toiletries, and a few keepsakes including the last picture I have of my dad. I add in the cash from my checks the last couple of weeks, and the gift cards I have left over from my last birthday that Keira and a couple of friends from work gave me. It’s not a fortune by any means, but it’s enough to get us by until I find a job.

I pause only when I hear light footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Brea, baby, I’m sorry for what I did.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” I lie through the door.

“I know it doesn’t make up for what I did, but I am making your favorite dinner tonight.”

The smell of rosemary and garlic wafts under the door, teasing my senses, but it’s a hollow promise. I can’t let myself be swayed by empty gestures anymore.

“Not hungry,” I reply, my voice calm but firm. “You should just leave me alone.”

Silence stretches, thick and unbearable. My heart thunders an erratic rhythm inside my chest, anticipation and dread entwined with every beat. I can almost hear the clock ticking down to my escape.

Maybe she doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation, or maybe she’s chosen to ignore it all along. Either way, I can’t stay here.

With unsteady hands, I zip up my bag and glance around the room one last time—books line on the shelves, reminders of how stories have always been my refuge from this world. But now those pages hold no magic for me. They're just another reminder of everything that was once mine before Tank cast his dark presence over our lives.

I feel my mom’s presence just outside my door, hesitating as if unsure whether to push past it or retreat back down the hall. The thought stings, an ache blooming in my chest like a flower trying desperately to breed hope in barren soil. But a few moments later, I hear her footsteps padding away from my door.

With a deep breath, I take one last look at the walls that have been my prison. They hold memories and ghosts of a past I can no longer abide. My heart races as I slip my phone into my pocket and creep quietly toward the door, ready to seize the moment.

I twist the doorknob gently and step out into the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with tension and an undercurrent of fear that laces every step I take. The house feels too big, every creak from the floorboards echoing like a ticking clock, counting down to my departure.

I glide down the hall towards the back door leading to the small yard—my only escape route. But as I reach for the handle, dread claws at my insides. Razor is still out there.

But I can't think about him now. With renewed determination, I push through the door and squint against the fading light. The cool air hits me like a slap.

I glance around frantically as I step into the twilight, scanning for any sign of movement. Just as I’m about to bolt across the yard to the alley on the far side, Keira’s message pings in my pocket once again.

I’m here. Meet me at the blue house on the next street over. Distraction should be arriving any time.

I start to type back what distraction when the sound of sirens come barreling up our street, stopping right outside of our house.

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