Page 5 of Nikolai

He sucks in a sharp breath just before his feature turns murderous. One thing about Sam is he's very protective of those he cares about. "What the fuck, Leah. Who did this to you? I'm going to fucking kill them." His nostrils flare.

His concern does me in, and I break down. A cry escapes pass my lips, and Sam doesn't hesitate to take me into his arms. I ignore the pain in my side when he squeezes me. Only my flinch doesn't go unnoticed. His body stiffens, and he gently pushes me off his chest. His eyes drop to my torso. "Show me."

Sam's eyes blaze with intensity, and I bravely do as he demands. Lifting my sweatshirt over my ribs, I show him the damage my father left behind.

"Leah," Sam grits. "Who did this to you?"

"My father," I choke on my words with a steady stream of tears running down my face.

"I…" I suck in a deep breath. "He's making me go home and quit school."

"Hold up. Slow down, sweetheart. Your father did this to you?"

I nod. "Yes. My father has been watching me and knows I'm living here—about going to Crossroads. I broke the rules, Sam."

His jaw ticks. "He did this to you because you went out to a bar, and you're living with me?"

I cry harder. "Yes. I screwed up. I wasn't careful enough. I just wanted to have a normal life. I wanted to have friends. I thought I could be happy and hide it from him," I hiccup.

"Shh." Sam pulls me to his chest. "Everything is going to be okay."

"It's never going to be okay, Sam. Never."

* * *

A shuffling noisestartles me from sleep. Opening my eyes, I find myself lying on my bed. I don't even remember falling asleep. Sam must have put me here. Reaching for my glasses on the table beside the bed, I slide them on then look at the time. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning. I spot Sam standing at my closet, stuffing my things into a garbage bag. "Sam, what are you doing?"

He peers at me over his shoulder. "We're leaving. I'm not letting you go back home to that bastard. I'm taking you away from here and away from him."

My heart rate picks up, and a knot forms in my stomach. "I can't do that. My father…" I don't get the words out before Sam cuts me off and fully faces me.

"You are not going back, Leah," he says adamantly.

"My dad will find me and drag me home. I can't hide from him, Sam. He's a cop. He has his ways."

Sam drops the garbage bag to the floor and sits on the bed next to me. "Do you want to go back? Tell me the truth."

I shake my head. "I never want to see him again. But…"

"No buts. You're not going back. All I ask is you trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust me to handle this?"

Sam is my best friend. I don't hesitate to answer. "Yes." My response comes out shaky. I'm terrified. I've thought about running away a million times, but with no money of my own and no place to go, leaving has never been possible. Sam is giving me an out. So, no matter how scared I am, I have to try and escape that monster.

"We'll only take what we need for now. I'll come back for the rest later."

Panic starts seeping in. "Sam, what if my dad has someone watching me now. How am I going to leave here with you without him knowing?"

"I have that covered. After you fell asleep, I left and parked my truck in the parking lot on the backside of the complex and came back through the patio door. We're leaving now. I'll get us a hotel room." Sam shoves the last of my clothes into the bag and ties it. "This is the last of what you'll need for now. Everything else is in the truck. Grab your purse. It's time to go."

My head starts to spin with how fast everything is happening. "Are you sure about all this, Sam?"

"Hell yeah, I'm sure. Now come on. Let's get you up."

Sam helps me stand from the bed. He holds my coat open so that I can slide my arms in, and then I grab my purse. Opening the sliding glass door that leads out to the back patio, Sam tosses the garbage bag over the rail. He then climbs over before helping me do the same "It's a bit of a walk to the truck. Can you make it, or do you want me to carry you?"

"I think I can make it."

Keeping his arm wrapped around me for support, Sam and I make our way through the wooded area behind our apartment until we reach the opposite side of the complex where his truck is parked. Sam tosses the garbage bag into the back, then jogs around to the passenger side to help me climb inside. Once he settles into the driver seat, he cranks the heat up full blast. I turn, reach over and grab hold of his arm, squeezing it. I go to open my mouth to thank him, but the words get stuck in my throat. I cry for what seems like the millionth time in twenty-four hours. Luckily, words aren't needed. Sam gives me a reassuring look just before shifting the truck into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

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