Page 68 of Harbor (The Wanderers 3)

No one came.

Eyes squeezed tight. Body rigid. Tears threatening to fall.

No one came.

She pursed her lips, knowing she was no longer in Dario’s room in the underground clinic where three men had stolen her heart.

Shit.

She wasn’t the strong, badass woman who roamed the countryside making sure she could save as many people as she could. Wandered relentlessly, always looking for people, pleased every time she managed to save someone else.

Shit.

She curled into herself, no longer an adult. She was a girl. Just twelve years old. She was sheltered because her mother had kept her out of sight for so many years.

Maya curled into a tighter ball, willing the box to shut back up tight. It didn’t though. It flung itself wide open instead, taunting her.

Maybe if she lay very still.

No one came.

“Maya?” The male voice sounded far away. It sounded kind. It didn’t match her memory.

She scrunched down deeper under the covers. She shouldn’t respond. She needed to remain very quiet. Maybe the person would go away if she didn’t acknowledge them. She held her breath. Stay very still.

“Maya?” The voice was louder now, closer. Over her. It was a man. Definitely not her mother. Where was her mother?

When a hand landed on her shoulder, she flinched and then bolted to sitting, yanked out of the stupid memory, panting and confused.

Keanu was standing next to her, his brow furrowed. “Hon? What happened? Are you okay?” He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her face.

She glanced around frantically. She needed to get out of here. She was suffocating. Claustrophobia kicked in, making the walls close in on her. “I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

She scrambled away from him, slid off the other side of the bed, and found her clothes on the dresser where Dario had left them.

Ignoring Keanu even though she could feel him behind her, she dressed quickly in her underwear, T-shirt, and leggings. The outfit was all wrong for her.

“Where are my things?” she asked him as she spun around. “My pack?”

He drew in a breath. “It’s in the living room, but what’s going on?”

“This isn’t me,” she told him. Couldn’t he see that?

“What’s not you?” He followed her to the living room.

Dario was standing at the table. A plate of food sat in the spot where she usually ate. He’d made her breakfast. She remembered.

She ignored his odd expression and found her backpack in the corner. After quickly pulling out her leather vest and dark jeans, she turned and headed for the bathroom. She would change alone this time.

She felt frantic as she tugged off the leggings and stepped into her jeans, wincing when she put her weight on one leg. It wasn’t healed enough. She wasn’t ready. She shouldn’t leave. But she had to.

Suddenly the world was caving in on her. Smothering her. Crowding her. She had to get out of here. Now. Before she lost her mind. She couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air. She swiped at her eyes, surprised to be able to see clearly. Where were the clouds of dust and debris?

She looked around, jolted back to the present. She was in the clinic. Right. She looked in the mirror. Her eyes were frantic and wild. Her hair was too. Why was it down loose around her shoulders? It was hanging long down her back. She never wore it like this.

Lifting her arms, she combed through it with her fingers and made quick work of braiding it down her back. Digging into her jeans pocket, she found a hair tie and secured the end. It was a mess, but it would have to do. She had to get out of this bunker.

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