Chapter 1 - Lexa
The intoxicating, smooth scent of bourbon floods my nostrils as I raise the shot glass to my lips. I toss back the amber liquid in one gulp and wince as I put the glass down on the bar with an emphatic tap.
The bartender looks up at the sound and gives me a little nod, letting me know he’ll be over to refill my glass when he swings back this way. I nod back, lowering my eyes to the polished wood of the bar so I don’t make eye contact with anyone else.
I tap my fingers lightly on the glossy surface, trying not to show my agitation. I’ve been running so hard, and for so long, I thought exhaustion would have brought me down by now. But my blood is still sizzling with fear, making my muscles jerk involuntarily, as if my whole body is begging me to run.
I have to rest. I will die if I don’t.
The bartender taps the bottle against the glass as he fills it, giving me a brief salute before moving on again. He knows I’m not here to talk and has dutifully kept the drinks coming.
Bartenders are so good at recognizing trauma, they should probably be therapists.
I know I’ve got to stop, and soon. I simply can’t afford to keep drinking. The last of my cash is in my pocket, and it’s not much. When I fled from Grace’s Fall, there was nothing to bring with me. I didn’t own a single thing in this world. Not my clothes, my bed, or my room. Every cent I earned was taken from me. For as long as I can remember, all I’ve been able to claim is my own body.
Pain lances through me, an emotional blow so strong, it makes my eyes water. I take a tiny sip of the Jack, trying to numb myself, but it doesn’t work. I feel worse, and my lip is trembling as I try to hold back my sorrow.
Even my own body doesn’t belong to me anymore.
I slip off the bar stool and head into the shadows, sitting in a dark corner up the back of the bar. I have no idea where I’m going to go or what I’m going to do. I just want to get out of sight for a few minutes and pray that I don’t break down.
I have to keep going. A bit further northeast, and I’ll hit the border. Then they can’t come after me.
Through the slight haze of the alcohol, the truth penetrates. They absolutely will follow me across the border; I know they will. I also know that the rough country I’ve just crossed is nothing compared to what I’ll face if I keep going in this direction.
The run so far has almost killed me… but every moment I stop to rest gives them a chance to catch up.
My fingers tighten on the glass as I take another sip. Instead of calming me down, the alcohol seems to be making my anxiety worse, churning my guts into frothy waves of panic.
Great. Now I’m sick as well as dead tired and sore. As escape plans go, this wasn’t exactly smart.
I tilt the glass, swallowing the last of the shot. There was no way I could have planned better or done anything different. When I ran away from home, I did it in complete, utter panic, with no thought at all.
I remember the usual routine at home: Father would walk into the house, very late as usual. Then came an ordinary evening of verbal abuse and general degradation. Usually, I’dlisten quietly, say “Yes, sir,” and wait for him to pass out. Then I could sleep a little before the routine began again—cleaning the house, working at the factory, making his dinner, and getting yelled at the whole time that none of it was good enough.
On the night I left, Father entered the house with a big smile on his face. It was truly the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. The twisted snarl and ice-cold eyes were such a permanent fixture on him.
And everyone fears him. The whole pack does. There’s only one person in the pack anywhere near as scary as my father.
Vince.
A shudder runs through my body, and my throat burns with the edge of all the alcohol I just drank. I shake my head a little, trying to swallow my disgust.
I can’t ever let that fucker touch me! I’ll die first!
My mind strays back to fleeing over the border, and suddenly, that looks far more attractive than potentially getting caught. The idea of the pack finding my frozen body begins to have real appeal.
Then neither of those men can have me.
My father, pack alpha of Grace’s Fall, promised me to Vince, the son of his beta. Since my mother died, I’ve lived with Father in the small town under Logging Peak. We fled from him when I was very young because my mother couldn’t stand to see the abuse he rained down on her overflow onto me.
She kept me safe for years, until I almost forgot about him and the horrors we fled from. Eventually, my father hunted us down and reclaimed me, dragging me back to Grace’s Fall.
From the moment I arrived, I was a slave. I did try to run a couple of times, but the punishments were so bad, I stopped trying.
It was only the utter terror of being promised to Vince that gave me the strength to finally escape.
It didn’t hurt at all that Father was drunker than usual on this particular night. He’d celebrated a long while with other pack members at the bar, then staggered home to give me the “good” news. He felt so secure about his hold on me that he passed out on the couch, leaving his bedroom door wide open.
