Harley (Cerberus MC)

Even with my dulled senses, I can conjure those feelings I got when I received the letter, reminding me that the fall semester will have to be attended in person. The classes I have remaining for my senior year aren’t offered online.

That’s why I’m in Farmington, New Mexico, planning to live with people I don’t know. I’d never get back to normal in Nebraska, and this is a last-ditch effort, a summer to get my head back on straight so I can return home and get back to my normal life.

I attempt a smile when I spot Grace waving to me outside the tiny airport. I don’t think my face manages it, though.

“How was your flight?” she asks when I approach.

“Fine,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on the man standing beside her.

I blame my father for my lack of trust in men, but before I was taken, it was more promise based distrust. I’ve been lied to and have had promises broken for years by my father.

After my abduction, I have a hard time trusting men, and women now, since Karen Bishop helped Ronald Higgle abduct both Grace and me, only it’s more than just broken vows that make me keep my eyes on the man.

“This is Trenton,” Grace introduces.

The man gives me a nod, and I’m grateful he doesn’t extend his hand. I’d have to leave it hanging in the air, and that would make things extremely awkward.

“Nice to meet you,” I tell him.

“Can I take your bags?”

I give him a quick nod, making sure not to touch him when I pass the strap of my carry-on and roll my suitcase in his direction.

“You’re safe,” Grace whispers when Trenton takes my things to the back of the SUV. “There will be a lot of men at the clubhouse, but they would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. I promise.”

I nod because I could never voice my doubts. Deep down, I know that most people are inherently good, but my trauma just won’t let me accept it.

“You’ll see. Come on.” Grace opens the back door to the SUV before stepping to the side so I can climb inside.

The ride is dulled by the medication I took. I know I should be nervous, but my body just can’t manage it. I don’t plan to ever take Xanax again. I hate the way it makes me feel disconnected from the world.

“This is—” My words cut off because my opinions about the clubhouse, as Grace called it before, don’t matter. If anything, speaking my mind might sound ungrateful, and I’m not. I’m very thankful that Grace suggested I come to New Mexico. I can only pray that a change of scenery, away from the place I was taken, is enough to help me heal from what has happened.

“If you need anything while you’re here, all you have to do is ask,” Trenton says as we climb out of the SUV. “We’ll get your bags later.”

I nod in acknowledgment, but I know I’ll never request another thing. The people here are already giving me so much and getting hardly anything in return.

“I’m excited to get started in the daycare,” I say instead.

The job was offered to me whenever I was ready, and since I worked in a daycare to save money for college, I’m grateful that experience is going to come in handy.

“No one expects you to work today, but the daycare is open right now,” Grace explains as we step inside of the clubhouse.

Even the medicine I took doesn’t control every ounce of the anxiety my body is suffering when we step inside, and I spot all the people milling around.

Muscular men turn to look at me, and although Grace mentioned they’d never do anything to make me uncomfortable, my body doesn’t heed the comfort she offered. My first instinct is to cower away, but I’m hours from home and crawling back now would only be another failure. I’ve had too many of them recently. Instead, I straighten my spine, figuring I can fake it until I feel it genuinely.

“You’re safe,” Grace whispers, a reminder I didn’t know I needed until she spoke the words.

“Okay,” I tell her, attempting a fake smile and failing.

“You’ll get to know everyone soon enough, but for now, let’s meet Emmalyn, Misty, and Khloe. They’re the ones who started the daycare you’ll be working at.”

Several of the people standing around and chatting give me little waves, and a couple give me quick head nods before returning to their conversations. I nod in return, grateful that no one approaches me.

“And you must be Alyssa,” a woman says as she approaches. “I’m Emmalyn.”

“She’s married to Kincaid, the club president,” Grace explains as the woman smiles at me.

“Think of me as sort of the den mother,” Emmalyn says. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alyssa.”