The Boss's Runaway

I’m suddenly very aware that I’m the only one in the usually bustling locker room.

The waitressing night shift is about the begin, but the day waitresses haven’t yet left the floor. It’s turnover time and there’s no sound, save the dripping of a leaky shower nozzle.

I’ve been so wrapped up in Locke and growing accustomed to my new life in Vegas that I’ve barely spared a worry that my father would come and find me. I’m a legal adult. Yes, he has made a practice out of controlling me my whole life, but searching for me? Dragging me home when I’m old enough to be out on my own? That would be kidnapping—

I’ve barely managed to finish the thought when a familiar, calloused hand claps over my mouth and I’m dragged toward the rear emergency exit, the metal door banging off the wall at being shoved open so hard. Horror is like quicksilver in my veins, shock stopping me from reacting right away and then it’s too late, I’m outside.

Being pulled toward the parked car he’s owned since I was a child.

No. Oh my God, please. No.

Locke.

I start to fight, kicking backward to strike his shins. It surprises him, because I’ve never fought back before, but I’m not letting him take me. Not letting him steal my newfound happiness. Not happening.

“You want to tango, bitch?” His hands close around my throat and tighten, cutting off my air passage, but I struggle mightily, refusing to give up.

At least until I feel the muzzle of a gun pressing to my temple.

“Yeah, that’s right. Who’s in charge now?” He digs the metal into the side of my forehead. “Thought I’d just walk in here and demand you get your ass in the car, so I could bring you back home to work, like you were meant to do. To serve this family. But then I saw that big fella you’ve been rutting with. So I went and picked up a little ammunition.”

Tears cloud my vision. “I’ll run away again. I’ll keep running away again and again for the rest of my life. And that’s the best case scenario for you, because I pity what will happen to you if my future husband tracks you down.”

“Future husband,” he sneers, spitting on the ground. “He’s just making promises to get those legs to open sesame. Every man I’ve ever brought to the farm tried to buy you off me. They wanted to get you married and breeding as soon as you hit eighteen. At first I was annoyed over their weak flesh, but I came around to the idea. You’re my property, ain’t you? And you ran off before I could make a good deal.”

Shock renders me momentarily still. “You…you wanted to sell me?”

“No. I am going to sell you. Might get a little less cash for you now that you’ve tarnished yourself with that bull, but I’ll still come away with enough to live comfortably for the rest of my days.”

A wrench turns in my sternum. “Does my mother know?”

“She goes along with the decisions I make.” He continues dragging me backward toward the car, ignoring my cries to stop. “You could learn a thing or two from her, you unruly brat.”

“Stop!” I cling to the edge of the car, but he’s stronger and manages to push me into the back seat. “Please. Just let me live my life.”

He ignores me. “There’s a pen and paper down there in the footwell. You’re going to write your fiancé a letter breaking off the relationship, so he doesn’t come looking.” He points his gun at the diamond on my finger. “Give me that. We’ll leave it with the letter to make it convincing.”

“I’m not writing it.”

“Oh yes you will.” My father cocks the gun, murder in his eyes. He’s gone mad. Perhaps he wants to bring me back to Nebraska to make him money, but after scoring his pride, I think he’d be just as satisfied knowing I’m dead. Unable to shame him any further. Maybe he was always a little crazy and me running away pushed him over the edge. Whatever the reason, I can’t be positive he won’t pull the trigger. Better to placate him now and wait for an opportunity to run while we’re on the road back to Nebraska.

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I pick up the pen and paper, crying while I write the words he demands of me, verbatim. As soon as I sign the bottom of the page, I’m being knocked out with the blow from the butt of his gun, cutting off my scream and turning it into a choked whisper of Locke’s name.

Locke

When Sissy doesn’t emerge from the women’s lounge at the time we agreed upon, I know something is wrong right away. She’s never late. She knows I worry. And there is fire crackling in my bones that I haven’t experienced before. It’s not just panic, it’s the sense that I’ve missed something important. I’ve neglected to cover a base.