Taken by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)

There's a knock on my door. I've locked it, which is the only kind of defiance I can put up right now. I know they can poke the lock open if they really want to. Fancy estate or not, our door knobs work like in most homes. Privacy, as long as the person outside isn't too insistent.

But I don't answer anyway.

“Emily, open up. It's me.”

If Mom thinks that I'm any more interested in seeing her than I am Dad, then she really doesn't understand what's going on. She's supported him through all this. She saw what he did to me.

“Go away.”

“I'm coming in.”

Of course she is. A moment later, the lock clicks and the door opens. Mom tucks the hairpin back in her hair, capturing the stray strands it released before she pushed the lock open with it. And then she's back to looking perfect, a blonde bombshell squeezed into a white dress that is just conservative enough to be motherly, yet revealing enough to be sexy. Just what one expects from the wife of a wealthy politician.

“I'm worried about you.”

“Then let me leave. The only thing dangerous to me right now is staying here.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare her down. She's the first one to look away, which surprises me. That never happened before my time with the Screaming Eagles.

“You know I can't do that. Your father would never allow it.” For once, even she seems bothered by how Dad's behaving. Did he finally go too far for her too?

Or is this just a trap? He hasn't been back after pushing me around, too busy running around being mayor in a crisis that he's basically invented himself. I see that now, even if before the guys kidnapped me—rescued me?—I never would've realized.

“So why are you here, then? To tell me it'll be okay and that he's just pretending I'm dead for now? What's going to happen to me? As long as I'm here, I'm a threat to him. And if he sends me away without watching me every moment, I'm still a threat to him. What do you think he'll do?” My voice rises in a way I've never dared to raise it at my mother before. When I was younger, she would still me with a sharp rebuke, to make sure it didn't seem like Dad didn't have control over his family. But now she just fixes her gaze on the floor, kind of like what I would do when I was in trouble for something.

It's like the tables have turned, and I'm not sure why or what I can do with it.

“I don't know.” She looks around the room like she's never been here before, then sits down on my bed. She's still not meeting my eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

“Do you? Not as much as you do Dad, at least. You've never taken my side for anything.” Turning my back to her, I go back to the window and pretend I can fly out through it.

“There were a lot of times I wanted to. I just—you know how he can get. He's so irritable sometimes.”

Now that's one way of putting it. Irritable. Irritably throwing me around. Understatement of the freaking year, but if it helps her feel better about herself…

Maybe I should feel some sympathy. I know how he treated me. It would be naive to believe that he treats her any better. Maybe there's a reason she's so good with her makeup, beyond wanting to look good for him. But she's my mother. She's supposed to protect me, not use me for a shield. That's the whole point, so please excuse me if I don't.

“You're still taking his side. Even after all this. After he chose to sacrifice me to the bikers for his career, and when he realized that didn't work either, decided to declare me dead. You realize how this sounds, right?”

When I say “dead”, she winces and her expression tightens, like she's been trying to ignore that part.

“The truth is still the truth, even if you don't like hearing it.”

“You've changed.” Her tone is hard to figure out. I can't tell if she thinks it's a good thing or not.

“A lot of things have happened lately. Now what do you want? Did you just come here to bother me, or is there a real reason behind it? I can brood just fine on my own.”

“I want to help you.”

“Jesus, Mom.” Up until now I had at least a little control of my feelings, but her coming in as if it's supposed to be some kind of freaking favor or whatever strips even that away. “Your intentions are wonderful. I'm so glad you're here to tell me that, so you can have a better conscience when you go back to hoping Dad won't get too irritable. Get out.”