Chapter 1There were only two ways to escape a psycho stepbrother: in a body bag, or on the run.
Zero hesitation. Sloane was picking option two.
She held her breath and cracked the door open just a sliver. The hinges turned silently, and only then did she dare to slowly release the breath trapped in her throat.
Thank God.
She gripped her backpack strap, slipping into the hallway and easing the door shut. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silence.
But as she passed Brody's room, a sudden noise froze her.
Sloane didn't dare breathe. She stared dead at that closed door, paralyzed. Waiting for the monster.
Seconds passed. Nothing. He had just rolled over in his sleep.
She let out a shaky breath. Crisis averted.
She crept past the rest of the hallway, fingers trembling as she worked the chain free on the front door.
Click.
The outside air rushed in, cold and sharp. Sloane didn't even look back. Shedodged the porch step that always creaked—a landmine she'd memorized the hard way—and bolted.
She ran the eight blocks in the dark, pushing her legs faster than she had ever run in her life. Like the devil himself was snapping at her heels.
By the time she crashed into the shelter of the bus stop, her lungs were burning, and her throat tasted like copper.
Sloane quickly yanked her hoodie down, shoving her wild red curls inside, shrinking into the shadows.A terrified, exhausted ninja.
4:45 AM. Fifteen minutes until the first bus.
Pure torture.
She kept her head down, white-knuckling her backpack strap. Except for the three hundred dollars she'd swiped from her pocket, everything she owned was in that bag. The money was from her stepdad. It wasn't much, but considering he'd seized her entire inheritance, she figured they were even.
Actually? Consider it a down payment for the years of therapy she was going to need.
Thoughts of her dad hit her then, and that familiar ripping sensation clawed at her chest.
If he were still here, she wouldn't be in this mess. Her stepdad was a bastard, but Brody? Brody was a nightmare with biceps. Built like a tank, his only joy in life was making her suffer.
Just last night—her eighteenth birthday—Brody and his friends had cornered her, spewing filth.
Honestly? She'd wanted to rip his face off.
But she was overpowered. If she could have fought back, she wouldn't have spent two years in hell.
But she was done enduring. She'd made a promise to herself: turn eighteen, get out.
It was the only way. No one was dragging her back to that nightmare. Not even her mom.
She had tried to persuade her mom to leave, but it was useless. Going back now would just be a suicide mission for both of them.
Sloane blinked, forcing back the hot tears stinging her eyes.Nope. Save the breakdown for later.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her.
Adrenaline dumped into her veins.She spun around.
A guy with a leather bag was heading her way. Sloane dropped her gaze instantly, pretending to look at her shoes, but her body went rigid as stone.
Calm down. Just calm down.
The man got closer. Alarms screamed in her head to run. She didn't recognize him, but that meant nothing. Brody had plenty of sketchy friends. Who knew if this was just another new face trying to impress that piece of trash?
She tried to steady her breathing. Seriously, Universe? Where the hell is that bus?
Without a phone , the wait felt like it was killing her. Finally, unable to take the suspense anymore, she risked a glance up.
Her breath hitched.
The man was staring dead at her.
Before she could even react, he raised his phone.
Click.
Chapter 2
The shutter click was deafening in the quiet street.
Sloane's stomach dropped. Oh, hell no.
She didn't think. She just spun around and bolted.
But the man was fast.Freakishly fast. Instantly, he was sprinting after her. She didn't dare look back, but the rapid thud-thud-thud of footsteps was getting closer. Too close.
Desperate, she dove into an alleyway, shoving heavy trash cans into his path. She risked a glance back—and her blood ran cold. The guy cleared them in a single, effortless leap.
Damn it.Since when do meatheads know parkour?
Rounding the corner, Sloane made a split-second decision. She wound up her arm and hurled her backpack hard to the left, while she sprinted right.
That bag held everything she owned.But breathing? Breathing was non-negotiable.
She glanced over her shoulder. The guy had instinctively lunged for the bag. Yes!
But just then, a familiar voice boomed like thunder.
"Brody."
Fear spiked through her veins like high voltage. Her legs turned to jelly, and she stumbled, nearly face-planting into the concrete.
It's over.Of course he's here. Because why would anything go right?
At least two people were chasing her, and both were faster. How could she possibly outrun them? Was she going to die here today? Spectacularly?
Just as despair threatened to drown her, she saw it. A rusty, diesel-fumed miracle.
At the mouth of the alley, a bus was just starting to pull away.
Sloane sprinted toward it like a madwoman, waving her arms frantically. Luckily, it was slow to start. The doors hissed open the second she reached them. She threw herself inside, and the doors snapped shut behind her.
Gasping for air, Sloane checked the wad of cash in her pocket. Thank God. She'd taken the three hundred out of her bag earlier.Small victories.
She shoved the fare into the machine and ducked into a window seat, pulling her hoodie tight.
Through the glass, she saw Brody and the bag-guy storm onto the platform just seconds too late. Brody made a move to chase the bus, but the other guy grabbed his shoulder, holding him back.
Brody snatched her backpack from the guy's grip and slammed it onto the ground in a blind rage. He snapped his head up, eyes locking onto hers.Pure, burning hatred.
She knew that look.Pure, unhinged malice.He wanted to tear her limb from limb.
He pulled out a glinting switchblade and pointed it straight at her through the window.
Next time I see you, you're dead.
Sloane understood the threat. A cold shiver raked down her spine. Message received, you psycho.
The bus rounded the corner. The nightmare disappeared. She slumped into her seat.
But she couldn't relax yet. She glanced at the route sign at the front, and her blood went cold again.
Fixed route. Unless Brody was an idiot—which, unfortunately, he wasn't—he'd drive to the next stop to cut her off.
She had less than twenty minutes.
Think. Think.
She stood up, yanked out her hair tie, and let her messy curls fall. Time to channel her inner damsel in distress.
Even if it tasted like bile.
"Excuse me," she said,leaning toward the driver.
He didn't even turn. "Ma'am, take your seat. Pull the cord for the next stop."
"No, um..." She stammered. "I really need to get off before the next stop. Please..."
"No unauthorized stops. That's the rule." Impatience dripped from his voice. "Take. Your. Seat."
"But it's an emergency! I—"
"Sit down right now, or I call the police to meet us at the next stop." He snapped his head around, glaring.
Fantastic. A rule-follower.
Tears stung her eyes. Ignoring the stares from other passengers, she slunk back to her seat.
Great. Just great.
No one was going to help her. No one ever did. Why start now?
She sat down, forcing herself to breathe. But panic was rising like a tidal wave.
If she didn't figure this out, Brody would find her in minutes.
Not happening.
Chapter 3
Sloane's eyes swept the bus like a radar. Back and forth.
Every mile brought her closer to that hell. Brody was definitely waiting at the next stop, knife in hand, ready to finish what he started.
I can't just sit here and die.
Suddenly, her gaze locked onto a window near the back.
That's the one.
Sloane turned, forcing her trembling hands to still. She stood up, head down, and casually walked to the empty seat in the back. She sat and glanced at the window.Tight fit, but she could squeeze through.
She scanned the bus again. People were glued to their phones or dozing off. No one was watching her corner.
Good.
She kneeled on the seat, reaching for the latches. She held her breath.
Don't make a sound. Don't make a sound... God, thank you.
She quickly handled the side latches. Now just the top one. It was awkward; she had to stand to reach it. That meant seconds of being totally exposed to everyone. She had to be fast.
Click. Done.
She dropped back into her seat, heart hammering, forcing herself to take deep breaths.Time to commit to the insanity.
She knew the second she pushed that window, the alarm would scream. She had to scramble out like a rat before anyone reacted. As for the fall?
Compared to Brody's knife? A broken leg was basically a spa day.
She couldn't wait any longer. The next stop was too close.
Sloane sucked in a breath and shoved the window open hard.
BEEP—!!!
The ear-splitting alarm blasted instantly. Chaos erupted inside—screams, shouts. But Sloane didn't care. She planted her hands and vaulted out the window.
She hit the concrete hard.
Pain shattered through her knees and shoulders. Momentum sent her rolling across the ground, scraping off layers of skin.
She bounced up before she even stopped rolling.Adrenaline spiked,numbing the agony instantly.
Two words screamed in her brain:
Run. Now.
The driver's curses faded behind her as she dove into a residential area. She tore through lawns, sprinting through the narrow gaps between houses like a fugitive. Which, technically, she was.
She ran until her lungswere screaming,finally bursting out onto a street corner.
Glancing at a street sign, she got her bearings. If she remembered right, there was a major bus hub a few blocks over.
She didn't slow down. She sprinted straight for it.
Please let there be a bus. Come on, Universe. Throw me a bone.
She risked a look back. Empty. Good. She lost them.
Nearing the stop, she forced herself to slow down,Switch flipped. From fugitive mode to normal pedestrian in a split second.She roughly shoved her messy red hair back into her hood, adjusting her breathing, hiding the wreckage of her appearance under her hoodie.
A few people were waiting. Sloane walked over, deliberately avoiding eye contact, standing alone in the shadows. She tried to look casual, but only she knew her palms were slick with cold sweat.
The wait was pure torture.
Finally, the bus rumbled into view. A noisy, beautiful chariot.
Sloane scanned the area vigilantly until it stopped.She wanted to rush the doors, but logic held her back. She forced herself to wait in line. Paid. Boarded.
Once on, she scanned every passenger at lightning speed.
Luck was on her side. All strangers. No one looked twice.
Safe.
Sloane kept her head down and beelined for the back corner. She sank into the seat, eyes glued to the door, screaming internally: Close the door. Go. Stop stalling.
Only when the doors hissed shut and the bus shuddered into motion did her nerves finally uncoil a fraction.
She leaned her head against the cold window, trying to soothe her heart, which felt like it was about to explode. She checked the digital sign at the front.
Next Stop: Marietta.
About a twenty-five-minute ride. It was a big hub; easier to vanish in the crowd.
Sloane tried to relax. Her eyelids felt heavy as lead, but she didn't dare close them.
Because in her world? Blink, and you bleed.
