hope that she was finally breaking free, and though she hadn’t expected to enjoy foster care, it had seemed like it couldn’t be any worse than living with her biological father and her boisterous uncles, all of them angry drunks, with fists that were quick to fly.
Even then, she’d known none of them would offer to keep her, even if social services would have allowed it, and she’d been right. Not one had been present when the social worker came for her a couple of days later—though they had probably cleared out to avoid being picked up for active warrants rather than feeling compelled to avoid saying an emotional (yeah, right) goodbye to their niece.
The Blakes had been lovely and warm and welcoming, and now she knew why. Even if he hadn’t been involved in the beginning, he had propped them up as her pseudo-parents, and they had gone along with it. It didn’t matter their motivations, or even if they’d thought they were doing a good thing for her. She was betrayed by the fact they had taken money to help keep her in their lives, and they’d never told her about it or hinted at any other reason for maintaining contact besides that they loved her.
He had stolen her parents from her, and she hoped it provided him a measure of comfort or satisfaction to have ripped out her heart. Maybe it would be enough for him, and he would end this farce.
And maybe she would sprout wings and fly herself back to the mainland.
Neither possibility seemed likely to occur, so she was still on her own and relying on her wits to free her from the situation.
Chapter Three
It was the middle of the night, and she hoped she had waited long enough for him to fall asleep. After hours of thinking and strategizing, she’d come to the conclusion that the only means of escape from the island was to acquire the key to the boat and the boathouse. If he kept that with him, she would have to take it when he was distracted, preoccupied, or asleep. Asleep seemed like the most likely scenario that might succeed, and she had waited tensely as the numbers slowly crept by on the clock, until it was finally two a.m.
The house was quiet and dark when she opened her door, at least as far she could see, and most importantly, his room was also dark as she crept down the hallway toward it. She held her breath as she carefully turned the knob slowly to ensure it didn’t squeak or open with a click. When she had it fully turned, she eased the door open, letting out a soft exhale when she saw his form under the covers.
He slept with the curtains open, and the full moon provided enough illumination for her to see he was on the bed, curled up in the fetal position. She was temporarily distracted by the idea that he was in pain, but she squashed the thought, reminding herself she didn’t care about his pain after all he’d inflicted on her.
With determination, and in her bare feet since she had worried the sandals would reveal her presence, she tiptoed across the hardwood floor, bracing herself for a step to squeak at any moment. Apparently, he was rich enough, or the house was high-quality enough, not to have any weak or squeaky spots in the floor.
She crossed the room silently, and he stayed in the same position the entire time, with one arm extended from the light blanket covering him. She was half-convinced her thundering heartbeat was loud enough to wake him as she reached the bed, gaze darting over the surface of the nightstand near him.
There was nothing that looked like keys there, so with a deep inhale that she held in a superstitious fashion, as though it would keep him from waking, she eased open the top drawer of the nightstand. Looking down, she couldn’t make out many details of what she saw, but her eyes widened when the moonlight reflected off the silver barrel of a gun.
She let out a cry of shock when his hand fastened around her wrist, pulling her on top of him as he rolled her over and pinned her to the bed underneath his body. She
Even then, she’d known none of them would offer to keep her, even if social services would have allowed it, and she’d been right. Not one had been present when the social worker came for her a couple of days later—though they had probably cleared out to avoid being picked up for active warrants rather than feeling compelled to avoid saying an emotional (yeah, right) goodbye to their niece.
The Blakes had been lovely and warm and welcoming, and now she knew why. Even if he hadn’t been involved in the beginning, he had propped them up as her pseudo-parents, and they had gone along with it. It didn’t matter their motivations, or even if they’d thought they were doing a good thing for her. She was betrayed by the fact they had taken money to help keep her in their lives, and they’d never told her about it or hinted at any other reason for maintaining contact besides that they loved her.
He had stolen her parents from her, and she hoped it provided him a measure of comfort or satisfaction to have ripped out her heart. Maybe it would be enough for him, and he would end this farce.
And maybe she would sprout wings and fly herself back to the mainland.
Neither possibility seemed likely to occur, so she was still on her own and relying on her wits to free her from the situation.
Chapter Three
It was the middle of the night, and she hoped she had waited long enough for him to fall asleep. After hours of thinking and strategizing, she’d come to the conclusion that the only means of escape from the island was to acquire the key to the boat and the boathouse. If he kept that with him, she would have to take it when he was distracted, preoccupied, or asleep. Asleep seemed like the most likely scenario that might succeed, and she had waited tensely as the numbers slowly crept by on the clock, until it was finally two a.m.
The house was quiet and dark when she opened her door, at least as far she could see, and most importantly, his room was also dark as she crept down the hallway toward it. She held her breath as she carefully turned the knob slowly to ensure it didn’t squeak or open with a click. When she had it fully turned, she eased the door open, letting out a soft exhale when she saw his form under the covers.
He slept with the curtains open, and the full moon provided enough illumination for her to see he was on the bed, curled up in the fetal position. She was temporarily distracted by the idea that he was in pain, but she squashed the thought, reminding herself she didn’t care about his pain after all he’d inflicted on her.
With determination, and in her bare feet since she had worried the sandals would reveal her presence, she tiptoed across the hardwood floor, bracing herself for a step to squeak at any moment. Apparently, he was rich enough, or the house was high-quality enough, not to have any weak or squeaky spots in the floor.
She crossed the room silently, and he stayed in the same position the entire time, with one arm extended from the light blanket covering him. She was half-convinced her thundering heartbeat was loud enough to wake him as she reached the bed, gaze darting over the surface of the nightstand near him.
There was nothing that looked like keys there, so with a deep inhale that she held in a superstitious fashion, as though it would keep him from waking, she eased open the top drawer of the nightstand. Looking down, she couldn’t make out many details of what she saw, but her eyes widened when the moonlight reflected off the silver barrel of a gun.
She let out a cry of shock when his hand fastened around her wrist, pulling her on top of him as he rolled her over and pinned her to the bed underneath his body. She
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