Moving to the happiest fucking place on Earth had nothing to do with fairy tales or finding my Prince Charming. Thanks to my daddy, I no longer believed in magic or happily ever afters. I landed in this city because this was the land of hotels, conventions, and destination weddings, which meant it was my best bet at becoming an event planner.

I didn’t hate being a seamstress, but it wasn’t my dream, it was my mama’s. I never told her that I’d rather be on the other side, planning the events where people wore the fancy clothes, costumes, and uniforms.

I never got the chance.

During my freshman year of high school, she had her first stroke, spoke with a slur, and relied a little more on me. But just before my senior year, Mama had her second stroke, and someone needed to keep the business going to pay the bills, so I took over. Because Daddy was long gone, he had no use for an invalid wife, and no interest in raising a teenage daughter who hated him.

I told myself repeatedly that Mama would have wanted me to follow my dream, even if it meant hers was gone. Though, I doubted that included buying a motorcycle.

I brushed the wetness away then strapped on my helmet and headed to my motorcycle. Ever since binge watching Sons of Anarchy, I wanted to be badass. Okay, not like crime badass. Just the I-look-cool-on-this-bike kind of badass. So, after I unpacked my last box, I went out and purchased a Harley Sportster. I couldn’t wait to start the engine and let the wind whip across my face. It was cathartic. As the engine roared to life, I replayed the words my teacher said just a few weeks ago during motorcycle safety class.

Ease up on the throttle.

Hold steady.

Don’t freak.

The bike will go where your eyes go.

I found myself twisting the throttle a little more than I should have, and a small smile pulled at my lips.

I shifted gears and headed to the service road around the Mall at Millennia, Orlando’s version of Rodeo Drive. Since I lived in metro Orlando, finding somewhere to practice riding wasn’t easy. There were always constant road improvements or tourists who drove like idiots reversing down the interstate because they missed the fucking exit. So, the rarely traversed area behind the mall was one of the best places to practice.

It was also one of the only places I’d practiced. I stayed within a five-mile radius of my home, but I needed to get comfortable and feel confident so I could take my bike out for a long ride, let the sun shine down on my face and forget the reality that was my life.

After a few laps around the mall, I pulled my bike into a parking spot, headed inside to grab a drink, and was walking back out to my bike when two men dressed all in black cut between two cars.

They reminded me of Crabbe and Goyle from the Harry Potter movies, and I was still watching them from the corner of my eye when they broke into a run. There was nothing oaf-like or klutzy about them. Maybe they had just robbed Tiffany’s or Cartier? That didn’t seem right, though. There were no security guards chasing them. No alarms going off or police cruisers peeling into the lot.

Eyebrows dipping, I paused. Watching.

The two men zigzagged through another section of cars, and the one on the left pointed in my direction. In that earth-shattering moment it connected—they were after me. I ran. Fuck. I had no clue what to do. I would never be able to start my bike and get away quick enough. Their footsteps got closer then stopped. I turned around just as the two men separated, one going left the other going right, moving in an arc around me. They were corralling me like a caged animal.

“Help!” I shouted just before a hand clamped over my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” a husky voice commanded. I didn’t. I continued to try to scream as I kicked and hit him. Biting. I raked my nails down his forearm, his face, his shoulder—wherever I could dig my nails. I wasn’t going with these men willingly.

People say your life flashes before your eyes in times of crisis, when what they mean is that you replay your life in slow motion.

In those brief moments, it seemed as if I relived that day when everything seemed to unravel.

Mama sitting at her sewing table as she looked up and hollered, “Close that door. You weren’t born in a barn.”

And I’d had it, she kept forgiving him. “Why do you stay married to him? All day long Billie Sue Werner ran around school telling the entire freshman class that her mama saw Daddy parked by the railroad tracks with Ms. Kinney, and they were ‘going at it.’ It’s the same thing Daddy does almost every night just with different women. You know it, I know it, the whole town knows it, Mama. And they’re laughing at us.”

I marched back through the house and slammed the door shut. This was just one of the many things I hated about living in a small town, everybody knew your business, and nothing ever changed.

“You go get your homework done, you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you. But do you hear me? Mama, I’m serious. I’m leaving. I can take no more.”

That was when Mama’s face took on an ashen appearance and she collapsed.

I learned real fast how wrong I was, I could take more. In fact, it was shoved down my throat, heaped on my shoulders, and I was still taking it.

The brief flash from my past was shattered by the smell of days-old sweat on the man holding me. My body revolted, my mouth went watery, and my stomach lurched with the sour taste curdling on my tongue. I was going to vomit, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“Fucking watch it, man. We ain’t supposed to hurt her, just scare her.” The guy I nicknamed Crabbe had a Hispanic accent and seemed a bit uncomfortable about what they were doing.

I broke free from the Goyle-dude as he argued back.

Scare me? Scare me? What the fuck? “Help!” My shout rang out across the parking lot. “Fine. You scared me. Let me go!”

They came at me again, obviously not convinced that I was scared enough. They circled me, Crabbe in front and Goyle-dude at my back. The guy behind me wrapped his arms around my chest, restraining me and lifted me off the ground. The toes of my left shoe scraped the concrete, giving me just enough leverage to pull my leg back and aim for the fat guy’s nuts.

“Help!” I shouted again and again until my throat burned

Someone had to hear me. There had to be someone! I refused to cry, not yet, not there, I needed to get a grip on at least one of these men. Anything. Anywhere. These bastards, whoever they were, were not going to get away with what they were trying to do. I had to break free long enough to pull off their damn masks, at least one of their masks. If I survived, I wanted to be able to identify these sons of bitches. I didn’t get the chance, though.

Untrimmed nails bit into my ankles as the other thug grabbed my legs.

“Let’s go,” Goyle-dude ordered.

I bucked, twisted, and tried to get away as they carried me like a piece of furniture.

Then I heard it, a shout in the distance.

“Police! Freeze!”

In their haste to escape, the men dropped me, I scrambled to right myself and get my feet under me. My head snapped back, pain shot through my scalp as one of the men grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed me forward. My face met the hood of a car with a sickening crack. The wet heat of my own blood and searing pain were the only things I registered before the man yanked back one more time. I didn’t have time to put my hands up as my face barreled toward a window and I hit the car again, this time with enough force to knock me out.

I awoke on the ground, the burning hot pavement seared through my skin and deep down to my bones. Tiny pieces of gravel and sand pressed into my skin. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there, but I was hyperaware and could feel every single pebble and grain.

Gentle fingers wrapped around my wrist that rested at my side. I felt the brush of a watchband against my palm and scratch of calluses over my skin. Somehow, I was alert enough to process that this was a man’s hand. He pressed two fingers to the underside of my wrist. It took a few more seconds to realize that he was checking for a pulse, and then the fear set in that my attackers were back.

I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move, I ached too badly.

“Help,” I begged, but my voice sounded like a gurgle, a sound that even I didn’t recognize escaping my lips.

Lights flashed around me. I didn’t understand where all the lights were coming from. My mind too clouded with fear, it took me several seconds to realize that they were prisms dancing in tiny shards of glass that surrounded me.

The hand on my wrist was gone, and a moment later, a man’s face came into my field of vision.

“Can you hear me? I am Deputy Kayson Christakos; I’m here to rescue you. Paramedics are on the way. Don’t try to move. You’re safe.”

Blink.

Our eyes locked.

Blink.

I saw stars. No . . . a star. Then I passed out, again.