Now when I look out at the streets below me, I don’t think about who’s going to come and rescue me. I think about how I’m going to bust my ass to get away from this life.
I hate my father. I hate him more than anyone or anything. I hate anyone who associates with him, anyone who does business with him. My hate is what fuels me, but it still hasn’t been enough to set me free. Not yet, anyway.
“Hattie.”
I wheel around from the window and fold my arms when I see it’s Rick, my bodyguard. He’s a towering man — kind of like a big stone golem created by an evil wizard to… you get the point — and there’s nothing intimidating about me. I’m five-foot-nothing with a shock of red hair that Rick himself used to ruffle when I was a kid. Just to annoy me.
“What?” I say.
“Oh, you in a bad mood?” he asks, mock surprised. “That’s new.”
I roll my shoulders. Sometimes I appreciate his sense of humor. Apparently not today.
“Pack your things.”
I shake my head. “What? Where am I going?”
“Not sure, actually, but you’ve got a plane to catch in a couple of hours, so you need to pack up.” He jabs a finger right at me. “Don’t forget a hairbrush. You gotta look nice.”
This must be one of his stupid jokes. It isn’t funny at all, though, because it’s absolutely the kind of thing Dad would do. I rest my hands on my hips. “What are you talking about? I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“That’s not what Daddy says,” he teases. “He says you’re getting married. And soon, so get packing. I don’t know the weather there, so pack smart.”
Maybe he’s joking.
“Are you joking?”
“No,” he says.
Oh.
“I don’t want to go,” I tell him. I mean, I don’t want to stay here either, but I definitely don’t want to go meet some gross brute who does business with my father and his associates. Let alone marry him. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Sorry, Hattie,” Rick says, and he flings open my closet door, exposing all my clothes and a pile of bags.
Bags I’ve fantasized about packing up and fleeing with for as long as I’ve had them. And now it’s actually happening, and it’s the worst thing ever. I didn’t want to leave like this. Definitely not like this.
He stands over me as I blink away tears, take a deep breath, and begin to sort through my stuff. At least I’m getting away from this city. I can deal with whatever comes next when it comes. It doesn’t mean this isn’t crazy and heartbreaking and terrifying. And so typical of my asshole father.
I wipe at my eyes and the next few hours are a blur. Rick and some other big, burly guys come and help me carry my bags, and then I’m speeding down the highway. My tower is behind me, and suddenly I realize something I would never have admitted to myself until now.
I feel vulnerable out here.
Rick is clearly a little guilty about this whole thing, but he’s being brisk and businesslike. Everyone who’s ever had to deal with me is the same. They have to do what my father says, no matter what I want.
In fact, I can’t even remember the last time anyone asked me what that was.
“The wedding’s in two weeks,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “We’re here, Hattie.”
Now tears are pouring down my cheeks and I can’t hold them back anymore. This is real.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he adds, seeing the look on my face. “Don’t run. You can’t run. Your father has half the country in his pocket. You won’t get far, and you’ll wish you’d never tried.” He clears his throat, as if saying that made him feel bad. Good.
I’m holding my luggage like a safety blanket, clutching it to my chest as I climb up the steps into a private jet. How the hell did this happen so fast, with no warning whatsoever? My heart is hammering in my throat, and I’m eyeing the runway as if I could just throw my bag at the pilot and bolt. How far would I get? Ten feet? Twelve?
Angry, betrayed, confused, I sit down and wipe my cheeks. I don’t want to cry, but it’s hard to stop. I pull up Dad’s number and press ‘Call’, hanging up when it goes to voicemail and calling again. He won’t ignore me. This is bad enough already, but he can’t ignore me forever.
Finally, I hear his voice at the other end, and he has the gall to sound annoyed. “Hattie? Why are you calling? You should be on the plane by now.”
I feel my cheeks heat up and I explode. “Why am I calling? Why am I calling?!” I yell. “You’re having me shipped off to some strange, creepy guy and you’re not sure why I’d be calling? Are you kidding?”