Page 1 of The Rogue's Princess

Chapter One

Mila

Easy . . .

Don’t make a sound.

Be as quiet as a mouse, Mila. Don’t let him catch you sneaking out.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

At the sound of the slurred voice, I freeze, hoping that the man I left passed out on the couch is just sleep-talking and maybe, if I ignore him, he’ll just go back to sleep.

“Do you think you can leave this house without my permission, you little brat!” Nope, he’s definitely not talking in his sleep.

I slowly turn around to see my stepfather sit up, bloodshot eyes locked on me, and I deflate.

“I-I wasn’t trying to sneak out,” I lie, or attempt to anyway, but one look at the bag slung over my shoulder and the shoes in my hands is a dead giveaway of what I was planning to do.

The truth is, I was trying to run away from home. I have no idea where it is I would go, but I don’t particularly care. Hell, I could live under a bridge or in some alley, and I would feel safer than I do under this roof.

I need to be anywhere but here.

And no, I am not some spoiled teen who’s running away just to spite their parents because Mommy took away their phone. How I wish my situation was that simple, and perhaps, it would’vebeen if my mother had not run off and left me alone with this monster.

And Dennis, my stepfather, is a monster in every sense of the word. He is built like one and has a mean scowl on his face that would have any little kids misfortunate enough to see him running to hide.

I know he scares me, and I am twenty!

Still, his hideous face and cruel nature are not the reasons I am running away. I’ve dealt with those every day for years. But last week, my mother and Dennis got super drunk and the two got into an explosive fight that sent my mother packing. When she was around, Dennis never paid much attention to me, and I made sure to take up as little space as possible, but after she left, his focus shifted to me. He banned me from leaving the house and took my phone so I couldn’t contact anyone. Not that I have anyone I could call.

Despite being of legal age, I am still trapped here. I have no money, no job, and no other family. And to make matters worse, in addition to being a mean drunk, my stepfather is also a police officer. He’s the dirtiest kind of cop, and his friends are all the same. I don’t think anyone on the police force in this town would be willing to help me and risk Dennis’s wrath.

Any other time, I would’ve sat tight, waited for my mother to return, and let the two of them sort out their issues. But not this time.

I can’t risk another second in this house.

Earlier tonight, I overheard Dennis on the phone telling someone how he’d finally figured out a way to settle his gambling debt. Apparently, he owed some guy a bunch of money after losing a bet on an illegal cage fight. This guy must be even worse than my stepfather because I could tell Dennis wasnervous. He said that the other man had finally agreed to an alternative form of payment. Me. My stepfather had promised to use me to settle his debt.

“That’ll teach the whore for leaving me with her brat,” he’d said before breaking out into a deep belly laugh. Like my life—my body—is something that can be traded or sold at his whim.

Yeah, I am not staying around for that.

Hence my failed attempt to run away. I probably should have thought of a better plan, but I don’t exactly have the luxury of time. I figured I could sneak out once he passed out drunk on the couch like he does every night, but I didn’t account for the fact that he’s a seasoned drunk and a light sleeper.

Good Lord, how am I getting out of this now?

“Do you think you can leave my house without my permission?” he demands again.

Well, technically, it’s my father’s house. One he bought with his hard-earned money, but I don’t say that. Every time my late father is mentioned, Dennis loses it. Perhaps it’s because he knows he can never live up to my dad’s ghost.

“I . . . uhm . . . I was going to the library,” I say quickly, eying the front door and questioning if I can get to it before he does. I have to be faster than an overweight drunk in his forties, right? “You see, I borrowed a book last month, and I haven’t returned it yet. They’re going to fine me for returning the book late—”

“Do I look like I care about your stupid book?”

No, he does not.

Really, Mila? You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse?

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