Page 120 of Saving Grace

Fuck.

I pray it was Rubes or Adds paying Gracie a visit. The sinking feeling in my gut knots and grows. I fling the cane to the ground and Reed jogs ahead, bursting in through the front door.

“Gracie? You here?” Reed yells. I make it up the porch, cursing my useless body, anger growing like a damn wildfire on summer winds.

“Check her art room. I’ll check the bedroom!” I holler.

I lengthen my strides until the pain splinters through my lower back. Ignoring it, I swing into her room. It’s empty. Void of Grace or any trace of her.

A strangled curse echoes down the hallway. Then, “Mack!”

I scramble toward the sound. Reed steps out of the art room, his face wrecked. His shoulders heave.

Oh god, no!

His gaze drops to the floor. I falter to a stop before the doorway. Blue paint is swiped over the doorjamb as if someonehad hung on for dear life, the remnants of a smudged handprint in blue. Her favorite color.

Short, ragged breaths burn their way through my lungs as I step into the space Grace loves the most. It’s destroyed. Paint pots on their sides. Furniture disturbed. Her stool toppled over. The easel Huddo made is the only item not ransacked. A canvas lies at its feet, a huge rip through the center.

She put up a fight.

“Mack. The paint’s wet.”

I spin back. His finger is held in the air, blue paint smeared over it. “It’s still wet. We can catch up.”

“Go, now!” I roar.

We fly from the house. I’m running with a disjointed gait. Numb from the adrenaline, I don’t feel the pain I know should be lancing through my body right now. Reed fires up the F250. We leave gravel streaking through the air, shooting for the highway.

Chapter Thirty-Three

GRACE

The car pitches upward. I slide into the rear wall of the dark trunk with a thud. The only thought I allow through my mind is this: I will run. I will find my way back to Mackinlay. I have done it before. I will do it again.

The small dark space around me is studded with the lone bullet hole from Louisa’s rifle and the slim beam of sunlight shining through. I stare at it. My beacon of hope. My last connection to Mack. To the love of my life. To the life I am so desperate to keep.

The Volvo hits a pothole. My head slams into the side of the trunk. My paint-marred hands are bound with duct tape. The tears I cried for the first hour in this freezing, cramped space have long dried on my face. The fear that rendered me helpless after I fought them off for a second time at the gas station is now replaced with calm. With determination.

I’m not the same girl I was in Mississippi. No, no longer a girl. A woman. The last months have seen me forged through fire. From one grand realization that I am worth more to finding my worth. My place.

I will fight.

Every day, with every breath.

I will not be subdued, ever again.

I will not give up the freedom I have found.

Nor the person I have become.

No matter how much they hurt me.

The thought of Mack coming home to find me gone, the destruction that ensued when Joel and Timmy overpowered me, sends fresh panic to my heart. Dammit, I was so stupid. Headphones blaring, brush in one hand, and oblivious to the outside world. I didn’t stand a chance. They had the element of surprise. They shouldn’t have. But the stress of worrying about Mack’s appointment drove me to need the escape. The music gave me that.

On cue, a rhythmic beat starts up in the car, echoing through the hollow metal. Music. The thumping beat tells me it’s techno. Ugh. As if my containment couldn’t get any worse. I close my eyes against the obnoxious noise and make a start on running through every scenario, finding the out in each one. Planning to run.

The Volvo careens downward.

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