Page 22 of Liar Byrd
“Off for a walk?” Lisa calls out as I brace myself to leave my sanctuary.
“I’ll see you later.”
She smiles, and I lift my hood as I walk out. I don’t have cash for a cab, so I try to remember where the bus station is. Hopefully not far.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the two men across the street walking up and down it, showing off their photograph to anyone they pass.
Chapter 9
Byrdie
They’re in the bus station.
I thought I’d left them outside the women’s shelter, shoving my photograph in the face of each passerby. Now they’re here.
My chest is tight as I slowly back away from the sliding doors I walked through a moment before. The acolyte on the right has a slightly lighter brown beard. These are not the same ones from the women’s shelter.
Cold sweat forms on the back of my neck. My nails cut into the fleshy part of my palms. It hurts. I barely feel it.
How many men did Jeremiah send after me?
Four? Six? Ten?
I escaped once. If they drag me back, I will never escape again.
Once was a miracle.
Twice would be impossible.
They’re concentrating on pushing a photograph toward people as they walk toward me. It’s the only reason they haven’t noticed me yet. In the photo, I’m standing next to Jeremiah, wearing a white dress with lace at the neckline and wrists.
My wedding day.
The worst day of my life. Second to my mom’s funeral.
With my eyes fixed on the men approaching, I secretly wish that, just once, someone would save me.
I stumble when someone bumps into me as they step around me into the bus station. A baby screams, and the two men turn at the sound.
I start walking left.
Fast.
This is the only way I can afford to leave this town. Hitchhiking could get me in worse trouble. Going back on the streets means I will eventually bump into another of Jeremiah’s acolytes.
I have to get on a bus, even if it means hiding in a luggage compartment.
My sneakers squeak as I hurry across gray tiled floors. I pass people sprawled on the black, hard plastic benches, and my stomach rumbles from the sweet, savory, and coffee scents that drift from the stores lining both sides of the terminal.
I didn’t intend to take it.
The navy backpack on the floor next to a woman chatting on her phone screams to me. She has a phone. Expensive-looking clothes. Could she have money in that bag?
I’m bending to scoop it up before I’ve made up my mind that I would take it.
And I stride through the bus station, gripping the bag in front of me, then hugging it.
The moment I’m out of sight, I slow and peek over my shoulder.
