Page 55 of Sabre’s Guard

“I’ll be there,” I say.

“Come alone. You know that I…”

Her words stop abruptly, and I can hear someone honking at her. An image of her getting distracted while talking to me comes to mind.

“You should get off the phone and focus on driving, Ma.”

My mother’s voice sounds slightly frazzled. “You’re right, of course. I should go.”

***

Once again, Sabre goes early to scope the place out. He checks the entrances, the kitchen, restrooms, alley, parking lot and nearby vehicles before I leave the house. My mother actually arrives early.

I read his last text.

Sabre: She came alone and took a table near the window. She keeps checking the door and seems a little scared. I’ll be watching you the entire time.

I get to the restaurant within five minutes and park beside Sabre’s motorcycle. Taking a deep breath, I look at myself in the visor mirror. I’m twenty-nine years old, and about to see my mother for the first time in ten years. I’m craning my neck, trying to see my mother through the windows as I shut off the engine.

I’m fumbling to put my phone into my purse when a white cargo van pulls into the space beside me.

Before I have time to process what’s happening, the van’s side door opens, and my father is suddenly standing on the pavement right beside my door. He’s ten years older, with more gray in his hair and a thinner face. But his eyes are exactly the same as I remember, dark and angry.

Fear spikes in my gut as I rush to hit the lock on my door. Unfortunately, his hand lands on the door handle before I can get it locked. A second later, he opens the door and starts pulling me out roughly by one arm while grabbing my keys out of the ignition with the other hand. He yanks my keys so hard the entire steering column shakes.

“You’ve caused enough trouble to last a lifetime, girl.” His voice is calm. “You’re coming back home where you belong.”

“Get your hands off me!” I shout.

His eyes fly back up to mine as he crams my keys into his pocket. I don’t think my father was expecting the fight I put up. The part that he doesn’t understand is that I’m not just fighting for myself anymore. I’m fighting for Noah and my unborn child as well. I’m fighting to stay with the man I love and live the life I carved out for myself in Las Salinas. So, I scream, kick and claw at his face with my nails. One hand grips the steering wheel while he tries to drag me from the seat.

For a moment, I think that I’m winning. But then a second man appears. He’s young and broad-shouldered. I don’t recognize him. The two of them wrench me violently away from the steering wheel. An instant later, they’re shoving me in the van. The whole ordeal must have taken less than ten seconds.

Right before they slam the door shut, I scream, “Sabre!” at the top of my lungs hoping against hope that he’ll hear what’s happening.

The second the younger man climbs in behind me, I turn and drive the heel of my shoe into his shin. He cries out in pain and loosens his grip just long enough for me to twist free. I push against the back wall of the van, intending to give myself enough forward momentum to jump through the door and escape. But my father grabs the back of my coat and yanks it so hard the collar pulls tight against my throat, choking me.

“Stop fighting us, girl. You’re just making this worse on yourself,” he growls.

Right before the door slams, I see someone sabotaging Sabre’s bike. It takes me a split second to realize they’re not only slashing his tires, but they quickly thread heavy chain through the front wheel and around the frame and lock it into place with a big master lock. The side door closes and a few seconds later the saboteur jumps into the front passenger seat of the van and fastens his seat belt as the van speeds away.

As the van reverses, I look through the front window. Just when all hope is dimming, the restaurant doors burst open and Sabre comes running into the parking lot at full speed. He literally tries to run the van down on foot, with the driver barely managing to get away from him. My guy doesn’t give up though. He continues running after us on foot, straight down the middle of the parking lot. His arms are pumping and his jacket is flying open while he screams something I can’t understand.

I try to scramble over the bench seat and into the back of the van, thinking I might be able to open the back door and jump out before they can stop me. The younger man is quick. He grabs both my shoulders and tries to pull me from my position straddling the back of the seat. Of course I fight him, right until my father grabs a handful of my hair and jerks me back down into the bench seat, leaving my scalp stinging like I’ve been attacked by a swarm of hornets.

“Sit down, Linny. You’ve always had spirit but you’re sorely testing my patience today, girl.”

The van turns the corner behind the diner and passes the kitchen entrance. As we speed by, the back door opens and my mother rushes out. She climbs into the open door of a waiting gray sedan, which falls into line right behind us.

We exit the far side of the parking lot and get onto the main road, with Sabre still trying to catch up on foot. He’s got no bike and since my father took my car keys, he can’t even follow in my vehicle.

It takes me a minute to catch my breath but then all the pieces fall neatly in place. It was a setup. My own mother did this. Ruthie was never in danger and there was no secret escape attempt. She used the little sister I never met because she knew Ruthie was the same age as my Noah and I would risk any and everything to save her.

I look up at my father and realize this is just him manipulating me through other people. My mother betrayed me, not once but twice. The first time was all those years ago when she encouraged me to stay with the man beating me. The second was today. She lied to me, so my father could get control over me again. I’ve never felt more disgusted by my family than I do right now.

The young man rummages around in a toolbox for what seems like forever before pulling out a handful of zip ties, the oversized ones that are practically impossible for someone to break free from. He fastens them around my wrists, pulling them tighter than necessary.

“That hurts,” I say, kicking him in the side. He just ignores me.