Chapter 4

Finley stared at the name on her screen. Dozier. The single word was enough to extinguish the small, warm flame of amusement that had just been lit in her chest.

She walked out of the tutoring center and down the block, finding a small alcove between two buildings that offered a sliver of privacy. The city noise felt like a buffer against what was coming. She took a shaky breath and answered.

"What do you want?"

"Don't take that tone with me," Dozier's voice crackled, full of gravel and impatience. "Have you thought about what I said? Shane's a good man. He's waiting for your answer."

A good man. The words were so ludicrous they almost made her laugh. Shane was a greasy, small-eyed predator who looked at her like she was a piece of meat.

"My answer is no," Finley said, her voice cold and hard. "I'm not marrying him."

A dry, humorless laugh came through the speaker. "Not marrying him? And how are you going to come up with one hundred thousand dollars, Finley? Don't you forget who puts a roof over your mother's head. Don't you forget who's in charge."

Her mother. The knife, twisted with expert precision. Finley's stomach clenched. Her mother, Sharon, was a gentle, broken woman, and Dozier's favorite piece of collateral.

"I'm giving you one last chance," Dozier's voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. "You come home tonight. You tell Shane yes. You put a smile on your face and you do what's best for this family. Or I swear to God, you'll find out what happens when you don't."

The line went dead.

Finley stood frozen, the phone pressed to her ear, listening to the dial tone. He would do it. He would throw her mother out. He would make their lives a living hell.

She couldn't go back there. Not to agree. If she walked through that door tonight, he'd lock it behind her.

Garrison's apartment. The thought was a flare in the darkness. The key in her pocket. The address saved in her phone. It was her only escape route.

But could she? They had just gotten married. They were strangers. He had said she could move in anytime, but was that just something people said? A polite formality? Showing up on his doorstep-or what would be his doorstep-felt like a massive imposition.

Her phone rang again. This time, it was her mother.

"Finley, baby, please," Sharon's voice was a choked sob. "Just listen to him. Just for a little while. We can't fight him, you know we can't..."

The familiar weakness in her mother's voice, the pleading for her to be the sacrifice, broke something in Finley. It wasn't anger. It was a cold, hard resignation. She was truly on her own.

"I have to go, Mom," she said, and hung up before her mother could say another word.

That was it. The last of her hesitation crumbled into dust.

She opened her message thread with Garrison. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind racing. How did you ask a man you barely knew to save your life?

She typed and deleted, typed and deleted.

Hi, sorry to bother you. Too weak.

I have a problem. Too vague.

Finally, she just wrote the truth.

Garrison, I'm so sorry to bother you at work. The apartment... is the offer to move in still open? For tonight? It's an emergency.

She hit send, and her breath caught in her chest. She watched the screen, her entire future hanging on the three little dots that meant he was typing.

What if he said no? What if he asked questions she couldn't answer?

The reply came in less than a minute.

Of course. It's your home. Do you need me to arrange for movers?

Home.

The word. That one simple word hit her with the force of a physical blow. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, hot and sudden. A home. She had a home.

Her fingers were clumsy as she typed back.

No! No, thank you. I don't have much. I can handle it myself.

Okay. Be safe. Let me know when you get there.

Permission granted. Lifeline secured.

A new, steely resolve settled over her. She wasn't just going to run. She was going to walk into that house, pack her bags in front of them, and leave.

She sent a quick text to Paige, a blur of apologies and promises to pay her share of the rent, saying a family emergency had come up and she had to move out tonight. Paige, bless her, just sent back a message of support.

Finley squared her shoulders and started walking in the direction of the subway that would take her back to Queens. Back to Dozier's house.

She was going to war.

But this time, she had a place to retreat to. She opened her map app and plugged in the Brooklyn address. Her destination. Her future.

In his hotel suite in California, Garrison read her reply and immediately dialed Pierce.

"Find two of our best security guys. Plain clothes. I want them parked near Dozier Mccarthy's address in Queens in the next hour. They are not to engage unless I say so. Or unless she screams."

He hung up. It was supposed to be a test of her character. Not a trial by fire.

Things were escalating far faster than he'd anticipated.