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Jessica Peterson, my classmate and rival for that scholarship, smiled her fake bright smile and invited me on a weekend trip. I was top of my class, but finals had me wound tight, and a break sounded too good to pass up.
One too-sweet soda later, everything went black. I woke up on a stained mattress in a dilapidated farmhouse, the air thick with mold and fear. Not a relaxing getaway, but a nightmare. My "friend" Jessica hadn't just abandoned me; she' d sold me to the brutish Miller family as a forced bride, all for a broken-down pickup truck and a job for one of their leering sons.
My pleas were met with kicks and sneers. When I tried to escape, I was dragged back, bruised and battered. A passing neighbor dismissed my desperate cries for help, thinking I was a delirious runaway, disbelieving me because of my mud-streaked, disheveled appearance. Even my own cousin, who briefly heard my muffled screams, was fooled by the Millers' slick lies. My academic future, my university dreams, all seemed destined to turn into an endless nightmare in this backwoods hell.
How could Jessica, my childhood friend, trade my entire life, my freedom, for a rusty old truck? The sheer, horrifying injustice of it was a bitter, burning rage in my gut. Why me? Why this?
But then a flicker of recognition cut through the despair. This place, this county, was my Grandpa John' s homeland – where he was Sheriff for forty years, where his name still carried immense weight. With that realization, a new strength surged. I might be trapped, but I was Sarah, Sheriff John' s granddaughter. And if I could just get a message out, everyone who wronged me-Jessica, her family, and the Millers-would regret it. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.