Page 3 of Rampage

Deb nods like this explains everything. Maybe it does.

"I've got a room above the diner. Nothing fancy, but it's private. Work the morning shift, room's part of your pay. Tips are yours to keep."

My throat tightens. "Just like that? You don't even know me."

"I know enough." She stands, adjusting her apron. "Besides, today's your birthday, isn't it? Consider it a gift."

I blink, surprised Jeremy remembered that detail. "How did you?—"

The bell over the door jingles, and Deb's attention shifts. I turn to see three men enter, their leather vests emblazoned with the Grim Sinners insignia. The tallest one, with a dark beard and arms covered in tattoos, nods at Deb.

"Morning, Deborah," he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "The usual?"

"Coming right up, Wilder." She turns back to me. "Finish your coffee, then I'll show you upstairs. You look like you could use some real sleep."

For the first time in years, I feel something unfamiliar stirring in my chest. Not safety, exactly—I'm too smart to believe in that anymore. But possibility. A chance.

I check my phone. 10:17 AM. I'm officially eighteen years old. Legally an adult. Free.

Frank can't touch me now, not even if he finds me. The realization washes over me like a wave, leaving me lightheaded with relief.

"Happy birthday to me," I whisper, allowing myself the smallest smile as I drain the last of my coffee.

one

Lily

One Year Later

I look at the calendar, shocked that it has been a year since I moved here. I’m still living above the diner, but I do have two jobs currently: the diner, but I also started working at a bakery, and I truly love it.

The owner is a sweet older lady who isn’t capable of doing all the work anymore, so I have taken over a huge role.

One major thing that's changed over the year is my hair is longer and I have gained about thirty pounds. I’m finally healthy and have not gone hungry since that fateful night.

I text Jeremy almost daily and I’m beyond thankful for the chance he had given me.

I still think about the fact that he went above and beyond for me. He’s getting married to his fiancé Ben. I want to go to the wedding so badly but I’m terrified at the thought of running into my old foster parent.

He has texted me hundreds of times since I left.

I've read every single one, but I never respond. Some are pleading, while others are threatening.

You ungrateful little bitch.

Your foster mother is sick with worry.

I'll find you eventually.

The last message came three months ago. I hope he's finally given up.

The bell above the diner door jingles, pulling me from my thoughts. I quickly tuck my phone away and grab my order pad. The Saturday morning rush is about to begin.

"Order up!" Mack, our cook, calls from the kitchen window.

I balance three plates along my arm—a skill I've perfected over the past year—and deliver them to the truckers at table four. They're regulars, always generous with tips.

"Thanks, Lily," says Dave, the oldest of the bunch. "How's the bakery treating you?"