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I pull into the driveway and notice the house is dark, except for the porch light. That means Dad didn’t wait up for me. But knowing him, he’s probably still awake in his room, pretending not to hover.

This was the first weekend in forever that he let me go off and do something completely by myself. I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see him there, keeping an eye on me. But he wasn’t. It’s not because he’s one of those helicopter parents. He legitimately fears for my safety.

Ever since my mother was killed, he’s trained me to fight, shoot, and protect myself. Before that, I was treated like a princess. Now I feel more like Aurora in hiding, fearing the curse will strike.

I’m twenty-two. I told my father I needed some space to be an adult, and I promised I’d be safe. I can’t rely on him forever.

This past weekend, I drove to Frisco to attend the Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem author event.

I’ve been an avid romantic suspense reader for years and follow several of the authors online.

I love seeing how authentically the authors portray the MC world.

This event gave me the opportunity to meet some of my favorites in person.

I even discovered a few new authors whose books I’m going to read next.

I open the door to my small car and reach across the seat for my backpack.

I’ll grab my books in the morning after I get some rest. I look around as I’ve been taught.

Situational awareness is always a must for me.

When I don’t notice anything out of place, I get out and head toward the door.

I enter the code on the keyless entry and step inside, arming the house again when I close the door.

I was only twelve when my life changed. My mother was murdered by an enemy gang trying to roll into my father’s club’s territory. They threatened me, and I was sent here. No one but my father came with me. I left behind my friends and family. I didn’t even get to attend my mother’s funeral.

“I’m home, Daddy,” I call out when I see the warm glow of light beneath his door. “Love you. Goodnight.” Without waiting for a response, I head to my room at the back of the house.

My backpack drops to the floor with a soft thud, and I collapse onto the bed.

For a moment, my mind drifts to the life I had before we moved to Texas.

I can almost smell the mountains, feel the crisp air blowing through the valley as the weather turned cold.

I see a thin layer of snow dusting the peaks that surrounded us.

I remember standing on the edge of the Matanuska River, staring up at Pioneer Peak, or riding with Daddy to the clubhouse in Sutton. I see my friends laughing, carefree.

A wave of homesickness slams into me, tightening my chest. I lie still, fighting back the tears.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, my door bursts open.

“Up. Now,” Dad says, his voice low but firm. He presses his finger to his lips as his eyes lock on the window.

Two shadows move behind the curtain. Panic grips me, hard and fast.

“Just like we practiced,” he whispers.

“I can help you fight,” I say, keeping my voice low. I’m so tired of hiding and living in fear. Maybe today is the day it finally ends. “Please, Daddy.”

“No. You have so much to live for.”

He grabs my arm and drags me into his office. My heart pounds as he opens the safe room and shoves me inside. His hand slides down the side of my face, lingering on my cheek. I lean into his touch, not ready to let go.

“Remember us. Be strong,” he says.

Before I can grab a hold of him, he steps back and hits a button. The lights flicker on, and the soft hum of the air system kicks in.

“I love you, Harlowe.”

The door shuts with a heavy thud, and the locks engage.

“I love you,” I scream, but he can’t hear me. The room is soundproof. I can’t hear what’s happening out there, and they can’t hear me.

I pound on the door anyway, my fists beating against the metal. My throat burns from shouting, and my hands ache.

“Daddy, no. Please. No. Daddy, I love you. I can help!”

Tears roll down my face. I hiccup as I sob and sink to the floor. This can’t be happening again. I already lost my mother, and now I’m about to lose the only family I really have left. I have a brother, but he hasn’t cared about me in a long time. Now, I won’t have anyone.

I stand and move to the monitor that started sending automated emails the moment Dad locked the door. There’s no way out of this room without someone who has the code. Someone I don’t even know.

On another screen, the cameras around the house flicker to life. I glance at them, looking away from the one preprogrammed to run my life now. It continues to send messages and transfers Dad’s money into accounts only I can access.

From the moment we moved here, Dad and I practiced drills over and over. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone we were from Alaska. We don’t even have pictures of our old life. The only traces of my home state live in my dreams.

Movement on the screen catches my eye, and I freeze as I watch my father take down one of the men. Three more storm into the house. Dad fights back, and I scream when one aims his gun and fires. Tears stream down my face as I watch him fall to the floor.

They surround him and attack like a frenzied mob, beating and kicking him. Torturing him for answers. I know they want to know where I am. My dad just grins defiantly and spits in their faces.

One of the men pulls out a knife and drives it into Dad’s neck. Blood flies everywhere when he frees the blade. I cry out, turning away from the screen. The images of my dad dying are burned into my mind and flash behind my eyelids.

I turn back to the monitor as something out of camera frame attracts their attention. Then, one by one, their bodies fall to the floor. A figure steps into view—small, maybe my height. The fluid way they move makes me think it’s a woman.

My suspicions are confirmed when she stops in front of the camera and looks up. She gives me a two-finger wave, and something about her seems familiar.

She continues moving through the house, taking down the remaining men trying to breach the safe room. She pushes a button on the hidden panel outside, and her soft voice comes through the intercom. Only someone my father trusted would know how to use the system.

“Hello, I’m here to help you.”

I can’t respond through the intercom, but then the phone on the counter rings. I look down at it and then to her. She’s holding up her phone, shaking it and pointing at the camera.

I grab the burner phone and answer. “Hello?” My voice is ragged from screaming.

“Hello, Harlowe. I’m here to help.” She pauses and pulls her phone away from her ear. She looks at it before coming back on. “I’m supposed to tell you Low Low, Denahi sent me. He is also sending the code so I can open the door for you.”

“Rylan?” I haven’t spoken his name in years. Not only did I feel betrayed because he never called, but my father said it would be safer if no one knew about him. So I had to forget about him too.

“Yeah. Let me sweep the house, make sure these guys are all dead. Then I’ll get you out. I’m sorry I was late. I turned around and got here as fast as I could when your dad hit the panic alarm. When I let you out, pack your suitcases. Only take what is necessary. I have a vehicle waiting for us.”

“I don’t know what to say.” My voice quivers as I think of everything.

“I’ll take care of you until we send you to your brother.”

“I get to see Rylan?”

“Yeah.” She steps away, slipping the phone into her pocket and sliding an earbud into place. “This way, if you need to talk to me, I’m still here.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Persephone. Your brother has had me keeping an eye on you.”

“How did they find us?”

“I’m going to figure that out as soon as we get you to a safe house.”

She returns in under ten minutes. A soft beep sounds as she disengages the locks, and the door swings open. She stands there—about my height but curvier, with striking blue-gray eyes.

She hands me a gun. “I know you’ve had training with these.”

I nod, unsure what to say, then slip it into the back of my jeans.

“Pack up,” she says. “We need to get out of here before more soldiers find you.”

“My dad.” I move past her to get to him, but she grabs my arm and holds it firmly.

“I’m sorry, but he’s already gone. I’m having his body collected before we torch the place.”

“Torch it?”

“Yes. We need them to not know whether you are dead or alive.”