Hogs Travel Agency. Yet another reason Malinda hated the man; he was a motorcycle travel agent, the lowest form of scum in her mother’s point of view. Hope rose in Amiel’s throat, nearly choking her. With the amount of enmity between the man and her mother maybe she could enlist his help without worrying he would rat her out. That or he would kick her out on her butt when he found out who she was. A dubious thought, indeed. Still, she was quickly running out of choices and time. Could she do it? Could she really take her new fortune and run from her mother? Was she brave enough to even step foot on the lot? Her eyes drifted back to the sign, heart racing with each word she silently repeated in her mind. Clearing her throat, she pressed the intercom.
“Stop back by the bank for a moment, will you Grant?”
“Of course, Miss.” The confused frustration was evident in Grant’s voice, but she barely noticed it. With a plan forming in her mind, the nagging urge to do something crazy was beginning to feel satiated. She still wasn’t sure where she was going, or what she would do when she got there, but she was taking everything one step at a time. One thing was certain. She was leaving and never coming back.
Inside the bank she withdrew $15,000, half in cash, the other half in gold and silver. It made her heady and more than a little paranoid to be toting around so much money. But while most places in Malinda Hilden’s town still ran off of debit cards, Amiel had heard other places in the world had collapsed to the point that ATMs and debit machines were a thing of the past. The last thing she wanted was to be left somewhere high and dry with no money on hand. She could only hope the place she ended up still used money at all.
Once at home, she rushed to her bedroom. First thing she did was light a candle and watch the slip of paper with her bank number wither away to ash. Satisfied, she grabbed the leather duffel that Jaron had given her last Christmas and tossed it on the bed.
What exactly did one bring when planning to run away from home? The money was an easy item, and it was tossed inside immediately. She stared at the money, twisting a strand of hair as the rest of the empty space within the bag mocked her. She was completely out of her element here. Gnawing on her lip for a moment, she finally settled on random choices. Reaching deep within her closet, she began stuffing the duffel full of her favorite jeans and t-shirts, and then other random personal items she felt might be needed.
When it was packed to capacity, she stared at the masses of dresses left in the closet-courtesy of her mother and the lifestyle she had been forced to lead- cotillions, dates, and ball after stupid ball for fund raisers that had no real purpose. Disgusted, she moved to shove the door closed, stopping as a glimmer of purple caught her eye. Slowly reaching inside she pulled out the long silky dress.
It was the dress Jaron encouraged her to buy for herself on one of his rare visits home, about three years earlier. She had refused to go to an important fund raiser with the jerk her mother declared as her date. The guy was as stuck up as they come, and stiffer than a board unless of course he was drinking. Then he was pawing at her like a starving man sitting down to a grand thanksgiving dinner. He’d shown up at the door three sheets to the wind and tried to force his tongue down her throat the moment she’d stepped out the door. She’d proceeded to slam that door in his face, likely adding a broken nose to his inebriated state. It had felt good for all of two seconds, before reality had hit her like a door in the face.
She knew that if she showed up at the ball without her date, or not at all, Malinda would be furious. Her mother didn’t care what his behavior was, or how often he did vile ungentlemanly things towards her daughter. He was the son of the richest family, second to the Hilden’s alone, which meant Malinda
“Stop back by the bank for a moment, will you Grant?”
“Of course, Miss.” The confused frustration was evident in Grant’s voice, but she barely noticed it. With a plan forming in her mind, the nagging urge to do something crazy was beginning to feel satiated. She still wasn’t sure where she was going, or what she would do when she got there, but she was taking everything one step at a time. One thing was certain. She was leaving and never coming back.
Inside the bank she withdrew $15,000, half in cash, the other half in gold and silver. It made her heady and more than a little paranoid to be toting around so much money. But while most places in Malinda Hilden’s town still ran off of debit cards, Amiel had heard other places in the world had collapsed to the point that ATMs and debit machines were a thing of the past. The last thing she wanted was to be left somewhere high and dry with no money on hand. She could only hope the place she ended up still used money at all.
Once at home, she rushed to her bedroom. First thing she did was light a candle and watch the slip of paper with her bank number wither away to ash. Satisfied, she grabbed the leather duffel that Jaron had given her last Christmas and tossed it on the bed.
What exactly did one bring when planning to run away from home? The money was an easy item, and it was tossed inside immediately. She stared at the money, twisting a strand of hair as the rest of the empty space within the bag mocked her. She was completely out of her element here. Gnawing on her lip for a moment, she finally settled on random choices. Reaching deep within her closet, she began stuffing the duffel full of her favorite jeans and t-shirts, and then other random personal items she felt might be needed.
When it was packed to capacity, she stared at the masses of dresses left in the closet-courtesy of her mother and the lifestyle she had been forced to lead- cotillions, dates, and ball after stupid ball for fund raisers that had no real purpose. Disgusted, she moved to shove the door closed, stopping as a glimmer of purple caught her eye. Slowly reaching inside she pulled out the long silky dress.
It was the dress Jaron encouraged her to buy for herself on one of his rare visits home, about three years earlier. She had refused to go to an important fund raiser with the jerk her mother declared as her date. The guy was as stuck up as they come, and stiffer than a board unless of course he was drinking. Then he was pawing at her like a starving man sitting down to a grand thanksgiving dinner. He’d shown up at the door three sheets to the wind and tried to force his tongue down her throat the moment she’d stepped out the door. She’d proceeded to slam that door in his face, likely adding a broken nose to his inebriated state. It had felt good for all of two seconds, before reality had hit her like a door in the face.
She knew that if she showed up at the ball without her date, or not at all, Malinda would be furious. Her mother didn’t care what his behavior was, or how often he did vile ungentlemanly things towards her daughter. He was the son of the richest family, second to the Hilden’s alone, which meant Malinda
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