Free Run With Me (Fight For You Book 1) by J.C. Evans Page B

out to sleep on the streets. He was willing to risk a fire code violation if we were all willing to make room for one more.
    Eight of the girls in the room are on a mission trip to help build homes for the needy and the rest of us came close enough to not having a place to sleep that we could empathize. We even helped move the beds around to give our thirteenth—a tiny girl with dreads who’s on her way to work on a communal farm—room to crash.
    Everyone at the hostel has been very nice, and done their best to make Danny and me feel welcome, but even all that niceness can’t banish the memory of that kid’s knife at my throat, or the way it felt to be pressed so tight against a stranger’s body. For a few minutes, I’d been transported back to New Year’s Eve.
    I’d relived it all in fast motion, images and sense memories racing through my head so fast the world started to spin. But for the first time, the memories didn’t make me feel scared. I’d been enraged, so furious I’d fought back without thinking about the consequences, and I don’t regret it. I would rather die than be a victim. I’m not going to let anyone hold me down, not ever again.
    The moan comes again, higher pitched this time with a plaintive whimper at the end that makes me worry this girl is in serious pain.
    “Are you okay?” I hiss into the darkness. “Can I get you anything? Tylenol or something?”
    “It’s just Sheila,” an unfamiliar voice answers. “She’ll moan all night, and not remember what she was dreaming about in the morning. I think Percy has some extra earplugs in her bag. I can try to find them for you if you want.”
    “No, that’s okay,” I whisper. “I’ve got headphones if I need them.”
    “Okay. Good night.”
    “Good night,” I say, and do my best to relax into the mattress, but it feels like I’m sleeping on a marble slab. I hadn’t noticed how hard the bed was when I lay down—I was so desperate to close my eyes I could have passed out leaning against a wall—but now I’ve had enough rest to notice how uncomfortable I am.
    Since I threw away my phone and haven’t had time to buy a watch, I have no idea what time it is, but I feel refreshed and strangely keyed up. Last night, I’d been freaked out by the taste of that kid’s shirt in my mouth and the sight of Danny unleashing his violent side in a way I haven’t seen in forever, but now the memory of how we took care of the threat to our safety makes me feel proud and…hopeful. Danny and I are a good team. Life threw a lot of shit at us yesterday, but we dealt with it and made the best of every bad situation.
    I know we have miles to go and many bridges to cross before I can call this escape a success, but right now, I feel confident that we’ll get there. Together.
    I try to sleep for a little longer, but when Sheila the moaner starts up again, I don’t reach for my headphones. Instead, I grab my purse and my tennis shoes and slip quietly out of the room into the dimly lit hallway. For a moment, I think about peeking into the men’s dorm to see if Danny is awake, but decide against it. He needs his sleep, and I can kill a couple of hours alone at the coffee shop downstairs. It will probably be good for me, give me time to think through the rest of the plan again with a clearer head.
    I tug on my shoes and run my fingers through my hair, but I don’t head into the bathroom to make sure I’m presentable before I head downstairs. Running a coffee shop next to a youth hostel, the waitresses must be used to rumpled kids rolling in at all hours. And I went to sleep in my black track pants and a white long-sleeved tee shirt, so I look more like I’m headed out for a run than rolling out of bed.
    For a second, I contemplate a run—nothing helps me organize my thoughts like pounding pavement—but I dismiss the idea almost immediately. This neighborhood is rough, and I don’t want to risk running into trouble alone. Like it or not, the world