Chapter One—Gus and Rick
Margo’s foot slips as she climbs the trellis under her bedroom window. She giggles and shushes herself. Her window is still open, and she manages to push it up further without falling two stories back to the ground. In a half-dive, half-fall, she hits the bedroom floor with a thud. Her laughter gets muffled into the carpet.
“Shhh, be quiet,” she hisses to herself. The room spins, and she thinks sleeping right where she has landed isn’t such a bad idea. The bedroom light flips on. Margo squints as a pair of black boots stop in front of her.
“Uh-oh. I’m in trouble now.” She laughs.
Another set of boots, these brown, join the black ones. She wonders if that third shot of tequila has her seeing double. Then she remembers her stepdad doesn’t wear boots. He’s a loafer man. Slowly, she lifts her head and stares up at two barrel-chested men. Panic pumps liquor through her veins at top speed. Her limbs feel thick and sloppy, but she gets to her feet as quickly as she can.
“Who the hell are you? Get out of my house.” Her heartbeat roars in her ears. Mom? Ron? Have these men killed them? She grabs the first weapon she can find. A curling iron.
“My name’s Gus,” says the taller of the barrel-chested men. “This here is Rick.” He gestures to the other guy. “We’re from Satyr Hill Rehab Center for At-Risk Youth, and we’re here to take you.”
Satyr Hill? Oh shit. Ron has actually gone and done it. He has finally called her bluff. Now, she wants these men to be homicidal killers.
“Stay away from me.” Margo holds the curling iron out in front of her like a knife.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself.” Gus sounds almost bored, like he’s reading a script. “You can walk out the door or be carried. Either way, you’re leaving with us tonight.”
“Mom!” she roars, but her stepdad answers the call.
“Ron.” She pushes past the brutes. “I’ve been better. You don’t have to do this.” She feels sweaty and cold all at once.
Ron pushes his black frames up on his nose, unable to maintain the stern frown pulling down his mouth. He has threatened Margo with Satyr Hill for the past year. She’s always been able to pout, plead, and lie her way out of it. She throws her arms around his soft middle, and buries her face in his chest.
“Please. I’ve been better. I have.”
“It’s three in the morning, Margo.”
“I called. The car broke—”
“Don’t lie. You always lie, and I’m sick of it. You haven’t been to school in two weeks. You smell like a barroom floor.”
Ron pulls Margo’s arms from around his waist, and looks down at her. There’s something different about his face. The brown skin and sad eyes are the same, but there’s something more. He looks exhausted, and not from this three a.m. kidnapping. He’s tired of her.
She backs away from him, all the way to her bed. Gus and Rick watch her carefully, not trusting her for a second. Still, there’s no way she’s going out like this. Summoning all her energy, Margo dives at Ron and slams her shoulder into his gut. She hears his muffled, oomph, as she knocks him to the floor. On clumsy legs she stumbles out the bedroom.
She makes it halfway down the hall, when she feels a heavy hand at her back. The shove seems effortless, but it sends Margo sailing forward. She lands at the top of the stairs. A thick hand grabs her ankle. She kicks and screams as she’s dragged away from the steps.
“Do you have to be so rough?” Ron asks.
“She’s not hurt,” Gus says. “Just out of control.”
“Get your damn hands off me!”
Gus hauls Margo up, and tosses her over his shoulder like a sack of trash. He starts for the stairs, with Rick bringing up the rear.
“Please. Ron. Help me.” Tears make her voice quiver, but she refuses to let them fall. “I promise I’ll go to school. I won’t drink or smoke. I’ll go to church…” She starts tossing out anything she thinks will keep her home. “Daddy, please.” She never calls Ron daddy. The word brings the first break in his demeanor, the first tear from his eye.
“Help me, Daddy.”
She sees the instant he changes his mind. Victory! Ron steps forward, an arm outstretched as if to stop Gus, but at that exact moment, Margo realizes something. Her mother is conspicuously absent. Anger kicks every other emotion out the door. She begins to claw and scream, knocking pictures off the wall. She spits on Rick, but he simply wipes it away like he’s used to getting spit on.
“Mom,” Margo shouts. “Get out here. Stop hiding, and look what this man is doing to your daughter. You spineless dishrag.” She bucks and rocks, but Gus is unmovable, and undeterred in his mission. They round the corner, and pass through the living room.
“I hate you, Mom. I’ll never forgive you for this.” She looks at Ron, at his red-rimmed eyes, and her heart lurches, but she’s too pissed and too terrified to stop now.
“I hate you too,” she says.
“I love you.”
“Shut up. If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this. Send her away.” Margo hopes her mother will hear. “She’s the reason I’m like this. It’s her fault. She’s worse than me.”
“You’ll see, sweetheart.” Ron’s voice catches. “This is for the best.”
“She’s worse than me,” Margo repeats, losing some of her steam. Gus dumps her into the backseat of an SUV.
“You can call and speak with her in one week,” Gus says. “Be prepared. She may not want to talk to you.”
Ron approaches the window. The rapidly declining adrenaline high, coupled with the tequila, has Margo slumped in the seat.
“I’ll call you next week.” Ron brushes the back of his hand down the side of her cheek, but there are no tears to wipe away.
“She’s worse than me,” Margo whispers. She lifts her eyes until they lock with Ron’s. “You got rid of the wrong one.”
The SUV pulls away, and Margo holds Ron’s tearful gaze until she rounds the corner.
