Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

2. Willow

CHAPTER 2

WILLOW

brOKEN - ISAK DANIELSON

Grabbing the small, black duffel bag we boarded the aeroplane with, I take an unsteady breath and check our passports for the fifth time. Still there. Still safe.

This final flight back to England is fraying my almost non-existent nerves. The hustle and bustle of the tight space has anxiety tightening my chest, which is already constricted by the wrap of bandages around my ribs.

My first aid is rudimentary at best, but I have no other options right now. I can’t afford to go to a hospital and run the risk of Mr Sanchez tracking us down. We’ve come too far.

Burying the pain at the back of my mind, I focus instead on the look of wonderment on Arianna’s sweetheart-shaped face. I’ve dreamed about this day for so many years.

“Mummy! Look, I can see land.”

Pointing frantically out of the window, she watches the approaching greenery as we begin to descend. I buckle both of our belts in preparation.

“Hold on tight, baby. Nearly there.”

“The sea is so pretty,” she coos, her nose pressed up against the glass window. “I want to go swimming in it. What would happen if I jumped out now?”

“That’s not a good plan, Ari. But when we get to our new home, I’ll teach you how to swim. We can go whenever you want.”

“Really? Daddy won’t be mad?”

“Daddy isn’t in charge anymore,” I murmur, tucking blonde hair behind her ear. “We can do whatever we want. No more rules, no more hiding.”

Arianna frowns with childlike confusion. “Isn’t Daddy coming to meet us? What about Pedro? He said he was right behind us.”

Dragging in an agonised breath, I crush the dark memories that her questions bring. Blood. Bullets. Shouting. Terror. It’s almost too much to hold in. I can’t breathe.

When Arianna repeats her questions, I press her head to my chest in an attempt to silence the conversation. I don’t want to remember. It’s taken everything to get this far.

The ultimate sacrifice.

I’ve had enough worried looks in the past few days of hurried travel to last a lifetime. An airport security guard even asked me if I needed help and didn’t buy my excuses when I declined.

I’ve been severely beaten and forced to flee across the continent with a young child with nothing but a single bag and a sizable stack of cash between us. It’s not a good look.

“Mummy?” she repeats.

“Daddy has some business, and Pedro has to help him,” I answer in a whisper. “It’s just us, Ari. Like we talked about. We’re going to be on our own from now on.”

She offers me a gut-wrenching smile. “Daddy doesn’t let me eat ice cream or go swimming, and he makes you cry. Can we stay on our own forever? Just me and you?”

I link our pinkie fingers, squeezing tight. “Just me and you.”

“Okay. Does your face hurt?”

I try to muster a smile and fail. “I’m fine, Ari.”

She reaches out, stroking her little fingers over the deep-purple bruises that are swelling my face to almost twice its usual size. Even that tiny touch pains me.

I have two black eyes, a broken nose that I’ve clumsily strapped into place and a fat lip split right down the middle. I must look like Frankenstein’s monster on a bad day.

Mr Sanchez spent every night of the past month beating me, spiralling further and further out of control. His rage has grown to disproportionate levels of unholiness.

The final straw was when he threatened to kill Arianna, drunk on his own violence and power. I knew then that it was time to make a run for it, planning be damned.

Even more mottled bruises sneak beneath my plain, white blouse and faded-blue jeans, carefully hidden with a well-placed scarf. There isn’t an unmarked part of me.

He trampled me like a bug beneath his shoe, laughing his head off for the entire time. In that soulless moment, I thought I was finally going to die.

I had no choice but to take action and ask Pedro to steal us away under the protective cover of night. It was either that or risk leaving Arianna alone in the world when Mr Sanchez finally managed to kill me.

Arianna presses her lips to my cheek, swiping away tears that I didn’t realise had escaped my eyes. “There. All better now.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“No more crying. We’re going on an adventure!”

“We are. I’m so proud of you, Ari. You’ve been such a brave girl.”

“My fingers don’t hurt anymore,” she boasts proudly.

Staring down at the burned tips of her tiny fingers, I nearly lose my final remaining shred of self-control. Guilt is corroding my insides and making me dizzy with sickness.

“I’m so sorry. Mummy didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

She’s so matter of fact, despite the fact I seared off her fingerprints in an airport bathroom with a cigarette lighter, my hand clamped over her mouth to silence her screams.

Nobody can know who we really are, or who her father is. It would be a one-way ticket back to the demon’s lair, where we’ll both be punished for running.

Pedro already took his punishment. If it weren’t for him, we would still be trapped there. I’ll never get the chance to thank him. All I have left is the never-ending guilt.

Cuddling each other tight, we don’t let go until the aeroplane touches tarmac, announcing our arrival in England. Arianna claps the moment we’re on the ground.

“He didn’t crash it,” she declares, causing a nearby couple to frown at her sassiness. “We’re here!”

I quickly hush her. “Shhh.”

“No, Mummy.” Her glower is defiant. “I’m excited! We’re home.”

It was a long flight from Mexico, with two changes and a stopover on the way to throw my husband’s men off the scent if they managed to follow us. She’s been cooped up for days.

I release the breath I’ve been holding since we snuck out of the Sanchez Mansion last week, stealing across the sun-baked country with nothing but desperation and the good will of strangers to keep us going.

I didn’t think we’d make it.

Somehow, we’re here. Home .

“Hold on tight to my hand, Ari.”

Inching our way into the aisle, we cling on to each other, sandwiched between the press of impatient bodies. I forget how to breathe, searching the crowd for any familiar faces.

I don’t allow myself the luxury of a single ounce of relief until our feet hit the tarmac and the tickle of cool February sunshine dances across my skin in greeting.

Ignoring the frazzled travellers around us, I crouch down and graze my blistered fingertips across the cold ground, savouring the bite of gravel. While I’ll miss the rugged beauty of Mexico, this country is a welcome sight.

“We did it,” I mutter to myself. “It’s over.”

Part of me never believed I’d live to see this day come. After years of hopeless dreaming, we’re finally home. This is what freedom feels like—this feeling, right here.

“Mummy!” Arianna bellows impatiently. “What are you doing? I’m hungry.”

I grin at her, despite the curious looks sent our way by onlookers. “We did it, baby.”

“Did what?”

Staring deep into her frost-bitten eyes lit with the innocence of childhood, I feel tears soak into my cheeks. “We made it.”

“On our adventure?”

“Yes. This is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

With a squeal, she throws herself into my arms for a hug. If I could, I’d spin her around me and celebrate loud enough for the whole country to hear.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” someone calls out.

Fuck!

Freezing on the spot, I shove Arianna behind me and square my shoulders. It’s just an airport attendant, holding my dropped duffel bag in her hands.

“You dropped your bag,” she explains with a smile.

“Thank y-you,” I stammer.

Breathe. Act normal.

“You need to go inside and head through security. Are you okay? Do you need a hand with anything?”

“No, we’re fine. Come on, munchkin.”

Snatching my bag back, I grip Arianna’s hand tight and we race across the airstrip as fast as my numerous injuries will allow. Her small legs can hardly keep up.

Panic is riding me hard. All I can hear are the faceless staff that have called me ma’am for the past decade, averting their eyes and ignoring the abuse.

Running on autopilot through the passport checks, bags searches and a terrifying wait at customs, we make it to the arrivals lounge with no hiccups.

I nearly fainted when security frowned at our fake identification, before it was green-lighted by the system. I paid a small fortune for those fraudulent passports.

It took nearly two years of stealing petty cash here and there, poking into Mr Sanchez’s affairs to secretly gather the money without him realising. There were several close calls.

Assessing the numerous CCTV cameras and police officers milling about the busy airport, I struggle to lift Arianna up, holding her on my hip for my own peace of mind.

She barely weighs a thing. My first priority is getting some meat on her bones, since neither of us has to suffer the consequences of disobedience anymore.

“Mummy.” Her head slumps onto my shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

I stroke her tangled hair, ignoring the flare of pain her weight causes. “Go to sleep. I’m going to find a taxi. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“Where are we going?”

Running through my mental checklist, I nod to myself. “We’ll find a cheap hotel, somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“One with ice cream?”

“We’ll find some. I know I promised.”

“I thought we were going home?” she mumbles.

“Soon,” I lie easily.

I’ve had to figure this parenting thing out alone. Rule number one? Don’t scare your damn kids with the truth. She doesn’t need to know that we don’t have a home.

Locating an available taxi is surprisingly easy, but my anxiety doesn’t abate. There are too many people. Too many faces. I can’t keep us safe out here in the open.

Mr Sanchez could have his well-paid thugs looking for us at this very moment, even if he’s thousands of miles away on the other side of the world. He’s still in my head.

Bundled in the back of a sleek, red taxi, I fasten Arianna’s seatbelt and catch the lingering, concerned look the driver gives us both. I’m barely standing on my own feet.

My head pounds steadily with pain as the adrenaline that’s kept us going finally begins wearing off. My skin burns with a growing fever, but I can’t rest yet. Not until we’re safe.

“Where will it be to?” he asks.

“You know any cheap hotels around here?”

The driver studies me with soft eyes, radiating sympathy. “How cheap are we talking?”

“Nothing fancy. I just need somewhere to rest my head for a few hours. We’re heading northwest in the morning.”

“Got far to go?”

“A few hundred miles, I think. I’m looking for somewhere called Briar Valley.”

He throws the car into gear and pulls away from the bustling airport. “You’re far from home. Are you sure that’s where you want to go?”

“Why? You’ve heard of it?” I ask in a rush of panic.

“Nah. But no offence, you look like you’re in need of a good hospital. Or maybe the police station? I’ll take you right there, no questions asked.”

Staring at him, I catch sight of my battered, hideous face in the rearview mirror. It’s so swollen and discoloured, I look more like a lifeless hunk of meat than a person.

No wonder people were staring at me. I’m visibly dead on my feet, unrecognisable beneath bruises and violent swelling. My nose is still crooked from where I failed to set it straight with flimsy strips.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say in a low whisper.

“You sure?”

“Please take us to a hotel. I’ll figure the rest out from there.”

He shrugs, indicating to join the flow of traffic. “As you wish. Don’t die in my taxi, though.”

“I’ll try my best not to.”

Slumping in the seat with a sleeping Arianna slung across my lap, I let my gritty eyes slide shut. Just for a second. I need to gather my energy again. I’m in so much pain.

Something’s wrong with me, but I don’t have time to worry about my injuries. All that matters is getting off the radar, and far from where my husband can track us down.

Then, we can breathe again.

Perhaps even live a little.