My eyes open before dawn. Not because I’m an early riser or enjoy watching the sunrise. But out of necessity—survival.
My feet hit the ground before my body is fully awake. My senses put out feelers in every direction, trying to determine any threat before it ends me. I pull the gun from under my pillow and aim it around the room. I no longer sleep without it. Not after my father’s last “test” left me fighting off a dozen men with nothing but my thirteen-year-old body’s scrawny muscles to defend myself.
I still my breathing and heartbeat as I focus. But I know immediately there is no one in my bedroom but me. The room is silent and dark.
I put my gun in the back of my jeans. Yes, I sleep in jeans. I’ve gotten too many early wake-up calls needing me to be ready to fight. And I’d rathe
