Page 18 of Guarding Salvation

Even though it was only eleven in the morning, she was already tired from not sleeping. Watching her every move and tensing at every sound or voice was exhausting her, both mentally and physically. This was the furthest she’d got away from her family even though it hadn’t been the only time she’d tried to run. The last attempt had been two years ago, and she’d paid for that with a broken femur, two cracked ribs, and a cracked tooth. That hadn’t been the worst though. No, that had been watching the guard that let her slip away being tortured in front of her and then his life slowly ebbing out of him onto the cold, concrete floor of the cellar.

They’d almost broken her will that time. She’d been so close to giving up and ending her life, only her mother’s last words to her had saved her. She’d wanted Aoife to be free, to flee her gilded cage before it was too late. As she walked the curving road, she stopped at the sound of a vehicle, her heart racing fast, fear paralysing as she waited for the car to come around the corner. Every second was filled with worry they’d found her until she saw Mrs Jones, who waved, her face barely visible over the steering wheel of the Land Rover she drove. The relief almost brought her to her knees and with it the realisation that she had to leave. It was only a matter of time before they found her, they always did.

She’d already waited too long in the hope she’d get to see Bram one more time and it was a mistake. No man was worth dying over, not even one who fucked like he did and could make her laugh and feel safe. Safety was an illusion, afforded to the blissfully ignorant and she hadn’t been that for ten years.

It was Friday, which meant they’d be busy tonight with regulars letting their hair down as much as they could in this small village. It always shocked her how much these farmers could drink and still get up at four am the next day to tend to the farm. As Mr Johnson told her, farming was twenty-four-seven for three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. Nobody got a day off, or a holiday in farming. It also meant tips would be good. She’d take tonight, leave first thing, and head deeper into north Wales.

With her mind made up, Aoife quickened her step to the pub. Walking in through the back door, she called Bob’s name and heard nothing. He was most likely in the cellar fixing the barrels. Stowing her bag, she took off her jacket and headed into the bar to get things ready to open up.

Aoife stopped dead at the sight of broken bottles, smashed glasses, chairs turned over, tables destroyed, and the mirror behind the bar cracked and hanging from the wall in front of her. The place had been trashed. Terror gripped her by the throat so tight she fought to get air into her lungs. She went lightheaded, pins and needles shooting through her body as she realised they’d found her.

A groan from the other end of the bar broke the spell of fear and she ran toward the sound. She found Bob on the floor, his face a mask of blood and bruises, his top half propped up against the bar, his legs in front of him. He lifted a weak hand as she ran to him and dropped to her knees.

“Oh my god, Bob.” Her hand didn’t know where to touch so as not to injure him more as it shook with anger and fear. “This is all my fault.”

“Help me up.”

“No, you need to stay there. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No, don’t do that, girl. I’m okay. Just some cuts and bruises. Now help me up onto that chair.”

Aoife hesitated for a split second before doing as he’d asked, hitching her shoulder under his armpit and taking as much of his weight as she could to help him stand. He groaned and she knew his injuries were way worse than he was letting on to her.

Rushing behind the bar, the glass crunching under her boots, she grabbed a clean towel and wrapped some ice, then grabbed a glass and poured a brandy for Bob.

“Here, put this on your cheek, it should help with the swelling. This is for the pain.” She handed him the glass, which he tipped straight back without question then gently held the ice to his face. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” Tears clouded her vision as she tried to blink them away, guilt making her look away as the pain of it clogged her throat.

He looked at her through the eye that was still open, and she wanted to sob at the sympathy she saw there. “They are bad people, girly. You need to leave, now.”

Hurt by his words but knowing she deserved his rejection she nodded and began to stand. Bob grabbed her arm, and it was a firm grip for an old guy. “I ain’t blaming ya, sweetheart, but I don’t want them getting their disgusting hands on an angel like you. I want you to call this number.” He motioned for her to get a pen and he jotted it down on a beer mat with a shaky hand. “I know you don’t want to take help from anyone, and I know you’re scared, but you can’t fight this alone forever and I don’t want to hear of a sweet thing like you ending up on a slab because of them monsters.”

Aoife was crying now, tears flowing down her cheeks unchecked. Even after everything that had happened to him, he was still trying to help her.

“Now, come on, don’t cry. It’ll be alright, you’ll see.” Bob’s one arm came around her and she wished again her own father was like this man and not an evil bastard.

“It’s my father. He’s the one looking for me.” She didn’t know why she confessed that to Bob, but she did.

“Bastard don’t deserve you. Now, promise me you’ll call this number as soon as you get home.”

Aoife didn’t know what to do or who to trust, but she was running out of options. They were here, and they clearly knew she was too. What choice did she have? She trusted Bob to steer her right, although he had no idea what she was up against. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, go. You don’t have much time.”

“I can’t leave you!”

“Course you can. Just hand me the phone first and I’ll have Donald Winters come over and give me a hand to clean up.”

Aoife swallowed a choked sob and took the mat from his hand. She went to get the phone, grabbing her bag and jacket at the same time. Dropping to her haunches, she kissed Bob on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bob.”

“Just promise you’ll call the number.”

Aoife nodded. “I promise.”

With that she raced for the door, looking out to see if she could see anyone before she ran towards the village where her home was. Every step was filled with fear as she waited for the heavy hands of her father’s guards to land on her shoulders, but they didn’t come. Finally, she reached the safety of her home and checked all the small safety measures she’d put in place, like the clear tape on the door jamb and the smudge of lip gloss on the door handle which proved nobody had touched her door.

Rushing upstairs she began throwing her meagre possessions into her bag, not stopping to fold, just sweeping it all in leaving drawers open as she went. Finding the brand-new burner phone she’d stashed in the floorboards, she opened it and slipped in the sim card before she sent a quick message to Peyton telling her what had happened.

Knowing she had to be more careful than ever, she used a code they’d worked out years ago. Then she took out the mat Bob had given her and looked at the number with hesitation. These people might be able to help, or they might not, and she was risking their lives by getting them involved, but she had no other choice. She was at the end of her rope.