Thunder cracked directly overhead.

Bethel bolted upright in bed, gasping. The sound of rain hammering against the thin aluminum roof of the trailer was deafening. It sounded like being inside a drum.

She was sweating, her cheap cotton nightshirt clinging to her back.

The dream faded-Baron standing in the rain, waiting for her, five years ago. He had waited until he collapsed from hypothermia. She had watched from the window, crying, but she hadn't opened the door.

A drop of water splashed onto her forehead. The roof was leaking again.

Her phone buzzed violently on the plywood nightstand, dancing toward the edge.

She looked at the screen. Harvey Huber.

Bethel's stomach twisted into a knot. Bile rose in her throat. She stared at the name, the man who held the leash to her life.

She picked it up.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Sleep well, bride-to-be?" Harvey's voice was thick, oily.

"I'm not your bride, Harvey."

He laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound. "Your daddy's appeal hearing is next week. Without my father's testimony recanting the statement... well, the old man rots in federal prison. Maybe they'll move him to Supermax."

Bethel gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "I'm working on the appeal. I'll find new evidence."

"With what resources?" Harvey sneered. "You're a charity lawyer living in a tin can. You think you can outmaneuver the Feds with a public defender budget?"

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

"Tonight," he said. "My club. Be there, or I tell my dad to lose his memory about the fraud details."

"Harvey, please-"

Click.

Bethel dropped the phone. She pulled her knees up and rested her forehead on them. The trailer smelled of mold and damp cardboard.

She dragged herself out of bed. She walked to the tiny kitchenette. The linoleum was peeling in the corner. She opened the fridge. Half a carton of milk and a loaf of bread that was starting to turn green.

This was her reality. Last night, she had been in River Oaks, surrounded by millions of dollars. Today, she was scraping mold off bread.

She dressed in her oversized grey suit, trying to hide the thinness of her frame. She checked the mirror. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes.

She grabbed her keys and walked out.

Her neighbor, a man with no teeth, was urinating against the side of his own trailer. Bethel looked straight ahead, walking to her car.

The 2008 Toyota Corolla was a wreck. The bumper was held on with duct tape. She turned the key. The engine coughed, whined, and died.

"Please," she begged the dashboard.

She tried again. It sputtered to life, shaking violently.

She drove out of the trailer park, the suspension groaning over every pothole. As she stopped at a red light, she looked to her left. In the distance, the glass towers of downtown Houston gleamed. Somewhere in one of those penthouses, Baron was waking up in silk sheets.

The light turned green. The car behind her honked aggressively.

Bethel stepped on the gas, the car lurching forward. She had a job to do. She had a father to save. She didn't have time to mourn a love that was already dead.

The alley behind the legal aid center was dark. The streetlamp flickered, casting long, jumping shadows on the brick walls.

Bethel locked the back door of the office, exhausted. Her feet throbbed. She had spent ten hours fighting evictions for single mothers.

A black SUV idled at the end of the alley, blocking the exit.

Bethel stopped. Her hand went into her purse, fingers wrapping around the small canister of pepper spray.

The rear window rolled down. Smoke billowed out.

Harvey Huber stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing a suit that cost more than Bethel made in a year, but it couldn't hide the bloat of his face or the cruelty in his small eyes. Two large men in dark shirts stepped out of the front seats.

"Harvey," Bethel said, keeping her voice steady. "I told you I'm busy."

Harvey took a drag of his cigar and flicked the ash onto the pavement. He walked toward her, backing her against the brick wall.

"You're making this hard, Bethel," he said, stepping into her personal space. He smelled of stale smoke and expensive cologne.

He pulled a folded document from his inside pocket and slapped it against the wall next to her head.

"Prenup," he said. "Sign it. We get married next month. My dad makes the call to the DA. Your dad comes home."

Bethel looked at the paper. It was a slavery contract. She would get nothing. He would own her.

"I will never marry you," she hissed. "My father would rather die in prison than see me with a pig like you."

Harvey's face turned red. He reached out and grabbed her throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to choke her, just enough to show he could.

"Don't act like you're special," he spat, leaning in. "I have eyes everywhere, Bethel. I heard about the little reunion at River Oaks. Saw your old flame in town. Lowery. I know how he looked at you. Like you were garbage."

Bethel flinched. The truth of it stung worse than his hand on her neck.

"He knows what you are," Harvey whispered. "Damaged goods. No one wants the daughter of a traitor. Except me."

He leaned in to kiss her, his wet lips puckered.

Bethel didn't think. She reacted.

She brought her knee up, driving it hard into his groin.

Harvey let out a strangled yelp and doubled over, releasing her throat.

"Get her!" he wheezed to his bodyguards.

Bethel scrambled back, pulling the pepper spray. "My phone is live-streaming to a secure server!" she screamed, bluffing with every ounce of conviction she had. "Every word you say is being recorded and sent directly to the DA's office! Touch me and it's assault on top of witness tampering!"

The bodyguards hesitated, looking at the street. A police cruiser rolled past the end of the alley, its lights flashing silently.

Harvey straightened up, clutching himself. His eyes were murderous.

"You'll beg me," he growled. "By the end of the week, you'll be on your knees begging me to marry you."

He signaled his men. They piled back into the SUV.

Harvey gave her one last look of pure venom before getting in. The car peeled out, leaving a cloud of exhaust.

Bethel slumped against the brick wall, her legs giving out. She dropped the pepper spray. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't pick it up.

Her phone rang.

She jumped, a small scream escaping her throat. She fumbled for it.

"Bethel?" It was Chynna. She was crying. Slurring. "I'm at The Rusty Nail. Preston left... I can't find my shoes... please come."

Bethel wiped a tear from her cheek. She took a deep breath, forcing the terror down into a box in her mind.

"I'm coming, Chynna."