Running Free (Woodland Creek)
K Webster
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my husband. My Alpha. You protect me and love me harder than anyone ever could. I love you!
A huge thanks to my PA and bestie Nikki McCrae. You kept my head in the game on this one when I wanted to give up plenty of times. I would say something really mushy and gushy about now but I don’t want things to get weird… haha!
Thank you Nicky Crawford for talking me through some scenes that needed hashing out. You rock!
I want to thank the people that beta read on this book. Nikki McCrae, Wendy Colby, Elizabeth Clinton, Ella Stewart and Nicky Crawford. I hope I didn’t forget anyone. You guys always provide AMAZING feedback. You all give me helpful ideas to make my stories better and give me incredible encouragement. I appreciate all of your comments and suggestions.
Thank you to all of my blogger friends both big and small that go above and beyond to always share my stuff. You all rock! #AllBlogsMatter I’m especially thankful for the Breaking the Rules Babes and my Krazy for K reader group. You ladies are wonderful with your support and friendship. Each and every single one of you is amazingly supportive and caring.
I am totally thankful for my author group, the COPA gals, for being there when I need to take a load off and whine. Y’all rock!
Vanessa, you are a gem and I’m so thankful for your expertise. You’ve been a great friend too. Thank you!! Manda Lee, thanks for being an awesome proofreader and so supportive!! Love you ladies!
Thank you Stacey Blake for being the best formatter in the whole wide world! Love ya, girl!
A big thanks to Nicole Blanchard. You told me about this wonderful opportunity and answered my millions of questions. You’re awesome!
Lastly but certainly not least of all, thank you to all of the wonderful readers out there that are willing to hear my story and enjoy my characters like I do. It means the world to me!
Dedication
To my alpha, my hero, my protector… I love you.
Frankie
Twelve years old
Tonight, I’m running away. Four foster homes just this year and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of getting beat up by older, meaner foster kids. Sick of wearing ratty hand-me-downs. And sick to death of the leering looks of men who are supposed to care for me.
A moan from the bunk bed above me causes my breath to still in my chest. Minnie is an eight-year-old girl who I actually do have feelings for. But I know better than to get close to her. At any moment, either of us could get shuffled to a new home. In this life, you don’t get close to anyone.
I never considered running away before, but tonight as I gaped at the blood in my panties in the bathroom, something fierce begins to trickle through my veins. It was as if the start of my period brought with it a taste of much desired freedom. These foster homes were nothing more than a cage and I wanted to be set free.
Twelve isn’t an age when a girl should be able to survive alone, but I’m no regular girl. Ever since I was introduced into the system at age two, I’ve had to fight for everything — food, clothes, a place to sleep. It hasn’t been pretty but I’m prepared to take on this big, bad world on my own.
Slinking out of the bed, I take a look around the small room I share with Minnie. Nothing belongs to me. I’m in no way tethered to anything here. Without a backwards glance, I tip-toe over to the window and attempt to open it as quietly as possible. I’ve finally managed to wrench it open when I sense a presence.
Jase, my fifteen-year old foster brother, glares at me from the doorway. His ever soulful jade-colored eyes almost glow in the dark.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he hisses.
I don’t give him an answer as I climb out the window and prepare to run. Just as I figure out the direction I want to go, he clutches on to my bicep, having followed me outside.
“I said, where you think you’re going?” he demands in a deep voice as he jerks me around to face him.
My nostrils flare in disgust when I get a whiff of him. Hygiene at our foster home isn’t of utmost priority and Jase reeks of body odor. Tonight he stinks something awful and it makes me wonder if with the start of my period, I’m being extra sensitive to the way things smell.
Meeting his green-eyed glare, I pin him with a hateful look. “Let me go, Jase.”
He’s a good six inches taller than me but I’m not afraid of him. Jase is weak despite his bad attitude. I’ve seen him get his face smashed in on more than one occasion by our foster father, Joe, and he didn’t do a darn thing about it.
“You can’t leave, Frances. You’re only twelve.” His voice wavers and I sense his worry for my safety. It almost warms me but then I remember I don’t care.
“Jase, I’ll be fine. I can’t stay here anymore,” I tell him in a firm tone.
His grip is unrelenting as he searches my eyes. “You could get killed or worse yet, taken advantage of,” he mumbles.
“You have five seconds to get your hand off me or you’ll be the one getting killed,” I snarl.
Jase’s eyes widen in shock at my tone and he releases my arm, stumbling back a bit. I glower at him until he retreats a few more steps.
“W-what are you?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion but then shake my head. There’s no time to chit chat. “Bye Jase. Don’t let Joe win anymore. You’re almost as big as he is now.”