The Unwanted Convict Makes A Spectacular Comeback

The heavy metal gates of the upstate New York women's correctional facility slid open. The mechanical grinding sound was deafening, a harsh scraping of iron against iron that vibrated in Abbey Dudley's teeth.

A bitter early autumn wind whipped across the barren drop-off zone. It carried the taste of dust and diesel exhaust. Abbey squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her pupils burning as they tried to adjust to the unfiltered glare of the afternoon sun.

She pulled the thin fabric of her faded gray hoodie tighter across her chest. It was the only piece of civilian clothing the guards had issued her. The fabric offered zero protection against the cold biting at her collarbones.

Abbey took her first step past the concrete threshold.

A sharp, electric spike of agony shot up her right thigh. Her breath hitched in her throat. She forced her weight onto her left leg, her body tilting into a pronounced, ugly limp just to keep herself from collapsing onto the asphalt.

She looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the frayed straps of a battered black canvas bag. It held five years of her life. A toothbrush. A bar of cheap soap. A few pieces of paper. Nothing else.

A brand-new, black Cadillac Escalade sat parked dead center in the loading zone. It was a massive, aggressive machine that looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of razor wire and guard towers.

The dark tinted window of the driver's side hummed as it rolled down.

Brecken Dudley leaned his arm against the door frame. His hair was styled to absolute perfection. His jaw was set in a hard line of elite arrogance. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned Abbey from head to toe.

He looked at her cheap, oversized hoodie. He looked at her twisted right leg. A flash of pure, unfiltered disgust rippled across his face.

Brecken slammed his palm against the center of the steering wheel. The horn blared. The sudden, piercing noise sent a flock of crows scattering from the perimeter fence.

"Get in the car. Haven't you embarrassed us enough?"

Brecken threw the words out the window. His tone was dripping with charity, the kind of voice a person used when tossing a coin to a stray dog.

He kept the engine running. He fully expected Abbey to do what she had always done five years ago. He expected her eyes to well up with tears. He expected her to flash a pathetic, eager smile and hobble over to him, desperate for any scrap of his attention.

Abbey stopped walking.

She stood ten yards away from the Escalade. She did not cry. She did not smile. She just stared at him.

Her eyes seemed completely dead at first glance. They were two hollow, dark pits. There was no grievance on the surface, but beneath that absolute, chilling emptiness lay a suppressed, icy weariness that she couldn't even be bothered to unleash. It made her look like a corpse propped up on strings.

Brecken felt a strange, cold knot form in the pit of his stomach. His fingers subconsciously tightened around the leather steering wheel.

He frowned, his irritation spiking to mask the sudden unease.

"I said get over here, right now," Brecken raised his voice, barking the order. He needed to feel the control he was used to having.

Abbey did not move toward him. She slowly lifted her left hand. She took the frayed strap of the canvas bag and wrapped it deliberately around her right wrist. The coarse fabric rubbed against the thick, jagged scars covering her skin.

She turned her head. She looked past the hundred-thousand-dollar SUV. Her gaze locked onto the rusted Greyhound bus stop sign at the end of the dirt road.

Brecken watched her ignore him. A hot rush of fury burned the back of his neck.

He shoved the heavy car door open and stepped out. His long legs ate up the distance between them. The soles of his handmade Italian leather shoes crunched loudly against the loose gravel. He brought a suffocating wave of expensive cologne and intimidation with him.

"Stop playing these pathetic hard-to-get games with me. The family is being generous enough just sending me to pick you up," Brecken sneered, towering over her.

Abbey finally tilted her head up to look at him. Her chapped lips parted slightly. The skin cracked, a tiny bead of blood pooling in the corner of her mouth.

She did not give him a single syllable.

She dragged her ruined right leg forward. Her movements were agonizingly slow, but her trajectory was absolute. She stepped to the side, completely bypassing Brecken's imposing frame.

As she brushed past his shoulder, Brecken inhaled. The smell hit him instantly. It was a nauseating mixture of industrial bleach, cheap lye soap, and stale sweat.

He instinctively stumbled a half-step backward, his nose wrinkling in revulsion.

He stared at her back as she limped away. Her right shoulder dipped heavily with every step. He looked at her like she was an alien species he could not comprehend.

"Stop right there! Do you want the paparazzi catching the Dudley family's eldest daughter squeezing onto a filthy public bus?" Brecken roared at her back.

Abbey did not break her stride. The black canvas bag slapped rhythmically against the side of her good knee.

A massive, rusted Greyhound bus groaned as it pulled up to the curb. A thick cloud of black exhaust smoke belched from its tailpipe, completely obscuring the bus stop and blocking Brecken's view of Abbey.

Brecken yanked at his silk tie. The knot felt like it was choking him. He could not let her get on that bus. The PR nightmare for the family's stock prices would be disastrous if a reporter snapped a photo of her looking like a vagrant.

He lunged forward through the smoke.

He reached out and grabbed Abbey's upper arm. His fingers clamped down hard. Her arm was shockingly thin, the bone feeling fragile enough to snap under his grip. He yanked her backward, trying to physically drag her toward the Escalade.

Abbey lost her balance. Her bad leg gave out. She stumbled hard, her shoulder nearly hitting the dirt.

She whipped her head around.

The look in her eyes hit Brecken like a physical blow. It was a stare of such pure, concentrated malice and icy intent that the breath was knocked completely out of his lungs. Brecken froze instantly, his muscles locking up in the middle of the road.