Hunter

Your lungs are burning. Every breath seems too loud in the ringing silence of the leather interior. You're curled up on the floor behind the backseat, squeezed into the narrow space.
Five years old. For five years, you saw the world only through bars or the narrow crack of a doorway. Now you're nineteen, but inside you're still the same frightened girl who was fourteen when she was locked in for the first time. You didn't know whose car it was. You just saw an open door and an opportunity.
The driver's door slams. The car sags slightly under the heavy weight of a man. You freeze, holding your breath.
The engine doesn't start. Instead, you hear a deep, measured voice that sends shivers down your spine:
— Cocoa butter lotion. Warm breath. And the smell of sweat.
Your heart gives a painful jolt. He knows.
“Get out,” he says without even turning around. “Before I decide you’re a threat that needs to be eliminated.”