Prologue

JOAQUIN

The rain had been lashing down for what felt like hours. And it wasn't a trickle or intermittent shower. This was the real thing. This was the kind of hard, relentless downpour that soaked you to the bone the second you stepped outside.

Fortunately for Joaquin, his jacket had taken the brunt of the rain as he scrambled onto the bus some hours ago. But a little dampness around the collar of his dirty white t-shirt was the least of Joaquin's problems.

Still – at least Joaquin was protected from the elements.

Deep into winter, the sky had long turned black, and the rhythmic lashing of the torrential rain was sending Joaquin off to sleep as he got comfortable in his seat.

The sound of the bus engine humming and juddering was playing its part in slowly shutting Joaquin's eyes. The engine's heavy rumble and the greyhound bus's musty, humid cabin were playing their part in sending Joaquin to sleep too.

On the one hand, Joaquin knew that a good couple of hours of rest would probably do him the world of good. Having not slept in what felt like days, Joaquin had long been running on empty and would have loved nothing more than relaxing and letting himself slip into dreamland.

And if Joaquin did fall asleep, he knew that his dreams could be so much more preferable than his current situation. If he just allowed himself to sleep for a little while, Joaquin could allow his mind wander to far more pleasurable thoughts.

For a moment though, Joaquin's mind flashed back to the moment less than a day ago when he thought his life was about to change forever. Having taken a beating from three thugs and with no escape in sight, Joaquin recalled the feeling of powerlessness he felt as the men began to paw at him in an altogether other way.

Instead of fists and kicks, it had been squeezes, pinches, and pulls all over his tender body. There had been something so degrading about it, knowing that these men could do exactly what they wanted with him, and he would simply have no answer for it.

Fortunately for Joaquin though, the thugs had been called out of the room in such a rush and for just about long enough that it allowed him to make his escape.

But Joaquin knew that he was still in danger.

He may have been all kinds of exhausted, but Joaquin knew that he simply had no other choice but to stay alert and very much keep his wits about him. The men who were after him weren't the kind to fuck around – Joaquin's tender, bruised ribs were a testament to that, as was the burn mark on his forearm. And all of this was without taking into account just what the men might have done to him had Joaquin not being able to make his escape.

Having his ass and cock groped and grabbed at by burly, heavy-set thugs wasn't a good feeling at all, but the worst thing about it was that Joaquin hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Each time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the men's hands on him, slapping and squeezing him as if he was their personal toy.

Stop thinking about it.

It was gross.

But it's over.

While he might have found temporary respite on the bus, there was every chance that a prying eye could spell trouble. Joaquin might have escaped once, but he knew that only a fool would assume that this was all over.

I have to get as far away from the city as I can.

No looking back. No turning back.

I've crossed the wrong line this time…

Joaquin took his phone out of his pocket and saw that he had around twenty percent left of his battery. It wasn't ideal, and the fact that the bus's charging points looked shot to pieces also meant that charging was out too.

It was probably for the best though.

Joaquin knew that the second he plugged himself into a podcast, he would be snoring before the intro theme had finished. And that very much wasn't something that he couldn't allow to happen.

‘Just get some sleep kid, you'll be grateful in the morning,' came a voice from the other side of the bus.

Joaquin turned and saw a lady in her early fifties smiling back at him. With her scraped back hair and well-worn clothes, she looked like she'd been through her fair share of drama too, and the nearly finished bottle of vodka in her lap was almost certainly testament to her predicament.

‘Here, have a slug,' the woman said, a genuine look in her eye that just about made Joaquin able to trust her. ‘Go on, it won't kill you.'

‘What the hell. Why not,' Joaquin replied, the thought of getting some liquid courage inside him proving impossible to resist.

Joaquin reached over and took the bottle of bargain liquor store vodka from the woman and gladly took a big gulp.

‘Thank you,' Joaquin said, feeling the burn of the vodka and passing the bottle back to the woman. ‘I think I needed that.'

‘I could tell,' the lady replied, chuckling to herself as she finished off the bottle in one swoop. ‘ Urgh . There isn't another stop now until morning. So I'll bid you good fuckin' night.'

‘Yeah, good night,' Joaquin replied, smiling as he felt the vodka warming him from the inside out. ‘And thanks again for the drink.'

‘Don't mention it,' the lady said, her eyes already shut as she turned to face the window. ‘Now get some damn sleep. You look like I freakin' feel.'

Joaquin was about to reply but saw that the lady was pretty much asleep already. And in that moment, Joaquin thought that she might just be onto something.

But rather than allow himself to swiftly drift off and get some much needed rest, Joaquin took a sharp intake of air into his lungs and rubbed his eyes. As far as he was concerned, sleep simply wasn't a viable option. Not now. And not for the rest of the bus journey either.

Joaquin gripped his bag tightly and looked out of the bus window and into the night sky outside. In all his twenty-three years, Joaquin had never been in trouble like this – and he knew that one wrong step could be the last mistake that he ever made.

Don't fall asleep.

I can't trust anyone on here.

If I lose my bag… I'll be even more fucked than I am already.