The Relentless Courage of a Scared Child by Tana Amen

Author:Tana Amen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2020-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

One afternoon a man stopped me as I was coming out of the grocery store. I found his slicked-back hair, sexy Italian accent, and new Jag alluring, so when he asked for my number, I gladly obliged. Soon after I heard “Ciao, Bella” on my answering machine, and I was fascinated. For the life of me, when Damiano came to pick me up, I couldn’t figure out why my friends thought he was scary. I’d never been drawn to bad boys. In fact, I’d played it surprisingly safe with men in the past. Not necessarily smart. But safe.

Though the Prozac argued to waive my concerns about Damiano, I gave in to them a few weeks later, when I suspected he’d stolen my passport. This happened just after I’d found a duffel bag full of cash in his car and he’d shown up with his face beaten pretty badly. I searched his apartment and car for my missing passport but didn’t find it. However, I did discover that Damiano’s driver’s license, passport, and car registration had different last names.

Using fictitious jealousy as an excuse for my snooping, I confronted him with defensive outrage and demanded an explanation. Damiano told me a convoluted story about a bungled business venture, a burglary, and an unfortunate slip in the shower, which did little to allay my growing apprehension or explain what I had found.

With an icy grin and no explanation, Damiano finally admitted to taking my passport. The once sexy accent suddenly sent a chill down my spine. “You pass-a-port ees at my home. You need to come weeth me if-a you want eet.”

“I’m late for a doctor’s appointment,” I responded nervously. “I’ll have to come back tomorrow.” Then I hightailed it home. For a girl who felt very little, my survival instinct was on overdrive. So I called the one person I’d always been able to count on in a crisis.

Mom.

She made the two-hour drive with me in stop-and-go traffic to Calabasas. We met Damiano at the restaurant he owned. And when Damiano approached her to introduce himself she choked—literally. She started coughing and seemingly couldn’t stop.

Putting a hand over her mouth and waving the other, she excused herself to go to the restroom. Concerned, I followed to check on her. When she finally stopped coughing, she said, “I was looking into the eyes of Satan.”

“Excuse me?” If Mom hadn’t been so upset, I would have laughed.

“Tana, that man is pure evil,” she sputtered, “and he knows I see him. We need to get out of here. Just tell him I’m really sick. Let’s go.” She walked out, resuming her coughing fit. I followed.

Then Mom realized we had driven several hours and not retrieved the passport. She was livid—and panicked. “Tana, when you told me about all the weird stuff going on with Damiano, I thought maybe it was drugs. After seeing him, I know it’s girls. He runs girls!”

“Mom, calm down. Seriously. You sound crazy. I think I’d know if he was a pimp.

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