Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I kneel at the basket of dirty laundry and check pockets for cash I might have forgotten. Nothing. Heaving a sigh, I pull open the top drawer of the dresser and grab a diamond ring.
My mother’s engagement ring, a solitaire with sapphires around it.
My dad died in a car accident before my parents’ wedding, but he left her a lovely parting gift—me.
I had it appraised, once. Just in case. It’s worth a thousand dollars.
I cling to it, remorse washing over me at what I’m thinking.
Gathering the cash together, I tiptoe out of the house. The streets are empty as I put my head down and walk to the seediest part of Sparrow Lake, in the opposite direction of campus.
After half an hour, I turn into an alley between two buildings that don’t have any obvious businesses or tenants. Near the end is a lone light above a set of stairs leading up to a door on the second floor. At the bottom of the stairs is a heavy-set man wearing a blue suit with a crisp white shirt. It’s unbuttoned at his collar, revealing wiry silver chest hair and a thick gold St. Christopher’s medal. His brown hair is slicked back as he leans against the railing smoking a cigar.
My heart thumps. Coming to his part of town, not to mention seeing him, brings dread and fear roaring to the surface like a storm. Scott was a blip compared to Connor.
Just to look at him, you might think he’s just a regular middle-aged businessman with a wife, kids, and a minivan, but he runs a flourishing drug and loan shark business out of his decaying, twenty-four-hour laundromat. He drives a blacked-out Range Rover. I have no clue if he’s married, but he wears a wedding band.
I stare at the lit tip of his cigar and rub the scar on my wrist. He burned me last month when I was short.
Everyone thinks he’s killed people. Once, when I came to pay early, I watched him pistol-whip a man into a bloody mess.
I cross the street to the small storefront and head to the back of the alley.
“I was just thinking about you,” he says, flicking the cigar away. “You have my money, sweet thing?”
I let out an uneasy breath and nod.
“Good girl.”
I pull the stash out from my pocket, already bracing myself. “N-Not all of it. But most of it.”
One dark eyebrow shoots up. He grabs the money and starts to count. Dark eyes meet mine as a flicker of a smile crosses his face. “This is half. Can’t you count?”
“I know, I—” I pull out the ring. “I have this. If you just—”
Another smile that stops my words. Cold. Deadly. “You know the rules. Cash only.”
“Fine. Fine,” I say, teeth chattering. “I-I’ll go to the pawn shop when it opens and—”
“It’s due now.”
“T-The shop opens at nine. Just give me a few hours to—”
He laughs. “Sure, but every hour past six, you owe me twenty dollars more.”
I gape. “What? But I—”
He reaches out, grabbing the hair at the nape of my neck. I feel the pop-pop-pop of it ripping from my scalp. Pain screams up my neck as he draws me to his face. The smell of smoke on his breath makes my eyes water.
“Connor, please . . .”
His finger traces down the center of my chest. “So pretty. I like you a lot. I don’t want to hurt you.” He gazes at my wrist. “How’s the burn, sweet thing? Still hurt?”
I shake my head as my heart pounds so loud that it’s deafening in my ears. “D-don’t—”
“I’m a kind man. I told you how you can work the debt off.” He dips his head to my neck and inhales. He bites my earlobe so hard I yelp.
“Why go through this every month? I can put you up in a nice place, take you out. You like Vegas?” He tugs on my nipple and I rear back, struggling.
His girlfriends end up cast aside, usually struggling with addiction.
Like my mom.
I should be used to his offers, immune to the horror since I’ve been here so many times, but the fear never subsides. “Never been,” I say shakily.
He smiles. “Ah, you’ll like how I treat you. Real good.”
Never. Never. Never.
I shake my head. “Connor—”
Just like that, he’s gone.
Someone jerked him away from me and slammed him to the ground.
I blink as I see Eric standing over Connor. He brings his fist down on Connor’s stomach with a sickening sound, like slapping wet sand.
“Hands off her,” Eric snaps as he rubs his knuckles. “This one’s taken.”
What?
“No—no—don’t—” I rush over and try to shove Eric away.
He doesn’t budge as he gives me an assessing look, eyes flashing as he takes me in. “I thought you were going to bed,” he yells. “And you come here? What the fuck is wrong with you?”