Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I turned and looked over my shoulder. One of the masked men held up my purse. Yeah, I’d assumed they’d go through my shit. “And if I can’t pay you back?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, collected.
Ricky’s grin faded, and he got this crazed look in his eyes—even more than what was already going on. “Everyone ends up paying one way or another. We always find a way.”
Chapter 6
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
I had no intentions of spending this money, not when my life was going to be the collateral if I couldn’t repay it.
I stared at the stack, that wad of cash sitting on my shitty table like a lead weight. I could have said I didn’t want it, tried to make a run for it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I would have made it out of there alive.
“You stupid girl.” I rested my head in my hands, the tears threatening to come out, but my self-hatred made everything else stand down. But for as stupid as I was for even going there, and allowing my emotions at this horrible time to consume me, I also knew just giving back the money wasn’t enough. They’d want interest, and whatever that interest was had never been discussed.
I grabbed the money, went over to the sink, and bent down. Behind the pipes was a loose piece of wall. After popping it off, I shoved the cash back there. I had just found the “secret” space earlier in the week, and even though I hadn’t known about it before, I cursed myself for not putting the damn coffee can there to begin with. Once I shoved the few decades-old cleaning supplies out of the way to make it not look obvious I had been messing around under the sink, I got up and headed to work. I didn’t know how much worse this situation could get, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t get any easier.
“Does anyone know where Marshall is, or has anyone heard from him?” Silence greeted Rita, the lead for the day. “He hasn’t been to work in three days, and I can’t get ahold of him.”
My heart started beating faster. I hadn’t seen him since that day he gave me Ricky’s address. And although I could have said I was overreacting, something deep inside of me said I’d been the one to cause his disappearance.
I started sweating, beads forming between my breasts, along my spine.
“Well, if anyone speaks with him, tell him he’s out. He’s been fired. We can only handle so many no-call and no-shows.”
My heart was thundering hard now, and as I watched Rita leave, I knew I was to blame. If anything had happened to Marshall, it was because of me. I’d opened my mouth, and now he hadn’t been to work. I had to see him, to make sure he was okay at the very least. I had know that my foolishness and big mouth hadn’t killed him. I might not have known him very well, but he didn’t deserve to die.
I finished out the workday, my mind jumbled, a mess, threads of worry, confusion, and fear for my own safety weighing on me. The image of that money sitting on my table, and the implications of it all was a heavy weight, making the panic rise to a blistering level.
I fished my car keys out of my purse, waited until I saw Rita leave to go up front, and slipped into the manager’s office. With the coffee shop still running on actual employee files instead of them being on the computer, I was able to find Marshall’s address easily enough.
Once I was in my car and heading toward his place, I felt my heart thunder. My chest ached, the reality of my life and where I was right now making me sick to my stomach. When I pulled up to Marshall’s housing unit, I held on to my steering wheel even harder. He lived in a shittier neighborhood than I did. The sound of sirens in the distance was barely discernable. What I did hear was men shouting, crude language being thrown around, and glass shattering.
Before I could talk myself into just leaving, because I didn’t want to be put in an even crazier situation, the front door opened and a woman who looked worse for wear came out. She had shorts on high enough they left nothing to the imagination. Her legs had bruises on them, and her shirt was a piece of fabric barely covering her large breasts. Her hair was a rat’s nest atop her head, the black roots coming out an inch before her bleach-blonde hair. I could see the track marks easily enough on the insides of her elbows, but I grabbed on to my courage and reached over to roll down the window.