I’m obviously still holding on to the grudge of the time I thought I was dying when I was fourteen and Scott would not pick any up for me. When I asked, he looked at me as if I had two heads.
“Next,” the cashier calls. I set my basket down and check out with my few items before making my way to the bakery by my house. Tracy smiles at me when I enter. She doesn’t need to ask what I want. I’m here every Tuesday.
I always get the same thing. A double chocolate brownie and one large hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hundred degrees outside, I still get it. I’m addicted to the chocolate creamy goodness, and it’s the one indulgence I always allow myself.
I pull out the five dollars and six cents and place it down on the counter for her. As always, the place is slammed. A few minutes later, she drops my bag and my cup down for me before grabbing the cash off the counter.
I push out of the store to head back home. It would be nice if on one of my days off the heat would let up and I could go to the park or something. Instead I’m holed up in my five-hundred square foot apartment.
I take the alley between Gino’s Italian Cuisine and the laundromat. It leads to the back door of my apartment. I fumble with my stuff to try and get my keys out. I scream when I drop my hot chocolate and it splatters all over my leg.
I grit my teeth and wait for the pain to fade. It doesn't. I shove my key in the lock and open the door to the stairs that go straight to my place over Gino’s. I think at one time this was meant to be an office or something. It’s tiny, but I don’t need a lot of room. More than anything, it’s cheap, and I’m not in the worst area of town.
When I get upstairs, I drop everything onto the small table before grabbing a hand towel to try and clean off my legs. I cringe when I see red welts already starting to form. I bite my bottom lip when it starts to tremble. I will not cry. It’s only a few small burns and a lost hot chocolate. I suck in a breath and go over to the table to sit down. Why can’t I have one day where I don’t have to worry about anything? When everything goes the way it’s supposed to? The tears threaten even more.
I really should have taken the handsome man from the casino up on that date. One nice night out sounds heavenly. Would he dote on me?
“That’s pathetic,” I tell myself when my mind lingers on the thought of him taking care of me.
You need to take care of yourself. I give myself a hard nod, which shakes a couple of useless tears free. I know it wouldn’t only be a night out when it came to that handsome stranger. He has heartbreak written all over him. I have this weird tendency to get attached to things and obsess over them. I have no control over it. Kind of like brownies and hot chocolate. It’s always the same.
My phone buzzes from inside my purse. Only two people have my number. My brother and Star.
“Hey,” I answer.
“I don’t think she can be saved.” At least Scott sounds mildly apologetic.
I close my eyes. “It would cost more than the whole car is worth to fix it.”
I nod. Another tear slips from my eye that I quickly wipe away. I knew it was coming, but still I was holding on to one small piece of hope. How can all my luck be bad? Shouldn’t something good get to slip in there every now and then?
“Laura?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m going to have them scrap it.”
“No!”
“Why? I might be able to get a couple hundred from the parts.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Why? It’s—”
“Please?” I cut him off.
“Fine.” He gives. “I’ll be right out,” Scott shouts to someone. “Gotta go, sis.” He ends the call before I can say goodbye. I toss my phone across the room and cringe when it hits the ground. Great. A broken phone is the last thing I need.
The screen looks okay when I pick it up. I toss it on the sofa this time. My eyes linger on the windows across the street. The same man from the store is standing out on the sidewalk staring at my building. Yikes. I pull the curtain closed.
Great. Not only is it a shit day, but some weirdo is following me. I groan and fall onto the couch, where I let myself have a good cry until I start to get tired. I close my eyes and picture the man from the casino, making me smile. This time I kiss him. It’s only a dream. In dreams, you can have anything. It’s something that I can hold on to, and no one can take it away from me. And today out of all days, I need something to hold on to.
I’m almost asleep when I hear a knock on the door.
I groan and pull myself off the couch. If it’s Gino wanting the rent, and I’m certain it is, he’s two days early. I mean, that’s what a grace period is for, right?
“Listen, Gino—” I pull the door open, then I scream. But the sound is quickly cut off by duct tape, a black hood over my head, and me being thrown over the weirdo’s shoulder as he carries me down the stairs and stuffs me in what I’m certain is a trunk, though it’s oddly soft and cushy, as if there’s a down comforter beneath me.
I’m a goner. And the worst part is, I didn’t even get to have my hot chocolate as my last meal.
4
Xavier
She’s shivering, fear all over her like a fine perfume.
I want to tell her I tried to do this in a more direct fashion, tried to entice her any number of ways, but none of it worked. So this is the way it has to be.
One of Fat Tommy’s minions drags her brother Scott into the room.
“Guys, look, I’m good for it, okay?” Her brother tries his usual sweet talk, but that only works on burlesque dancers, not on paid muscle.
The guard shoves him into a chair, then eases Laura into her own seat. Good. She’s the prize here. Her brother, though, roughing him up isn’t a concern of mine.
“You know why you’re here.” Fat Tommy stands from his seat behind a grubby desk in his office. A building that used to be a liquor store to the rich and famous back in the '60s is now a deserted eyesore just south of the Strip, the location where Fat Tommy takes bets and does business. All under my watchful eye.
I run most of the bookies in this town. He’s one of my best earners. Maybe that’s why Scott picked him, because I can tell when I look at the boy that he has never once in his life danced with Lady Luck. He’s a loser. Not in the general sense, but literally. Nothing he touches will ever turn to gold.
My eyes flick to Laura, who’s mumbling beneath the black bag over her head.
When the guard pulls it away, I grit my teeth. He’s taped her mouth. That wasn’t his instruction. It’ll hurt when it’s pulled off. He’ll pay for every ounce of pain he gives her.
“What’s she doing here?” Scott tries to rise, but another guard shoves him down and keeps him in his seat.
“Hey!” Laura yells when the tape is pulled off. “What is this?” Her eyes wide, she looks around and focuses on Fat Tommy. “Scott, what’s going on?”
“Scott is in trouble, little girl.” Fat Tommy—who might weigh 100 pounds soaking wet—leans against his desk and crosses his arms. “He owes.”