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When I hear the front door, I lean back inside and close the window, trapping myself inside. Taking a deep breath, I turn and go over to my backpack, pulling out the money I made from helping Mrs. Joyce today.
I think she’ll be the only person I’ll miss when I move. I told her I was worried about who would help her when I was gone, but she simply gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me she had it handled. I pull open the bottom drawer of my night stand and freeze when I see my little wallet is gone. Panic wraps around my throat, and I drop my hands on the table in front of me, unable to move. I try to work air into my lungs, but my chest only tightens.
Tears fill my eyes and run down my face. It’s gone. Everything I’d planned has been taken from me. When I hear my bedroom door open, I turn to see my father standing there. His cheap suit looks more worn than normal. He looks tired, like someone took a few swings as him. A bruise on his right cheekbone is new, and his lip is split.
“There a problem?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice. He’s looking for another fight. I won’t give him one. I’m not sure if I have the will to argue in this moment.
I don’t even think I can talk if I want to. The tightness in my throat is too much. I want to run, and I need air. My hands start to shake.
“You’re eighteen. Consider the money I took as payment for your room and board.”
More tears fall down my cheeks, and for once I see a little compassion cross his face, a trace of guilt for what he’s done. My father has never been outright mean to me. Neglectful? Yes. But never cruel.
“I needed the money, Jasmine.” He shakes his head and walks over to my window, opening it and catching me by surprise. “I owed someone. You want to visit me in the hospital?”
I shake my head. I may not know love toward my father, but I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want anyone hurt.
“Dinner in the microwave?”
“Yes.” I finally get a word past my lips.
With that, he turns and leaves. I drop onto my bed and the tears keep coming. The open window offers no comfort.
I’m trapped.
4
Ash
I stand outside the dirty building and shake my head. I double-check my phone and make sure I have the right address. My private investigator gave me all of the info, but I needed to be sure. After I’ve confirmed it, I walk up to the door and hit the buzzer on the stoop for the top floor.
There’s no answer, so I try again. Right when my patience runs to its thinnest, there’s a voice.
“What.”
“Mr. Gold. I’m Ash Carpenter. I’d like to talk business with you.”
“Fuck off,” the guy says, and the line goes dead.
I hold the buzzer down again, and this time I don’t wait for him to speak.
“I owed your father some money and I’d like to talk to you about how to repay that debt.”
There’s a half a second of hesitation before I hear the lock click. I grab the door and head to the top floor, ignoring the filth along the way. This is no place for Jasmine. She should be in a palace. Not some run-down shithole. Her father should be working two jobs to make sure that’s happening, not pissing away all his money.
I’d had her followed after the first time I saw her. I wanted to know everything I could, and if possible, any weaknesses that would lead to me acquiring her, to find some way to make her mine. It didn’t take long to find out who he was and even less to find a weakness. He owed money all over town. He used his father’s good name to take out loans he’d never be able to gamble himself out of.
I was disappointed to find out about the life she had been leading and that there wasn’t some protective father that I would have to fight to have her. It only angered me more. I should be having to gear up for war against a man who would never let his sweet little girl go, but I had a strong feeling this wouldn’t be much of a fight. I know I’d die to keep her safe, to make her mine.
Deep down I knew exactly what I’d use this information for. No matter what I tried to tell myself, I came here tonight with one goal. And I plan on seeing that through.
When I get to his front door, it’s already open a crack and he’s peeking out.
“Who are you?” he asks, skepticism and hope clear in his voice.
