AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We’ll make every second count,” I murmur, my hands curling into fists. “He’s going to suffer, one way or another.”
I can hear the darkness in my own voice as I say it, and it’s echoed in the look Ransom gives me. Vic’s face is less expressive, but I know the same rage burns in his chest too.
We’ve been waiting too long for this, pacing like predators in a cage. And now that we’ve finally been let loose, we’re not gonna hold back.
We might not be the most powerful players in Detroit, but that doesn’t matter.
There’s no one more brutal than me and my brothers.
3
WILLOW
It takesme two tries to get my front door unlocked when I come back to my apartment after my classes for the day. My hand shakes so badly that I have to force myself to take a deep breath so I can get inside.
All day, I’ve been having trouble focusing, too aware of what’s coming.
I finally get in and close the door behind me, throwing the deadbolt into place as if a locked door will keep the anxious thoughts from catching up to me.
I put my messenger bag down on the floor, leaning against the door with a sigh. I close my eyes and try to let the silence of my tiny apartment wash over me, but then my phone rings, shattering the little bit of peace I was trying to snatch.
“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath, pulling my phone out of my pocket. When I see who’s calling, I let out a groan. “Goddammit.”
It’s my mom.
My finger hovers over her name on the screen for a second, but I don’t answer it. I just let it ring and ring until it goes to voicemail. My adoptive mother is the last person I want to talk to right now.
Once the screen goes dark again, I breathe a sigh of relief and drop the phone on the couch.
I usually have something to eat when I get home, but I know that’s not going to happen today, so I don’t even bother trying. My stomach is tied up in too many knots for me to keep anything down, and throwing up right now will just make everything worse.
Instead, I get into the shower and try to focus on getting cleaned up, even if it does feel like I’m never actually going to be clean again.
Last night, Carl told me when and where to meet with the whorehouse madame so I can sell my virginity to some unknown buyer.
Every time I think too hard about what I’m about to do, it’s like there’s a low-pitched hum of anxiety in my brain, shutting out everything else. Part of me can’t believe I’m actually considering doing this, but it’s not like I have another option. I need the money more than I need my fucking hymen.
God, I hate this.
I let out a shaky breath and then another, reaching for the shampoo so I can wash my hair. I wish I had something more expensive and luxurious to use, but I’m stuck with the cheap two-in-one I get from the drug store, and that’s going to have to be good enough.
The suds run down my body, sliding over my scars and drawing my eyes to them.
They’re ugly. They’ve always been ugly.
They cover so much of me that I can’t hide them all without wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants, and I won’t be able to do that tonight.
I know I’m nothing special, even outside the scars. I don’t have generous curves or big boobs. I’m not leggy or graceful. Someone told me once that when I burrow into a hoodie, I look like I’m trying to disappear, and sometimes I feel so small that I wish I could.
I’m just slight and slender, blonde and pale, and no one really ever looks at me twice—unless I’m at work and they want a drink, or they’re talking behind my back about the scars that are on display beneath my little skirt.
Frowning, I scrub harder at the patch of scars on my right arm, barely even feeling it. The scars are the worst on that side, and the nerves are messed up there, making everything feel muted in some places and hypersensitive in others.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter to myself, finishing up my shower and getting out to dry myself off. “Whoever this john is, he’s not looking for some stunning beauty. Just like Carl said, all he wants is a virgin.”
Although that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better, it’s all the reassurance I’ve got.
But as I hang up my towel and shake out my damp hair, I realize I have another problem. Presumably, they want me to wear something sexy for this thing, but most of my wardrobe is long pants or leggings and oversized sweaters and hoodies.
