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I don’t understand…
The man who took my phone drops it into his suit pocket, amusement crossing his face when I hold my hand out for him to give it back.
He does not.
I raise my chin like I’m not afraid, but men like this see right through my false bravado. They smell fear. They thrive on it. They eat it for breakfast.
Pops continues to writhe, holding his head, although I’m not sure exactly where he is bleeding from. The thick, red goo continues to spread in slow motion over the shop floor, like a glossy halo.
“Honey, go back in the storage room. Just go wait there.”
Victoria, my dad’s one employee, gently takes me by the arm and tries to steer me out of the room. “C’mon, Charleigh. You don’t need to see this.”
She’s always been kind to my sisters and me, trying to shelter us from the seedy side of pawn shop life, having worked here almost since Pops opened the place.
She especially tried to step up to the plate after my mother was murdered in a burglary. But my dad would only let her get so involved with us. Said she reminded him of our mother and he just could not bear that. In fact, at one point he was going to fire her. But my sisters and I begged him to let her stay.
As much as I know Victoria has my best interests in mind, I shake her off my arm to let her and the men know I’m not going anywhere.
“Pops, let me see your head,” I say, kneeling at his side.
When I finally locate his wound, a large gash on the side of his head, my heart pounds double time, and I am woozy.
Dammit. This is not the time to be squeamish.
The men yell at Dad, and when he yells back at them, the blood pulses a little harder from his head. I start to see stars, so I sit on the floor next to him, pressing my hoodie to his injury.
I’ve heard head wounds bleed like crazy, but this is insane.
“What’s going on, Pops?” I plead.
* * *
CHAPTERTHREE
Charleigh
I am yanked to my feet before my father can answer.
“WHAT do you want?” I scream at the man who grabbed me, the one with his hair styled into a weird man bun.
Who is equally as handsome as the bald one who swiped my phone.
“This is none of your business,” he says, looking at me so intently I am forced to look away for a moment.
I stretch up to my full height. I am tall, but still not tall enough to see this man eye-to-eye. So I look up at him because I have no choice. “Get off me, creep,” I hiss, trying to shake him away.
To no avail.
Victoria on the other side of my father, arms crossed tightly, paces the floor. Does she know something?
She must.
The first man, the one who looks familiar, steps in front of me and tilts his head with a curious stare. “You sure have turned out to be quite the beauty.”
Whoisthis person?
He turns to the others. “Guys, look how grown-up Gil Gates’s daughter is now. How old are you, pretty girl? Eighteen? Nineteen?” he taunts.
