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“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.”
“I told you I’m working on it. I’m getting $200 tomorrow.”
Fat Tommy barks a laugh. “That doesn’t even make a dent.”
