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“I got a flat and there’s no spare.”
“Ah, that’s a shame.” Rental Guy doesn’t seem surprised, and some ugly part of me wonders if that tire was going to explode like that no matter what. He’s a skinny, slimy dickhead in a shredded Harley tee. “Well, you’ll have to pay to get the tire repaired or replaced and—”
“Hold on,” I say, holding up my hands. “Pay for what now? I can’t pay for anything.”
He points at my pocket. “You’ve got them cards.”
“I don’t know if they’ll work this time. There’s no way I’m paying for a flat tire, especially when you’re too cheap to have a spare.”
He shrugs and taps at his computer. “It’s in the agreement you signed. You can refuse to pay, but I’ll have to call the police and let them sort it out if you want. Or you can run the cards and see what happens.”
I stand in the rundown, water-stained room and my hands ball into fists. It’s happening again, the anger’s getting the better of me, and I want to pound the smug rental guy in the face until his nose is ground meat.
I take a step toward him.
I should keep my mouth shut—but, like always, I don’t.
“Listen to me, you disgusting little twerp, I’m not going to pay your extortion no matter what you do and no matter how many freaking credit cards I have in my pocket. You’re a cheap little asshole, and I could’ve gottenkilledon the side of the road because of your piece-of-shit car, and you want me to pay you more? You can go to hell.”
Rental Guy’s face falls. “Okay, police it is.”
“Wait,” I say, but he’s already calling.
And I am screwed.
Again.
All because I can’t keep my mouth closed.
I’m beginning to deeply regret that wholeembracing the ‘mouthy bitch’thing.
He ignores me as he talks with the dispatcher. I walk away, shoving out through the door. “Hey,” he calls after me. “You better not run off!”
I ignore it, thinking about all the different ways I could escape. Run down the street and beg the first person I see to come to my rescue. Hop on a bus and hope I don’t have to pay the fair. Collapse at the feet of the cops and plead my case. Maybe they’d ever take pity on me—this rental car place is clearly some kind of scam.
“All right now, we’re all set,” the tow guy says, coming over with a clipboard. “Like I said, that’ll be two-fifty, plus the unloading fee, so we’re looking at closer to three twenty-five—”
I want to scream.
More money that I don’t have.
The tow guy’s talking to me and the Rental Twerp stands in the doorway glaring with his hands on his hips, and I’m on the edge of panic, trying not to lose my freaking mind, with both of them sniping at me and at each other, and there’s no escaping this.
I’m screwed.
Christopher’s going to catch me.
Except I know there’s one way out, and it’s sitting in my pocket.
I hold Evander’s card up to the sky, squinting at the number. For the fiftieth time today, I type it into my phone and my thumb hovers over the call button.
What happens if I ask him for help?
I’m at rock bottom—again, as it turns out—and I feel insanely pathetic. I can’t even drive out of the city without screwing it up.
I’m crawling back to Evander only a few hours after he said he’d help, for a price.
Am I prepared to stay here, in Chicago, and accept his offer? A job and a fresh start. I’ve never had a job before—my parents never let me work, and Christopher laughed when I suggested it. The idea of making a fair wage, of affording my own apartment, buying my own groceries, having my own life—it’s so tempting it hurts.
