by Ella Miles
But from the lack of needle marks on her skin, I know that is not that case. And even though she’s drunk a lot of beer, I don’t get the feeling that she is an alcoholic. Her body doesn’t tremble at the sight of alcohol.
Others I’ve met were whores.
But from the innocent way she keeps biting her lip, I can’t imagine her selling her body to survive.
And others…others were sold.
“Who did you escape from?” I need to know if she escaped from an enemy or from one of my own. If she escaped from my enemies, then I will have great pleasure in keeping her from them, but if she fled from one of my own…
She cocks her head to the side, studying me, trying to understand the hidden meaning behind my words.
“Answer me.” I grab her wrist again firmly, showing her I won’t let her go without an answer.
Her breathing speeds, and I feel her pulse skipping rapidly through her icy veins. I was right. She was sold. I just need to know who her master was. Then I can decide what to do with her.
I don’t agree with men kidnapping and selling women like cattle. But right now, staring at this endearing creature, I get the appeal.
She closes her eyes, and I imagine she’s picturing her master’s eyes, his commanding voice, even his cock as it drives inside her.
I study her body. She’s thin, but not bruised. She hasn’t been broken yet. He may have not even fucked her yet. She’s just hungry and hasn’t been taken for long, which makes me want to break her myself.
I’m sick.
Jocelyn isn’t mine. And I won’t take her and be her master. I just need to know who I should return her to.
“I belong to myself. I’ve never been sold. And I will never be taken.”
Her eyes puncture mine with sharp ice, and I realize she’s speaking the truth. I’ve always been good at judging people. I know when someone is telling the truth or a lie.
“Then why are you starving?”
She trembles and her eyes are downcast as if that was the question that hurt her. Not the one before, assuming she was a slave.
I feel the tsunami of emotions behind her olive eyelids, before she opens them and erases any remnants of pain.
“I’m not starving. Not anymore. I’m surviving.”
Jocelyn looks to where I’m still gripping her wrist, as if her eyes have any control of my hand. But somehow I can’t resist what her eyes demand. I release her.
She stands. She’s done with our conversation. I’m almost done too, but it doesn’t stop me from getting the last word in. I stand, and our bodies collide in the thin space between our bar stools.
Her movement is fast. So fast I shouldn’t even notice it. No normal person with an ordinary upbringing would notice her action. My buddies sitting in the booth deep in the corner of the bar wouldn’t. And no one sitting the length of the bar would.
But I do.
It’s the oldest trick in the book.
She turns to leave, acting as if nothing just happened between us.
“Jocelyn,” my voice is harsh as I say her name, and as I expected, she halts. A skill I have perfected. I can control people as easily with my voice as I can with my fists.
I slowly walk to her, and I can feel the anxiety dripping off of her in thin droplets. Her body doesn’t show any outward hint of worry, but I can smell the panic as it festers inside her.
I stand in front of her, and she continues to hold her head high. She won’t show weakness. She won’t show fear.
I shouldn’t do this. I should just let her have what she took. I should be kind. It could be the difference between her eating another good meal and withering away into nothing. But I’m not kind; I’m heartless. And I don’t tolerate thievery.
I hold out my hand and look down at her with displeasure. I don’t have to say a word. She knows what she did.
She reaches into her back pocket and places the thick leather wallet into my hand.
I grin. “Good girl.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second I think I see something more. Something like winning in her gaze. But she didn’t win, I did.
“Thank you for lunch,” she says. And then she’s gone before I can respond or stop her from running out without paying her bill.
I smirk at my thick wallet and glance at the bar. She didn’t steal from me or the bar by not paying for her food and drinks. She thought she won by stealing three beers, a burger, and fries from me. But I won’t be paying her bill.
I never pay my own. That’s why Zeke and Langston are here. Not that I can’t afford to pay for something so inexpensive. But why should I pay? I own everything in this town. I shouldn’t have to pay myself for something I take.
I walk back to the booth in the corner and take my seat.
“You let some pussy almost steal from you?” Langston says, smirking.
I glare, and the smile leaves his face. He hides behind his drink that Lana, our waiter, must have brought him while I was entertained by the girl.
“No one steals from me.”
They both nod. They know the consequences if someone stole from me.
“She your whore now? Or can I have a taste of her?” Zeke asks.
I lean back in the booth and drape my arm over the back. I don’t want either of them going after Jocelyn. She’s mine, even if I never get to touch her.
“I think you have too much work to do to be chasing pussy,” I say.
Zeke huffs but doesn’t push the subject. Lana drops off the bill that I know covers our drinks in addition to Jocelyn’s tab. Langston places his credit card on the bill without looking. He knows better than to balk at paying. It’s why I pay him so well. Even though my family owns the bar and I don’t have to pay, it’s a way for my friends to show loyalty to me by covering our drinks.
“What time are you meeting your father?”
“Three.”
I glance at my watch and freeze.
Instead of the shiny silver face of my Rolex staring back at me, I see the faint tan line of where the watch used to sit.
I smirk.
I may be the devil, but Jocelyn is a thief. She left this bar knowing she had won. She never had any intention to steal my wallet. She wouldn’t have gotten much from my wallet anyway. There is nothing more than a couple hundred dollar bills tucked in its depths along with credit cards I would have been canceled before she could use them and would only leave a trail for me to find her.
Instead, she stole the one thing of real value on my body. The watch is worth over ten grand.
Round one goes to the thief, but the devil only ever gets deceived once. Jocelyn has no idea who she stole from. But soon, I’ll make sure she never forgets.
2
Kai
I stole.
I swore I would never do it again. But I didn’t have a choice.
It wasn’t about my survival. If it were only me, then I wouldn’t have stolen. Even from someone like Enzo, who has more money than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, based on the expensive clothes he was wearing. But I didn’t steal for me. I stole to save my father.
And now I owe another debt that will take me years to repay.
I hold the silver watch in my hand, running my fingers across its smooth face. The watch is warm despite it being made of metal. I make a mental note to repay Enzo when I can, but the reminder won’t be necessary. I’m afraid I will remember Enzo forever.
His hair was darker than night. His chiseled jaw covered with the dark shadow of his stubble will haunt me for not feeling how the rough edges would feel when I kissed him. And his deep eyes spoke of pain and heartache that no boy our age should have ever experienced.
I glance back down the street to where the bar sits. I could still return it. Enzo doesn’t deserve to feel any more pain. This watch is expensive, and although I don’t know anything about Enzo, he appears not to be hurting for money. But what if the watch was given to him by his father? Or his mother? What if it was passed down
for generations? What if the love of his life gave it to him? What if it is irreplaceable?
I study the timepiece further. It’s new and barely worn, without a single scratch on it. Almost like today was the first day he wore it. It can’t mean much to him if he’s never worn it, can it?
A man walks down the sidewalk toward me. I keep my gaze down, trying not to draw attention to the fact that I notice him.
He’s not here for me, I repeat to myself.
He’s just a stranger walking down the sidewalk. But it doesn’t stop the chill running down my spine.
I will repay Enzo someday. I will make things right. Even if I hate him.
No, hate is too strong of a word. I don’t hate him. Although I’ve never been so tempted to kiss someone in my life. Never wanted to forget about myself more than I did when I was near him. And also never wanted to be swept off my feet by a prince charming who would take me far away from here. Someone who would protect me and ensure I never had to worry about where my next meal came from.
But Enzo isn’t my prince charming, and even if he were, it’s not what I want. I will find my own way out of this mess I’m in.
I may not hate Enzo, but he reminded me temptation is real. And I can’t lose focus. I can’t let myself fall for a boy like Enzo. I don’t know anything about him except the look on his face when he taunts me.
I don’t remember Enzo from school, but I know he can’t be more than a year or two older than me. Seventeen or eighteen I would guess. Not that I attended much school. It’s a waste of time when you need every hour to make enough money to eat.
I continue walking down the sidewalk, past the row of bars. It’s mid-afternoon, so the streets near the bars have yet to grow busy, but in a few hours, they will be filled with people washing their worries away with a drink and loud music.
My feet carry me automatically, knowing these streets like the back of my hand. My fingers find the door of the pawn shop on the corner, three blocks over. I slip inside without any guilt.
I always repay my debts. Always. No matter the cost.
The door chimes loudly, announcing my presence, not that I need to be announced. Jim is standing behind the counter like he expected me. I haven’t been here in a while, but I have no doubt he heard of the debt my father owes. This is the only way I know how to make enough money to pay off his debt quickly, and Jim knows it.
I don’t hesitate. I walk to the counter, ignoring the smell of sweat and desperation that seems to always hang in the air here. People come here not because they are greedy, but because they have no other choice but to sell some prized possession or stolen item to survive. The same reason I’m here.
I pull the stolen watch from my pocket and lay it on the counter. Jim picks it up without a word, already knowing what I want from him.
He studies the watch carefully, running this thumb across the face’s surface just as I did earlier. He looks for scratches or signs of damage. He taps the metal; I assume to test for authenticity.
I don’t know how to determine if a watch is counterfeit or not. If I found this watch on the street, I would have a fifty-fifty shot at guessing its value. But after meeting Enzo, I know he would only wear the real deal. He’s not fake. He has money. He’s grown up in an entirely different world from me. And while it still pains me to take it from him, not knowing entirely what it cost him, I will not let the value of the watch go to waste.
“Five thousand,” Jim says, meeting my gaze as he lets the watch lie flat on the counter while we haggle.
I’ve done a few deals with Jim before. Never for anything of this much value. I know he’s a fair man, but I also know I have to be willing to lose the sale to get the full worth out of it.
I can’t lose.
I don’t have time to find another pawn shop to sell to. The next pawn shop owner might not be so kind. I may have to show my ID or proof of ownership. This is my only shot.
I stare at the watch, reminding me too much of the owner I only just met.
I know the exact amount I need. I also know how much I need to feed myself and my father for a month. The amount to give us some breathing room. To pay for our rent.
But this watch is only about one thing—getting one more day of freedom from my father’s debts.
I won’t be selfish. I won’t take more than I deserve.
“Eight thousand,” I counter.
Jim smiles. “That’s an awfully high price for a watch, Miss Miller.”
I glare back at him. “I know its worth, Mr. Wilson. I know it is easily worth more than ten thousand, and it is in pristine condition. I know you will easily sell it for more than ten grand because you are a good salesman. You could sell a fake for that much easily. You’ll sell the real deal for more.”
He chuckles. “I am a good salesman, but that doesn’t mean I’ll pay you eight grand.”
I reach out like I’m going to take the watch back. “No, you would give me ten if I pushed the subject because it’s a good investment for you that you can easily make a couple grand off of and because you know if you treat me well, I will bring you more quality items to sell in the future.”
I grab the watch. It feels good to have it in my hand even though I know the cost of keeping the watch for myself. But I can’t stop myself from wanting the watch. From wanting him. I slide the watch across the counter toward me before Jim grabs my wrist stopping me.
“Seven-five, final offer.”
I smile. I need seven thousand three hundred to pay off the debt. Two hundred extra. But I won’t spend it on food, clothes, or shelter. It will be the first step to paying off my new debt.
“Deal.”
Jim nods and then looks down at my hand still gripping the watch while he still holds my wrist. He releases me and waits for me to turn the watch over.
Instead of letting it go, I hold the watch tighter. I’m not ready to let it go. I’m not ready to let Enzo go. Not that either was ever mine in the first place. But there was something about Enzo that taunted me with a future I have always wanted. Money, protection, and adventure.
Something my current life lacks. My life is destined to become the same over and over. I have no future—nothing beyond working my ass off to repay debts. No man would ever want to take me on, not when they realize the money they would owe just to ensure we would be free.
“Miss Miller?”
I cling to the watch for a single second, reminding me of the promise in Enzo’s eyes. He wanted me. Somehow I know a single night with Enzo would have been more adventure than I ever dreamed my boring life could have.
“Miss Miller?”
I turn and meet Jim’s gaze.
He holds out his hand, and I raise mine over his. The watch doesn’t fall out of my hand willingly. It glides reluctantly through my grasp like I’m letting my future slip away—a future I can never have.
Jim takes the watch, and my eyes burn with regret as I watch him place the watch in a small black box. Its gleam disappears beneath the lid as he closes it away from me. He then turns to the cash register.
“Cash or check?”
I swallow hard as my mind returns to my reality of what I need to do.
“Cash.”
He nods, already knowing what my answer will be. He pulls out the cash and counts it into my hand.
“Stay safe, Miss Miller. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to one of my best customers.”
The wad of cash is large, too bulky to conceal in anything but a purse or bag I don’t have. And I won’t spend a dime on any of the purses lining the rack at the front of the pawn shop, even if I should to ensure I make it back home with all of the bills. I tuck a handful into each of my two pockets and then shove the remaining into my bra, not caring that Jim eyes my cleavage as I do.
“I always do.”
His eyes seek mine, and I swear I see a hint of concern etched in the wrinkles that form around his eyes. “See that you do.”
He knows where the watch came fro
m. I don’t know how. I didn’t notice any etchings or name written across the band. But Jim knows, and he’s warning me. I’m not going to get anything else out of him though—no other help or words to explain why he’s worrying. I’m not afraid of anyone, including the boy I stole the watch from.
I turn without another word and leave the pawn shop, leaving only the ringing chimes of the door as I exit.
The sun blazes hotter as I step outside, causing instant blisters to form on my bare shoulders. I wish I had a car, a bike, any form of transportation to get me home faster. I would even settle on a hat to shade my head from the burning rays causing sweat to bead down from my forehead to my back. Even my ass is sweating.
The heat doesn’t stop me from running. I have two miles to run to make it back to the trailer and not a minute to spare. So I run, despite my flip-flops, despite the intense heat, and knowing what awaits me when I get home.
My flip-flops slow me down, so I take them off and run, risking piercing my foot on broken glass that tends to clutter the sidewalks from drunk tourists. Risking tetanus with each step doesn’t stop my feet from running.
Running should make me feel free. My feet are moving so fast, my body flying. But I only run out of fear. Only one thing makes me feel free. Only one thing brings me a moment to forget. I close my eyes as sea salt sprays my face. The ocean is the only place I truly feel free.
My body collides with that of another. The body isn’t strong enough to knock me down, just enough to make me stop.
“Mason,” I gasp and fling my arms around my only friend in the world.
He holds me tightly in his scrawny arms as I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his cheap cologne so different from the rich, musky scent that oozed from Enzo. I may have called Enzo a boy, but he carries himself like a man. Mason, on the other hand, is a boy through and through. Mason is skinny, not from lack of food, but because he hit a growth spurt recently and his body has yet to catch up with his new found height. His muscles are there, but thin against his frame in long bands, not thick with years of working out. His hair hangs in long waves around his tanned face, made for the beach. But no one would ever call him anything but a boy.