Chapter 9
LENI
I drift to the window in a daze, watching Rick’s men shove Ethan and Mom into the back of a van like they’re loading cargo.
I don’t look away until the vehicle disappears down the street.
Then my eyes find my scooter, and for a second, I seriously consider riding off—taking the back roads, hitting the highway, and never coming back to New York.
I lean against the cold glass, trying to make sense of everything.
Maybe… maybe this is exactly what Mom needs.
A wake-up call. She’s a grown woman, and if anything could finally shake her out of her spiral, it’s this.
Seeing her son taken, being thrown into whatever hellhole Rick’s men are dragging them to…
it has to shock her back to reality, right?
Oh, who am I kidding?
The only thing that could possibly bring her back is seeing her long-lost husband again. But after he went missing for a few weeks, the police declared him dead. That’s when she started using. And now she’s so deep into her addiction that even rehab might not be enough to help her.
Where do I get twenty–seven grand in seven days? Because let’s be real—there’s no way I’m pulling together forty. Best case, I borrow the original loan amount first, then try to negotiate with Rick about the interest.
Suddenly, the lights flicker out, plunging me into complete darkness. My shoulders slump, my head hitting the window pane with a dull thump. Of course. Now the electricity is gone too.
My heart thumps wildly as I glance back into the oppressive black of the living room. What great timing. I don’t even have my phone with me.
I stretch out my arms and feel my way across the room, skirting where I think the couch might be. Thank God it’s the only furniture left in here. If I can just avoid it, I’ll be fi—
My knee knocks what feels like the armrest.
“Fucking hell,” I curse, waving my arms around until I find the back of the couch. Then I step back and redirect my path.
Shit, shit, shit.
The farther I move from the window, the darker it becomes, until I’m swimming in absolute blackness that makes my skin crawl.
I didn’t even know darkness could have layers, but this… this feels alive.
Someone’s watching you.
The thought slams into my brain with irrational certainty.
My pulse stutters, paranoia creeping up my spine.
I swear I feel eyes on me, someone closing in—there’s even a sensation of hot breath on my neck.
Fuck. I walk faster, hands waving frantically until they smack against a wall.
Then I follow it like a lifeline, until it opens up into the hallway.
First door on the left is Mom’s. Sweat trickles down my forehead as I pass it. Almost there.
Mine is the second one on the right. I shift to the right wall and fumble around until I find the handle, nearly crying with relief when it turns.
The door swings open, and blessed moonlight spills through my wide-open curtains, along with the occasional flicker of a streetlamp.
It’s not much, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the suffocating black behind me.
I close my door and lock it—just in case.
Wait… did I lock the front door? No. It was broken open, dumbass.
Goosebumps rise along my arms as the thought sinks in. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could be walking in right now.
I gulp and rush to my bed where my phone sits next to my pillow.
Grabbing it, I hold it tightly as I glance around the room.
There’s no furniture heavy enough I can barricade the door with.
Mom sold my vanity mirror last month. So, knife in one hand, phone in the other, I sink to the floor in front of my door and prepare for the longest night of my life.
Sleep never comes. Every creak of the building, every distant siren, every phantom footstep in the hall sends my heart into overdrive and my mind spinning with worst-case scenarios—burglars, addicts looking for Mom’s stash, Rick’s men coming back to… to… what? I don’t even know.
Girl, you need to stop. Right now. Breathe.
By the time sunrise finally bleeds across the horizon, I’m shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. The warm light through my window feels like a miracle, and I finally understand why ancient peoples worshipped the sun.
How am I going to sleep here tonight?
I check the time on my phone. 6:28 AM.
I made it through the night. Somehow. But I can’t stay locked in here forever…
…Even if I want to.
With trembling hands, I reach for the handle. For a second, I hesitate. Then I suck in a shaky breath, unlock my door, and crack it open, slowly peeking out. Empty.
Knife and phone still gripped tight, I cross the hall to the bathroom I share with Mom and Ethan. Before I even see it, the smell hits me—the toilet lid is up, and the bowl is filled with thick orange liquid. Urine.
Shit, I forgot the water’s been shut off too. There’s no way I’m peeing in that. I head back to my room, my bladder screaming for relief, and dig through my closet until I find the emergency pack of wet wipes I keep hidden behind my clothes.
I pull a few out and use them to clean my face, armpits, and between my legs. Then I get dressed, trying to ignore the sticky, unclean feeling clinging to me like a second skin.
At this point, I need way more than the twenty–seven grand.
I need to pay off Mom and Ethan’s loan, get the lights and water back on, and cover the mortgage that’s due in two weeks.
A crushing pressure squeezes my skull, making me so dizzy, I have to grab the closet door for support as my knees buckle. I’m only twenty–three. I shouldn’t have to worry about all this.
When the room finally stops spinning, I let go of the closet and walk out, locking my bedroom door behind me and pocketing the key. At least I can protect what little I have left. I gather my hair into a messy bun, fingers absentmindedly combing through my bangs as I move down the hall.
The front door is still standing, technically, but the latch is completely destroyed. Another thing to fix—somehow. I sigh heavily and drag it closed behind me, creating the illusion that it’s locked. But all it would take is one knock from someone—a nosy neighbor—for it to swing wide open.
I glance towards Bree’s townhouse, but everything looks quiet.
I need to come up with a plan, or all these responsibilities are going to drown me.
First priority: find twenty–seven grand.
I make my way to my scooter, tug on my helmet, then ride to the only person I know who might be able to help me—even though it’s a wild shot.
The roads are mostly empty this early, so I reach the diner in record time. The ‘CLOSED’ sign is still up—it won’t officially open until eight—but I knock on the door, loud enough for anybody in the kitchen or back rooms to hear.
A loud curse answers me from inside. Fred.
I gulp. He was pissed at me the last time I saw him, three nights ago at that disaster of a dinner party. He paid me for those two hours, sure, but he didn’t even reply to my thank-you text.
This is literally the last place I want to show my face, let alone ask for help. But I don’t have any other options.
The diner’s door gets wrenched open, and there he is, scowling up at me. I hunch my shoulders so I don’t tower over him too much. “Hey, Fred. Good morning.”
His scowl deepens. “What do you want?”
I glance around the empty street, then back at him. “Can I come in?”
He grumbles under his breath but steps back and waves me in, closing the door behind me. “If you’re here to beg for your job back, there’s really nothing I can do for you, Leni. I don’t need another employee right now.”
“That’s not what I’m here for…” But hearing that rejection for the third time feels like a stab to the heart, piling onto the other burdens already weighing down my shoulders.
I tap my toes against the gleaming terracotta floor as I glance around the small diner. How the hell do I even bring this up?
“Well, what are you here for then? You want breakfast or something?” He scrutinizes me, brows pinched together.
“No, I–” My throat closes up, and I swallow. “I–I wanted to know… I was wondering if—”
“Just spit it out, girl. You’ve never been shy around me. Don’t start now.”
Okay. I suck in a breath and just go for it, fast, before I lose my nerve. “I need twenty–seven thousand. Could you loan it to me? I’ll pay it back—with interest, of course.”
Fred’s face goes through several expressions—shock, confusion, and something unreadable that vanishes before I can name it. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He doesn't yell, but his tone is incredulous and a little impatient.
I grimace, looking down.
“You don’t even have a job,” he continues. “How do you expect to repay that kind of money? And just how much do you think I make here? After mortgage, bills, and paying my staff, I’m lucky if I have three grand left. I can’t help you, Leni.”
I nod, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. “Alright. Thank you.” My voice is small and defeated as I head for the door.
“Are you in trouble? What do you need that much money for?”
I glance back and force a weak smile. “I’m not in trouble.” I’m in huge trouble. But there’s no point dragging him into this mess when he can’t help anyway.
I close the door gently behind me and walk towards my scooter, my chest tight with desperation.
Running away is looking more and more tempting.
Will Rick or his men hunt me down when the week is up? They did say I would have to work at their club as a stripper to repay them. The thought makes me shudder—not because I have anything against strippers, but because I know I would never be able to pay them back that way.
Loan sharks are called sharks for a reason. Because once they smell blood, they circle. And when they strike, they don’t stop. That means the interest will keep piling up while I work myself to death in their club.
I would rather jump into the East River.