Chapter 7
Elodie
I’m in the customer bathroom at the coffeehouse, locked in a stall. My forehead is pressed to the door because I can’t hold myself up anymore.
I worked through most of the night again but managed to get three hours of sleep in my car. Three hours of terrible, shallow sleep.
First, the car was uncomfortable as hell.
Then there was the constant gnawing paranoia of looking like a loiterer in the parking lot.
I kept picturing one of the guards spotting me and thinking I was abusing my “employee” privileges.
I suppose it’s ridiculous to worry myself over such a thing because that’s the least of my problems.
I’ve been running through my options.
Options. God, I actually have options now.
I could call Dorian. But my pride says no. And if I’m going with that, the question becomes uglier: if I’m not choosing him, then what am I choosing?
Nothing. No help. Whatever hell Marcus has in store for me if I stick around.
I blow out a ragged breath.
God. I can’t even go home.
The thought of walking into my apartment like I did the other night, only to find someone waiting inside, ready to teach me a lesson before Monday, turns my stomach so hard I taste bile. It’s a kind of fear I don’t know how to explain to anyone. It makes everything feel unsafe.
So, what am I going to do?
I lift my head for a second, inhale like that will help, then press my forehead back to the door and close my eyes as the thoughts keep coming, as relentless as the buzz of the lights above me.
At least I have somewhere to go tonight.
Somewhere I can sleep and feel safe.
Skylar, my friend from Ashworth, knows about my situation. She offered me her spare room. She’s been away for the last two weeks, vacationing with her boyfriend, but I spoke to her earlier before I came back inside to work.
Of course, she was freaked out about the escalation of my situation.
But no more than me.
I now have four days left to make a choice. I feel like I have to make some kind of decision by tomorrow night at the latest, then come up with a plan to execute it.
Logic tells me I should swallow my pride and ask Dorian for help. But I can’t imagine owing him, too. That part feels almost worse than this. And what the hell would I say to Jack?
If he didn’t even think of asking Dorian—regardless of the past—knowing how dangerous Marcus is, then what the hell would he say? My brother would probably disown me.
For twelve thousand dollars.
But really, it’s not just twelve thousand I need.
It’s all of it. The full fucking amount. A balance of a hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
It’s time to accept that Clara isn’t coming back. She screwed me over big time without apology, and I can’t rely on her showing up to take responsibility.
That means I’m looking at paying back this loan all by myself.
I currently pay nearly four thousand a month that includes the three percent interest rate. I was already looking at a repayment period of close to nine years if I never miss a payment. But now, I’m looking at ten years because of the late payment penalty fees I’ve accumulated.
Even if Dorian helps me this one time, I’ll still be trapped.
Ten years of my life spent paying for someone else’s mistake, with my name on the hook and his shadow on my back. And I can’t guarantee that I won’t slip up again.
The mechanic at the garage cautioned that my car was on its last legs. He even said it would be better for me to get a new one rather than spend the money I had on the old one.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t afford it.
The same thing will happen when the car gives out again.
I guess I could get a car from Jack, but they’re all used cars on their way out.
Over a nine-year span, anything could happen.
Not just with the car. Anything.
The silence presses in, thick and humming with fluorescent light. Then the main door swings open and heels click against tile.
A sharp burst of laughter follows, bright and careless, like the world outside my stall isn’t collapsing. I peek through the crevice in the door and see two women moving toward the sinks.
They’re what I call high-end—dressed from head to toe in designer wear.
Around here, everyone looks expensive, so you can’t tell if people like them work in the surrounding buildings or if they’re daddy’s-credit-card girls.
I never got to be either of those options. Before my father died, I wasn’t into frivolous shopping like most of my friends. Then, in the aftermath of Dad’s death and losing everything, I had to be careful with money.
“…I’m telling you,” the pretty redhead says, voice high with excitement. “It’s The Dark Odyssey. It’s not like the usual stuff. It’s—” She drops her voice like it’s a secret worth savoring. “It’s an auction. Where you’re being auctioned to the highest bidder. I’m going to do it.”
My brows furrow with distaste. It’s not the first I’ve heard of things like that, but I’ve never been around anyone who would openly admit to wanting to be auctioned. And at the Dark Odyssey? That’s a sex club. Literally a full-on sex club where people get all kinds of freaky out in the open.
One thing I could count on Clara for was intel on the wilder side of life. On things I would never dream of doing. She was a regular patron of the Dark Odyssey and even worked the bar there for the summer after college.
“You’re seriously doing the auction?” the blonde woman scoffs, but there’s curiosity in it.
“Why wouldn’t I?” the redhead says with wide eyes. “Do you know how much money you can make in one night? Like… life-changing money.”
The words life-changing money land in my chest like a match, and suddenly, my ears are more open, hoping she’ll continue talking. I want to know what kind of money she thinks is life changing.
“Okay, dramatic. How much are we talking?” The blonde woman sets her hands on her hips.
“Depends on who shows up. But if you’re even remotely pretty, you could be looking at a minimum of thirty to forty thousand. And if you get a… premium bid?” She pauses, letting the suspense swell. “Six figures. I knew a girl who got half a million.”
My stomach flips.
My mind starts doing the math before I can stop it—the loan, rent, my life.
Even if I could get twenty or thirty thousand, that would change my life.
“Wowzer, that is definitely life-changing money. But what do you have to do?” The blonde lowers her voice. “I’m sure it’s not going to be a walk in the park? And what if you end up sucking some guy’s old dick?”
The redhead snorts. “You set your limits. But of course, the more you’re willing to do, the higher the bid. You know what men are like. Rich men.”
Something bitter settles inside my chest.
“What kind of limits can you set?”
The redhead turns on the faucet, and the water rushes out. “Whatever you choose. You can do a viewing-only bid. A dance. A date. Or…” Her voice dips, velvet and amused. “More.”
Lord. More. I’ll bet that’s how that girl got half a million. Even if you were insanely beautiful, I’m sure you’d still have to do more to get that kind of money.
“What are you going to do?” the other woman whispers.
“Every- and anything.” The redhead scoffs like the question is stupid. “Men with too much money will pay for anything that makes them feel powerful. The Dark Odyssey is where they go when they don’t want to pretend they’re decent.”
My pulse jumps.
I know those men. Not by name but by type. I’ve served them coffee. Smiled at them. Watched them look through me like I’m a thing behind glass.
“Are you serious?” the blonde shrieks then covers her mouth.
“Of course, I’m serious. Once the men start bidding and you see that number climbing, you stop thinking about what it costs.”
“You’re insane.”
“Insane is staying broke,” the redhead shoots back.
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
She’s right. Insane is staying broke.
Broke like me.
An auction.
Could I do it?
Could I do something like that?
The women start talking about logistics—dress code, the door, how to get an invite—like it’s nothing.
The faucet shuts off. A lipstick cap clicks. A phone buzzes. Then their heels click away. The bathroom door swings open, then shuts, and the silence returns like a wave.
I stay frozen, my heart beating too loudly in my ears.
I want freedom.
That auction could be my path.
It might be the wrong one.
It might even ruin me.
But I don’t have the luxury of being picky anymore.
* * *
“Are you out of your mind?” Skylar gasps.
The ends of her dark bob brush her shoulders as she shakes her head hard enough that it looks like she’s trying to shove the idea right out of the room. She’s standing by her bookshelf, hands clenched into fists at her sides like she’s bracing for impact.
I’m on the sofa, sinking back into the cushions like my body has finally given up pretending it can hold itself upright.
I nod. “I’m serious, Skylar.” My voice comes out rough. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I keep circling the same thought like it’s poison and prayer at the same time. This is the answer to all my problems.”
“No. No, no, no.” She takes a step forward, eyes wide with horror. “It can’t be.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and I hate the way it makes me feel—like I’m dragging her into the mess with me.
“What kind of friend would I be if I allowed you to do something like this?” she snaps, but there’s fear under the anger. “It’s an auction, Elodie. An auction. And you know what that means. You’ll have to do… anything to get the kind of money you’re looking for.”
I swallow, but it doesn’t help. My throat feels tight, my stomach turning with the same raw bile that’s been threatening to burn through me for days.
“And you can’t even guarantee it,” she pushes on. “People will always try to get everything they want for the lowest price. What happens if you do it—if you sell your body—and all you get is five grand?”
My stomach clenches hard. “I have to try something,” I say, with a determination I don’t fully feel.