A thin curl of smoke rising #4
I glance from him and back to her, taking her in properly now. The twitchiness in her fingers, the way her gaze keeps darting. The thinness that isn’t just weight loss.
“You said you were clean,” I say quietly.
“I am,” she snaps. “Mostly. I just—things got complicated.”
“Complicated,” I echo.
“It’s not like I’m hurting anyone,” she mutters. “You’ve got money. I don’t.”
The words slice clean, and something inside me hardens. I take a step toward her.
“So you terrorize your daughter’s family for it?” Adrenaline rushes through me, and I spit on the floor at her feet. “You don’t get to use a kid like that.”
For a second, she just stares at me, stunned, but then the man exhales sharply through his nose.
“Enough.”
I swivel around.
“Take the money,” I tell him, yanking the bag off my shoulder and throwing it toward him. Bills spill partially from the unzipped top when it lands. “Take it and stay the hell away from us.”
Neither of them moves, and I look from him to Stacey and back again.
Fine.
I turn and stride toward the opening of the tower, my pulse hammering so hard I can barely hear over it. Daylight flashes beyond the steel framework of the door, and I reach for it.
But a hand clamps around my upper arm hard enough to bruise and yanks me backward. Pain sparks hot through my shoulder as I slam into him.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“You’re in a hurry.” He chuckles.
Adrenaline explodes through me, and I twist violently, driving my elbow backward into his gut. He grunts, but it’s not enough for him to let go.
I stomp hard on his foot and wrench sideways, nearly slipping free before his hand twists in the back of my jacket and hauls me back so hard my teeth snap together painfully.
“Stacey!” I yell. “Tell him to let me go!”
She looks between us, panic flickering across her face for the first time.
“Just take the money,” she says quickly. “We don’t need to—”
“We need to make sure she keeps her mouth shut,” he grits out.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say immediately, still struggling in his grip. “I swear to God, I won’t—”
“Everybody says that, sweetheart.”
I wrench against him again, and this time he shoves me hard enough that I go down fast, gravel tearing into my palms and knees. Pain shoots up my arms, but before I can scramble up, his hand fists in my hair near the base of my skull and drags me backward, hard enough to make my eyes water.
“No—no, please—”
“Hold still,” he snaps.
“Get off me!”
I claw at his wrist until I feel skin break beneath my nails, but it’s no use.
He’s stronger.
I’m forced down into a rusted chair, and he shoves me back when I try to surge up. Rough rope bites into my wrists immediately, scraping my skin raw as he jerks it tight.
“Stop!” I yell, still twisting. Still fighting. “You’ve got the money. You don’t need to—”
The rope tightens on my arms until my hands tingle. He moves fast, looping it around the back of the chair, cinching it tight so I can’t stand up. My chest heaves, and my eyes snap to the woman behind him.
“Stacey,” I say again, but this time it’s not a shout. “Please.”
She hovers uselessly a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself so tightly it looks painful, but doesn’t look at me directly, just watches him finish tying me up.
“Are you gonna untie her?” she asks quietly.
He moves back over to the bag of cash on the floor, then digs out a cigarette with one hand while counting the cash with the other.
“Eventually.” He laughs softly, leaning back against the wall and blowing out a long column of smoke.
Ash drifts lazily onto the dirt floor.
“That’s not what we agreed,” Stacey mutters.
“You agreed to get me paid.” He snaps the bag shut and finally pushes away from the wall. “She’ll be fine for an hour or two.”
“She can’t just—”
“She’ll be fine,” he cuts in. “It’s an empty tower.”
Stacey hesitates.
“You need to go,” he adds, jerking his chin toward the open side. “Now.”
For one second, I see it—something almost human in her expression as she looks back at me. But the need to survive kicks back in, and then it’s gone.
She backs away, finally looking at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t th—”
“Fuck you,” I spit back.
The guy chuckles around the last of his cigarette, letting his eyes drift over me one more time.
“I’ll be back for you later, sweetheart.”
I don’t make eye contact. I pretend I don’t hear him, which only seems to amuse him more. With another chuckle, he moves toward the entry and flicks his cigarette butt carelessly as he walks out. Still staring down into the bag of cash and not noticing where it lands.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the frantic pulse hammering through my body. Nothing but my own thoughts, desperately constructing a plan to get me the fuck out of here.
Then I smell smoke, and my head jerks up. An orange glow flickers near the far corner where old newspapers and trash have been piled against the concrete wall. There’s a thin curl of smoke rising, and the cigarette smolders there, embers bright against the grey ash.
“No,” I whisper, watching the flame catch fast.
And then it spreads.