Chapter Eleven #2
Instead, he pulls out a cigarette case and an ornate lighter. His eyes don’t move from me as he opens the case, withdraws a cigarette, and pops it between his lips, lighting it up. He inhales a deep drag and releases a plume of smoke, pinching the butt of his cancer-stick between two fingers.
“I asked you a question,” the man prompts, sounding vaguely amused.
A blinding blow lands on the back of my neck, jarring my entire body, and sending pain blaring through my head like a thousand alarms and shooting down my spine. I let out a cry, dropping to my knees.
“Enough, Bradley,” the man says dismissively. “The child’s no threat.”
“I’m not a child.” I don’t know why I say the words, why I use my voice at all, but the correction is instinctual. I may be short and limber, but I’m no longer a kid—I’ve had to be my own parent and a reliable adult for several years now.
“Is that so?” the man asks, sounding vaguely bored.
“Well, girl, since you’re no child, let me tell you a grown-up story.
” He leans forward, eyes locking on my own, and something in my soul shrivels under the weight of his stare.
“Your dearest daddy has spent all of his money and most of his time at my casinos, instead of giving both assets to you—as any decent parent ought to.” The man throws a disgusted sneer at my father.
“In fact, he’s spent money he doesn’t have, taking on quite a debt.
A debt that he’s used your college fund to repay—and still, he came up short by half a million. ”
My lips part. Half a million is an obscene amount of money. I can’t even imagine having that much… and Dad spent it without having it? How could he be so stupid?
My college fund… if I don’t get a full-ride somewhere, then I’m screwed. I’ll be stuck going to a community college and working two jobs to put myself through it.
That is, if I don’t die here today. Which seems an increasing likelihood.
“So, let’s test that grown-up brain of yours,” the man says.
“I need to recover the 500k your father owes me. Having people indebted to me just doesn’t sit well.
” He takes another puff of his cigarette and blows it right into my face, chuckling when I grimace.
“I could, of course, kill him. But then, I still wouldn’t have my money, and my only means of recovering it would be you.
” He stares hard at me. “Would you happen to have five hundred thousand dollars lying around somewhere?”
I swallow, shaking my head.
“That’s unfortunate to hear. So, your father doesn’t have the money, and you don’t have the money.
I could kill him and sell you—you’re very beautiful, I’m sure you’d get me twice the debt, but…
” he shakes his head. “I invest in human trafficking, but I don’t participate in it.
It’s a messy business, and the feds are all over it.
So, Ember, what would you suggest I do?”
I glance at my dad. His breaths are shallow and short—he’s barely conscious—but he finds the strength to speak. “Please, leave her out of this. She’s a good girl—”
The man who pointed a gun at me—Bradley?
—pistol-whips my father with such strength, he’s sent falling backwards.
His chair crashes to the ground and splinters beneath his weight.
He lets out a shout of pure agony. I lunge toward him, but the man grabs me by the throat, keeping me in place.
I claw at his hand with my own, trying to escape the pressure, but it’s futile.
“Alternatively,” he says, his hot breath fanning my cheek, “I could accept you as payment.”
“Me?” I gasp.
“You,” he agrees. His eyes flick over to the entryway—I follow his line of sight, seeing the college letters.
“How many of those would you wager are acceptances?” he asks me suddenly.
I swallow. “I don’t gamble.”
He chuckles. “That makes you smarter than your father. Go on, Ember. Open them. Let’s see what you’re worth.”
He releases me as abruptly as he grabbed me. Full-body tremors wrack me as I force myself to stand on unsteady feet, curbing the urge to fall to my knees by my father and tend to him. Instead, I woodenly pick up the letters, rip open the first one, and unfold it.
The excitement that had previously gripped me at the prospect of getting into a college of my choice has disappeared, crushed beneath the weight of the scene before me. When I read the acceptance notice, with offer of a full-ride scholarship, I feel nothing but a faint sense of dread.
“Well?” the man prompts.
“Acceptance,” I say quietly. “With a full scholarship.”
The man turns to glare at my father. “And this is the daughter whose future you’ve robbed from her. You’re a poster child for birth control.” He looks back to me. “And the others?”
I go through them, one by one. All acceptance letters, all with at least a partial scholarship.
I’m a straight-A student. I aced my ACT and SAT scores, both with near perfection. My extracurricular activities include being a regional piano champion and national speech and debate champion. I did everything I could to buy myself a ticket out of this corner of the world.
“Well,” the man says when I’m done. “It would seem you’re a worthy investment, indeed.
Cumulatively, you’re holding about three million dollars worth of scholarship money.
” He looks at my dad. A cruel, evil smile slashes his face in half.
“Congratulations, fuckup,” he says. “I think I’ve found a way for you to pay off your debt to me. ”
And with that one line, all of my hopes, dreams, and aspirations go rushing down the drain.