Chapter 18 #2
I glance at her, confused. “What?”
“I said — how did you know I like money?”
I blink. “I didn’t, Ria. I’m just a realist. And doesn’t everyone like money?”
She hums like she’s weighing that, fingers tapping a rhythm on the door. “How much money are we talking about?”
“However much you think it’ll take.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “You’re rich, aren’t you? All of you Vultures. I’ve seen your clubhouse. And all your damn bikes. Your boss spends like he owns Fort Knox.”
I shrug. “Depends what rich means to you.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Rich means not worrying about dinner. Or shelter. Or hopping on a jet to Paris just because the mood struck. That kind of rich.”
Her hand moves to the dash and starts tapping, considering.
“Alright, Lil’ Boo. Fifteen thousand. Every month. For a year. You kept her from working? You owe her a damn salary for the same amount of time. Seems fair.”
She says it so deadpan that I let out a short laugh. Dry. Disbelieving. But fuck me… she’s right.
“Substitute teachers don’t make anywhere near that. But yeah, I agree,” I mutter.
She shrugs. “Yeah, well. The rest is hazard pay. For surviving you.”
I glance sideways. She’s smirking now.
What the fuck can I even say to that?
Adora
I wake up gasping, panic taking over, the room spinning around me like a carousel.
I must’ve had another nightmare, but I don’t remember it. I never do, which I guess is its own kind of blessing, but the aftertaste always lingers.
I can feel it already — today is going to be hell. Another cage match with my own fucked-up head.
It’s been nearly a week since I got out of the hospital, and I haven’t left Ria’s place once. My body was too wrecked, forcing me to fight for every breath. But I’ve been better lately.
Ria closed the shop this week. She’s been here every day, flitting around like some maniac little guardian angel. I want to call her my friend. I want to believe I deserve that.
This morning, though, I can feel the mental strength I clawed back over the last few days slipping away from me. All those poison-laced questions are alive inside my head again, whipping my brain. Feral. Hungry. They know where to hit, where I’m weak.
Ghost said he lied, but did he? Or was that just the truth crawling out, stripped of sugar, bleeding from his mouth? Did his rage just rip away the mask?
The snake tattoo spanning his ribs flashes before my eyes. It’s so different from any other tattoo he has, and I know that’s how he sees me — a snake who ripped him apart.
Fuck, I hate this. I hate that it matters. Hate that I care. But my mind’s never been my ally. My mother made sure of that. She carved her voice into it long before I ever knew what love was supposed to feel like.
And now his voice is there too, haunting me, dripping poison into every open wound.
Was he right? Is that why no one ever fucking cared? Did he ever love me at all, even when we were kids? Or was I just the easy mark? The desperate girl with too much hope and no armor, looking for someone to accept her?
Why did he even come to the hospital? Just to see if he could keep playing his game? To twist the knife? To see if I still squirmed when he said jump? To see how much more pathetic I could get?
He truly wanted me dead… In that moment, with the gun to my head, he wanted me gone. I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t even have to say all those things, that look was the kill shot.
I may not be dead, but something inside me died that day. I didn’t realize how much I was still hoping, still dreaming of a life with him. How deeply I craved love. His love.
I hate myself for how much I wanted him and how easily I fell. How? How was I so stupidly naive to think he could ever feel the same?
But can I even blame him? He saw his chance at revenge and took it. I was the fool, smiling through the lies, clinging to hope.
If he was going to destroy me, I wish he would’ve done it fast. I wish he had just drowned me in that tub the day he took me, not play this long game. Not make it hurt this much.
The tears are already burning when a knock breaks through the shadows.
“Princess,” Ria sings on the other side of the door, way too cheerful for how dark the inside of my skull feels. “Coffee’s ready! And I have plans for you today! Up, Sleeping Beauty, up! Adventure awaits!”
I sigh, dragging myself upright and squeezing my eyes shut for a long second, trying to bury all those painful thoughts.
My phone blinks at me from the nightstand. Noon. Not morning. Damn.
Muted calls. Muted messages. Ghost has been trying to reach me nonstop. But I made sure nothing gets through. He doesn’t know he’s on mute, and that’s the point. He’d know if he was blocked but this way, he’s just talking into the void.
Ria meets me in the kitchen, already handing over a mug of what has officially become the second-best coffee I’ve ever had.
I try not to think about the first. The man. The espresso machine. The feelings that once came with both.
“So,” she starts, way too casually, “the nasty thoughts are back, aren’t they?” She’s completely unbothered. Like she already knows the answer and she’s just waiting for me to confirm it.
I blink at her over the rim of my cup, startled. “How did you know?”
She just smiles, soft and understanding. “My mom was like you. She fought her mind every single day. I learned to read the signs early on. To know if it was going to be a good day or a bad one.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I whisper.
She waves it off. “Don’t be. It’s in the past. Anyway,” she leans in, tapping her mug to mine, “I think your body needs to move. It could be a good way to get your mind out of the darkness. Let it take a break from chewing you alive.”
She narrows her eyes at me. She’s about to issue a challenge. “How do you feel about running?”
I blink. “I tried it a few times. After the divorce, when I finally had control over my life. It felt good, but then survival took over and I forgot all about running.”
She nods sagely like she already expected the answer. “Well, now you’ve got time. There are no big worries looming at the horizon, all you have to do is heal. And sunshine is waiting to meet your skin.”
She claps suddenly, shaking the moment loose. “I got you some clothes today. Something comfortable so you can move with ease. We’ll start with a light walk at first. Your body’s not ready for too much effort yet. In a few weeks, we’ll move up to an actual jog.”
I nod slowly. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
Her eyes twinkle. “The specter haunting my parking space?”
I nod again.
She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Don’t worry about the idiot biker. You just keep with the plan we talked about. It will all work out.”
I don’t argue. I let her take the lead. I’ll need to think about what I’m going to do soon, but that day is not today. I’m grabbing the lifeline Ria is throwing at me with both hands.
“Oh, also,” Ria starts again, tone deceptively light, as she slides something across the counter toward me. “The biker dropped this off. I debated whether I should give it to you or not, but in the end... it’s your choice what you want to do with it.”
I look down.
Sugar and Ash. Both volumes. ‘A wish is not a promise, but a promise is a wish.’ I feel the sting behind my eyes immediately. My throat tightens. I want to cry.
No — I want to burn them. Reduce them to ash. Grind that ash into a fine dust, and force-feed it to him until he chokes on the taste of everything he spit in my face.
But instead, I pick them up carefully, with trembling fingers, like they’re fragile.
I walk them into my room without a word, spine straight, rage curling inside my chest. Ria follows me, but stops at the doorway. She chews on her bottom lip, hesitation painted all over her face.
“There’s something else,” she says, dragging out the words like they’re barbed wire. “Specter Boy was on guard duty earlier. Drove me to the store this morning. That’s when he gave me the books. But also…”
She squints, then glances at the ceiling like the right phrasing might be hiding up there.
“Oh, screw it,” she mutters. “He wants to give you money. Because — well, you know — he left you with jack shit. And you should have money. Like, lots of it. Especially after everything you went through.”
Her arms cross tight over her chest. “So I asked him for fifteen grand a month. For a year. Think of it like backpay for emotional damage. Hazard pay. A ‘you-survived-Ghost’ salary. He owes you. He kept you from working.”
I blink. “Fifteen thousand?” My voice is a breath of disbelief. “Ria…”
She steamrolls right over me. “Nope. Shut up. Listen first. You can say no. Just say the word, and I’ll tell him to take his guilt-stained cash and shove it back into whatever hole he crawled out of.
But,— ” she leans in, voice stronger now, “—this isn’t hush money or leverage.
This is compensation. Because you were stripped of everything.
Your time, your peace, your power, your fucking sanity.
All the people in your life, including him, left you with nothing.
At least now, you can stack something for yourself.
You’ve got a home here, and if you want, you can make a plan.
Save the money. Do whatever the hell you want with it. ”
I stare at her. She stares back.
I blink. She blinks.
“I want that fucking money,” I hear myself hiss, my left eye twitching.
“In fact, ask for twenty. And we split it, fifty-fifty. He’s loaded. Huge Driftwood house, fancy cabin here — bought it without a second thought. Twenty grand a month is pocket change for him. And you’re damn right, I deserve it.”
I pause, then tilt my head thoughtfully.
“Actually… ask for the full amount up front. One big payment. No strings. No installments. He can afford it.”
Ria’s grin stretches like a lethal weapon across her face.
“I knew you were my kindred spirit the moment I saw you,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We’re gonna be rich bitches.”