Page 19 of Shameful Addictions

She wanted to say no. She nodded. “Go ahead.”

He tipped over the shoebox and let all her jewelry spill out onto the glass top of the counter. He ran his fingers through the shining mess, sifting it around to look at the contents. “Why are you wanting to pawn all this?” he asked. In little deft movements that surprised her, he sorted earrings and rings and bracelets and necklaces all into separate piles.

“I’m having money troubles. I need cash, and I need it now.”

“Bank loan,” he suggested. He picked up two tangled necklaces and swiftly parted them despite the size of his fingers in comparison to the fine links.

“Not fast enough. I can’t wait for approval.”

“Lady, no such thing as fast money unless you screw for it.”

A chill ran down her spine. She’d sell her furniture, her fridge, her microwave. She’d set up a lemonade stand. Anything but prostitution. Anything but that. Her body was all she had left. If she gave up that, if she defiled her own sanctity, there was no point for her to have done this in the first place.

“There’s at least $100,000 worth here.” He looked up at her. “Anything over 10k needs to go through the boss and he ain’t going to be here until tomorrow.”

Her heart dropped. She put her hand on the counter to steady herself. The glass was hot under her fingers. “Are you kidding? This is worth at least five times that!”

“Maybe when you bought it new from the store with the brand name right on the box and label. Now it’s used. And we’ll have to authenticate every piece to make sure it’s legit. That costs us time and money. And no customers come in looking for pieces like this on the regular. Depends on what the boss says tomorrow, but it won’t be much more than that.” The man shrugged. “Fast cash ain’t much cash. Now you know.”

Now she knows.

She returned the next day and spoke with the owner of the store, who took her back to his office and evaluated each piece in a process that lasted for a full hour. He also looked like a smoker and had greasy hair, but he was professional and spoke honestly. He gave her the price for each individual piece–what he was willing to pay–and then gave her the total at the end.

Charlotte tried to get a bit more out of him, telling him having such nice jewelry would increase his notoriety, but he refused.

She accepted, and made her fifth payment just in time.

And then she was out of money. The bank wouldn’t give her a loan, citing reasonable concerns. She went away convinced they didn’t want to be associated with her.

That left her with a final course of action. She made an appointment with the judge who had overseen her case and appealed directly to him while he sat in his chair at the front of the courtroom between trials. She asked for an extension, a retrial. Anything.

He looked down at her while she pleaded, and then at his watch. The second hand ticked ticked ticked, made a half rotation before he deigned to speak.

“I’m sorry, but the matter is beyond me now. A ruling was reached. I can’t just change it. It’s illegal and it would also be a terrible precedent to set for other criminals.”

Other criminals. I’m not a criminal.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, her voice echoing across the high ceiling.

The judge shrugged at her. “Ask for a retrial. Or speak to the plaintiff directly. He’s the one who has the power to help you now.”

“He’s the one who ruined me in the first place!” she cried, on the very verge of panic. The details of the contract she’d signed with Mamba made it very clear failure to pay would result in jail, and that each subsequent missed payment would mean more jail time.

Basically, if she went to jail, she would be staying in jail. Lacking a way to make money, she’d go right back in as soon as she got out.

The judge looked at her with eyes so cold, though not as cold as Mamba’s. “You are the one who tried to ruin him. He just did it better than you. Our time is up, Miss Aria.”

Charlotte turned away from him and walked down the aisle in the middle of the room, struggling to breathe through her dismay.

Could she do it, talk to Mamba?

Did she dare?

Chapter eight

On your knees

Ican’tbelieveI’mdoing this. I can’t believe I have to do this.

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