Page 11 of Into the Woods

Honestly, I should be shitting my pants.

He narrows his eyes at me. “And we don’t want an audience while we discuss your current situation. Your first installment is due immediately.”

He turns and stalks into the room to the left of the foyer and if I thought the entryway was dark and moody, this room is downright intimidating. It feels like the kind of room scary deals are made in, murders plotted, and the coverup tasks assigned. Like maybe I should be looking for a roll of plastic sheeting tucked into a corner to wrap up the bodies of a meeting gone bad.

Christophe reaches for a whiskey decanter and splashes some of the amber liquid into a cut crystal tumbler.

“Installment?” I ask warily.

“Your debt. It has to be paid.” He lifts the glass to his mouth and the whisper of a memory tingles at the edge of my mind.

Once upon a time, those lips were pressed against mine. It was chaste, nothing more than an innocent brush, but it was a kiss that I stole. The memory of which I manipulated and twisted in my mind to make it something more.

I was young back then. I was definitely foolish, but I was just a child playing at a game I had no business messing with. It was a lot of years ago, almost a lifetime.

I’m not sure much has changed. Now, I’m in way over my head with this new version of Christophe. Because this game, his business, and the reasons my parents were in his debt are, without a doubt, no good.

My mind whirs with thoughts and ideas on how to navigate this, but the problems are packed in tight like a dense forest that won’t allow for even a single ray of sunlight to filter through to the ground. The whole thing feels impossibly hopeless.

I release a breath, praying that the tremor of nerves is hidden yet knowing full well that it’s there for the world to see. Notthe world, Christophe. Nothing escaped his notice when we were kids, I don’t know why I think that might have changed.

“My purse is in my car. As soon as your friend gets here with Tru, I’ll give you everything I have. It’s not much, but it’s yours. And my job—you can have my paycheck, my tips, all of it. I just need enough to feed Tru and me. And a little for gas, the house is paid off.”

It’s doable. My escape from this town will just take a little bit longer to come to fruition, but I’ve survived this long. A few more months—a year—won’t make that big of a difference. And then we’ll be free.

A dark chuckle pulls me back from my errant thoughts.

“That’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean it’s not going to work?” I throw my hands out to either side, incredulous. “It’s money. I’ll give you as much as I can until the stupid debt is paid in full. However long that takes.”

Christophe turns to face me, leaning back against the edge of his desk, feet crossed at the ankles. “What kind of money do you think we’re talking about here? What do you do, make lattes and frappés? Wait tables?”

I shift my weight, my hip popping and attitude rising. When I notice his lifted brow, I stand straight again, ignoring the pinch of my toes in the higher-than-normal stilettos I’m wearing. I’m more of a cute boots and sneakers kind of girl, but you know, funerals and all.

“There is nothing wrong with waiting tables.” My retort falls flat in the expansive study. It’s so big, there would be an echo if not for the thick rugs and plush furnishings scattered about the space.

“With interest, you’d never get your head above water,” he says simply. “Tens of thousands, Winnie. Compounding daily.Think big. And that’s not even taking into account the greater issue.”

Holy shit, this is bad. Really bad. “Why? What…” I let the question fade into nothingness, because I know. Deep down, I’ve always known that my parents used drugs. Eventually, I knew they had a serious problem. Parties, empty pantry, missed school events. Even as a child, I knew there was more than forgetfulness to blame for their shortcomings. “The house. You can have their house. That should cover what they owe, right? And the club. I don’t want anything to do with that place.” The tension in my shoulders eases at the prospect.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Take them both and we’ll call this good.” Relief is short-lived.

“I own both the house and their business outright,” he says coolly. “What else have you got for me?”

I’m dumbfounded.

I had no idea about…well…any of this. Holy shit, what am I going to do? My gaze darts around the room, looking for an escape, a way out that just doesn’t seem to exist.

“I have nothing.” Not a fucking thing to my name. Hell, I’m actually homeless now, because I can’t go back to the house I grew up in knowing it’s really his.

“Surely you can think of something you have that someone might find of value.” He rakes his gaze down my body, caressing every inch of me, every curve, before reversing the route and meeting the panic in my eyes.

“Nothing. I don’t have anything to give you,” I say again. There’s really no way out of this. I’m stuck. Even in death, my parents have fucked me over.

His head tilts and dips to the side, almost coy, like he knows something I don’t. Which, let’s be honest, I feel like I’mthree steps behind him and falling further back the longer this conversation goes on.

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