Page 9 of Cam Girl

Shit, no. I’ve got no clue.

Did I get a good look at the perpetrators? No, I didn’t. Not outside of the tattoos, and those patterns might have been drawn on anyone or inked in prison for all I know.

I suck at this game.

I always thought I was observant, but guess what? When it comes down to it, terror makes you stupid.

I’m stupid.

My sluggish mind churns and the cogs click into place. I straighten, my nostrils flared.

“There was a dude earlier who made threats against me. He, ah, he offered me a large amount of money to do something for him and I refused. He said he would find me.” I gasp, swallowing hard. “He said it would take some time to find me, but he would.”

The operator pauses for a moment. “Do you know the identity of the man?”

What the hell should I say in this case? That I’m basically a porn star for cash? They’re never going to take threats like this seriously.

Are the two instances even related? I have no evidence to know and I’m not going back to my place to ask the dudes if they’re connected to Maxxx8U.

“Ma’am? Are you still there?” the operator presses, slightly more concerned.

I end the call.

Whoever this guy is, if he’s behind the break-in, then he’s serious about coming after me. And with the kind of money at his disposal to just throw aroundtwenty-five grand, he’s got the resources to do what he wants.

Including paying off the local cops. What happens if the police come and they deliver me to him on a silver platter?

“What have you gotten yourself into, Gillian?”

Hearing my own name spoken out loud helps steady me. The cool scarred bus stop bench isn’t much but it’s sturdy.

I've got to prioritize my safety. I need some time to figure out the identity of the dude, to see what I’m dealing with.Ifthis is even related. I’d have to be an idiot to think they aren’t connected.

My gut tells me some pretty fanciful stories.

So where do I go to lay low?

My mouth is dry again and I run my tongue over my teeth. The movement only emphasizes the dull ache in my cheek from the slap and the dried tear stains.

I’ve never been hit before, not so hard.

There have been plenty of smacks from Ma or from my sisters during arguments but never with the kind of force that man used on me.

If he wore rings, I’d have cuts and loose teeth.

My phone is a useless dead weight in my pocket as I trudge back the way I came, only vaguely aware of the rawness of the soles of my feet.

The odds are good someone’s waiting for me at the apartment, but the odds are better the police will be on their way as well, to investigate. They have my address.

If I can get inside and grab some money and car keys, then I’ll be set. I’ll leave.

Where the hell do I go?

I shiver, the adrenaline leaching away and the cold biting my exposed skin.

Going back to the trailer even for one night is nowhere close to a permanent solution. Not to mention it’s a four-hour drive and I haven't been there since the night before my high school graduation.

It’s not the kind of place you want to stick around. Especially after Ma abandoned us.

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