Page 1 of Twisted Play
1
EVA
“Stop!”I threw myself at the men dragging my father across our living room, wrapping myself around a thick, tattooed arm, as if I had a shot in hell of slowing their progress. “Please, you have to stop.”
The sour smell of beer lingered on my father’s clothes, mixing with the sharp copper from his bloody nose—a familiar combination that brought back memories of nights spent cleaning up after his binges, of promises to do better.
“Eva,” my father rasped, every breath labored from his broken, bloody nose. “Don’t, please.”
“The fuck I won’t!” I snapped, digging in my heels. I’d spent too many years watching him destroy himself, cleaning up his messes—messes that weremy fault—to watch him back down now. My father had given up everything to save me. Now, it was my turn to save him.
The man I clutched at shoved me backward, sending me flying onto the couch. His eyes met mine, terrifying and cold, dark pits slashing against his skin. “Stay out of this, little girl.” His voice was no less cruel for its quiet.
“What do you want?” I cried, althoughdeep in my gut, I already knew. It always came back to my father’s gambling—gambling he’d only taken up to pay for my medical care.
My fault.
He snorted and looked at my father, held up by his shoulders between two enormous men. “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”
My father hung his head, refusing to look at me.
“Dad, what’s going on?” My voice rose as panic shivered up my spine. My father’s gambling addiction had gotten him in trouble before—had gottenusin trouble before—but this was the first time the violence had entered our home.
“Eva, I’m so sorry,” my father whispered.
The man who’d spoken to me earlier laughed cruelly. “You’re sorry? You owe a million dollars to Jed Carter, and all you can say to your kid is that you’re sorry?”
“We don’t have time for this,” the second man snapped.
The first man, with the cruel eyes, looked me up and down, his gaze hot on my curves. “Maybe we can work out a deal.”
“When was the money due? Maybe…maybe I could help pay it?” As if food, rent, and transportation to and from Yorkfield University once the semester started didn’t leave me with no more than a couple of dollars to spend every month. My savings were slight—I’d hoped to fix our water heater as the weather got colder.
The men laughed, their amusement malicious in the face of my desperation. “It was due six months ago.”
Six months ago was when—my hand flew to my face. Oh no. Mysurgery. Ohno.
A memory surfaced—Dad at the hospital beside my bed, his face slack with relief when the doctors said my replacement heart valve had taken. “I’d do anything for you, sunshine,” he’d said.
Fuck.Fuck!Realization hit me like a punch to the gut. “It was—he spent it on me,” I gasped.
“Then it sounds like you need to help your father pay it back.”
My mind skittered to an abrupt halt, and horror sliced through me, icy and bitter, before I cut it off at the root. Maybe later, I’d kick myself for my inability to form a coherent thought in the face of so much fucking debt, but for now, I had to wrap my head around how to fix this.
“No,” my father moaned. “No, please, leave her out of it. I had it! I was going to pay you back but—” He looked at me, his eyes softening. For a moment, I saw the man he used to be—proud and strong, before Mom’s betrayal and my medical bills broke him. “She got sick.”
Almost absentmindedly, the man on the left swung his fist into my father’s stomach. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Stop!” I shouted. “Let him go,” I continued in a calmer tone, worried we’d both pay for my sharpness.
The man on the right smiled, and a chill seeped into my bones. “We were always going to let him go. In one piece, though? That’s up to you.”
Up to me.
It wasalwaysup to me.
A lifetime of moments flashed through my head—no, that was unfair. My father had given meeverythingafter my mother left us. He’d taught me how to ice skate, dried my tears when my first crush was unkind to me, coached me through my first period, and when my heart failed me for the second time in my life in the middle of the semester last fall, he’d cobbled together enough money for open heart surgery. Somehow.
