Page 1 of Bought
CHAPTER ONE
Erin
I can’t remember the last time I left my apartment this late on a Saturday night. The air slices through me like a blade; icy, sharp, and merciless. Each step I take echoes against the dimly lit sidewalk, reminding me I’m an outsider.
That I’m entering a world where I don’t belong.
And meeting a man that a girl like me is never supposed to cross paths with.
I think of Ryan, my shield against the fear. The image of his angelic face anchors me, reminding me why I’m out so late, walking alone down an unfamiliar street, and headed into the danger of the unknown.
Not for myself. For him. For them.
This deal could save us. And break me. I can only allow myself to focus on the first part. Otherwise, I’ll turn around and walk my popsicle-self right back home.
Cozy on the couch watching true crime mysteries with Cass instead of feeling like I’m living in one. The innocent virgin walks alone through the city, heading to meet a strange man. One who will surely ruin her.
My phone glows as I recheck the screen. I don’t need to. I know the address. I’ve stared at it so many times it’s carved into the back of my eyelids.
Fifteen Bachman Avenue.
My pulse kicks up as the phone rings, the sound loud and jarring. I fumble it in my hand, breath catching, heart galloping. I press it to my ear before the second ring ends.
“Cass?” My words are a breathless rasp. “Is Ryan okay?”
Her upbeat tone replies, “Depends.”
My heart stops. “What do you mean?”
“He’s taken my turn on the iPadandeaten all my ice cream. Didn’t you, Rye-Rye?”
Peals of his laughter come over the phone.
Instantly, I relax. “Don’t let him stay up too late.”
Cass fakes a sigh. “Okay, but it’s Saturday night! We can sleep in tomorrow.”
“Still…a schedule is best.”
“Hang on, Rin.”
“Okay.” Clutching the phone, my eyes dart around the street. I’m not used to being out this late.
I hear Cass in the background, asking Ryan to take her ice cream dish to the kitchen so we can talk.
“We’re totally fine, here,” she whispers. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”
“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you hadn’t made me watch that Manson Murders documentary last night,” I hiss.
My eyes shift to the dark alley on my left, scanning for hidden serial killers.
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Cass laughs. “I’m just warming you up for the Ted Bundy one.”
I murmur into the phone, “Why do you insist on watching this rubbish, when we’re living our own nightmare?”
“Everyone else seems to have a white-picket love story. Crime shows make me feel less alone.”
I instantly regret teasing her. “There were no white picket fences where we come from,” I remind her. “We’re not the Royals.”
