Page 13 of House Rules
Pedo-stash looks at me for a moment and then shakes his head as if he is disappointed.
“Well, see, that’s a problem for you, little girl. Your father owed us some money.”
“If you want to take it up with him, his ashes are in the living room. The silver canister on the shelf,” I say, trying to act tough. I know that if I show weakness, these men will hurt me. I need them to believe that my bark is worse than my bite. It’s the only way a girl can survive in this kind of neighborhood, and it’s why I haunted the resort when I was younger.
I’m not tough.
He laughs, chuckles like it’s all a big joke. Then his hand flies up, and his knuckles slam into my face hard enough for me to taste blood. He lets me go, and I fall, barely catching myself on my palms before my face slams into the floor.
That apparently wasn’t enough, because he decides I need a good kicking too. He pushes his steel-toed boots under my ribs, pinning me to the floor for abeat before rearing back and kicking me in the same place twice.
I stifle a scream and cough out a trail of blood, trying to catch my breath as pain radiates throughout my body. The boot rears back to kick me again, and I force my knees into my chest, ignoring the way my stomach screams with the movement. I have to protect myself.
Baldy stops Pedo-stash from kicking me again and instead grabs my hair and yanks me up back to my feet. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Tears only encourage men like him.
“Look here, little girl, we’re going to give you an opportunity, because we are first and foremost businessmen.” Baldy sneers, his breath worse than Pedo-stash’s. “Your father owes us one hundred thousand dollars.”
A hundred thousand? Jeezus H and all the saints…what has he done to me? I loved my father, in spite of his flaws, but in this moment, all I can feel for him is fury. “He’s dead,” I cry out.
“Yeah, I got that. But we still need to get paid,” he says, flinging my table over on its side and knocking over my last cup of noodles.
“Dead men don’t pay their bills, but their families do. You don’t stiff the mob, sweetcheeks. So you have two choices. You can come up with the hundred K he owes, or we can take your pretty little body and make you earn it.”
The mob.Fear floods me, images of a bloody horse head and being buried in concrete beating back every rational thought. The mob doesn’t play.
His meaty, sweaty fist grabs my chest hard, squeezing my breast, and my stomach lurches. I want to throw up all over him. I swallow back the bile, knowing that anything like that would just antagonize him.
“Of course, if you don’t want to turn tricks, we could just beat the shit out of you and kill you,” Pedo-stash says.
Baldy ignores him and keeps running his hand up and down my body. My stomach turns and flops, and bile rises in my throat, but I say nothing. If I say the wrong thing, he might take it as a challenge. Pissing him off could be as detrimental as encouraging him.
“If I were you, girl, I would just suck cock until you make up his debt, and then you’ll be free.” He tipshis head to the side, evaluating. “It’s not a terrible gig. You’ll probably end up emotionally scarred; you’ll definitely get beat up a few times, but I would say you have at least a twenty percent chance at survival. Which is definitely better than if you did nothing,” he says, his voice falsely helpful. He slides his hand around and grabs my ass.
I swallow down the bile burning its way up my throat. That’s the pitch? Emotional scarring and a twenty percent survival rate? I would pray to someone, but it has been too long since I thought someone might actually listen or even care about me. I’m on my own.
“I’ll pay,” I choke out.
“With your body?” Baldy asks, a little too eagerly.
“Cash,” I say, still trying so hard not to puke. “I just need a little time.”
“How the fuck is a little gutter rat like you going to come up with a hundred thousand bucks?” Pedo-stash asks.
“I work at the casino. I can get it. All of it. I’ll just have to steal it or something. I’ll figure it out. Time, I just need time.”
“You know what,” Baldy laughs. “I believe you will. You look like you have some fight in you, girl, so I’m going to make you a deal. I’m going to give you a week. You have one week to come up with one hundred and forty thousand?—”
“You said a hundred,” I argue.
“Did I?” he taps his chin like he’s thinking about it. “Well, I must have forgotten the interest. One week to come up with one hundred and forty thousand cash, or you’re going to work for me, and you’re going to do it on your knees. It shouldn’t take you more than a decade. I mean, you’re going to have to heal before I can turn you out.”
“Heal?”
Pedo-stash gives me a wicked grin. “You don’t pay, we’re going to make an example out of you. I think two broken ribs, and maybe losing a finger or two should be enough. Normally I’d break your jaw, or your kneecaps, but those take longer to heal, and you’re gonna need both to make good on our investment.”
The men both laugh, and I push myself against the wall, trying hard to still the quiver of mychin and the tremble in my hands. Nothing good will come from showing these men any weakness.
“One week. One hundred and forty thousand, and I never see you two again?”
