Page 133 of You Had Me At Thirteen

A loud smacking sound whips through the phone, followed by Matilda’s whimpering cry.

Eli sighs. ‘I just hate laying my hands on beautiful women, but this one just won’t shut up. Foul mouthed bitch, she is. I don’t know how you put up with it Wren, honestly.’

My heart hammers in my chest as I swallow hard, grabbing at my shirt to pull it away from my feverish skin, hoping it stops suffocating me. ‘You sonofabitch…’

‘I just want my money, Wren. You have until midnight to get it to me, or I’ll do more than smack her around. By the time I finish with her, she’ll be begging me to put a bullet through that pretty little head of hers.’

Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

‘I’ll get you the money. Just don’t hurt her. Him, I don’t fucking care what you do.’

‘Tick tock, twelve o’clock. I’ll text you the address… and Wren? No police, or I will put a bullet in her head.’ The phone goes dead, leaving me panting in my bedroom.

My knees hit the carpet first before I crawl on all fours towards my bed, trying to suck in as much oxygen as I can. Once I’m seated on the edge of my mattress, I put my face into my hands, screaming into them as I rock back and forth. I knew my dad was a leech, but this is unforgivable, and now he’s put Matilda’s life in danger.

Getting up, I head to my wardrobe and pull out the duffel bag from the top shelf. Next, I grab the shoebox and place both items on the bed. I dump the contents of the shoebox into the bag and count the bundles of cash.

Over the months of fighting, I’ve put away thousands of dollars, plus paid for the expensive treatment my mum was having. She thought my dad was sending money for the treatment, but I was fighting for it. That piece of shit did nothing unless it benefited him.

Counting the bundles a second time, I come up with about $70,000. Thirty grand short.

There’s only one way I know how to make that sort of cash fast. And that isn’t even a given, considering the most I’ve ever made in one night is about half that. But I have a plan.

I take out my phone and pull up Jordan’s number again.

He answers on the first ring. ‘My man. What’s going on, brother?’

‘Hey Jordo, I need one more fight, but it has to be tonight.’

Jordan laughs, and then sighs. ‘You’re kidding, right? You literally just came out of a coma.’

‘Something’s happened and I need the money.’

‘Jesus, Wren. Are you okay?’

‘No, I’m not. Please? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death.’

‘Life or death? What the fuck, dude?’

I pace my bedroom, trying to calm my heart before it breaks my ribs. ‘Can you organise it or not? I don’t have time for this shit.’

‘Jesus, man. Fine… I’ll sort it.’

‘It needs to be Anderson.’

‘No fucking way.’

‘I’m not asking. It needs to be him. And I want thirty grand.’

‘Thirty grand? Fuck, Wren, what have you gotten yourself into?’

‘Listen, I’ll explain later. Do we have a deal?’

Jordan sighs. ‘Sure. Normal time.’

‘Thanks, man. I… appreciate it.’ My voice catches in my throat.

‘Wren?’

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