Page 44 of Where's Molly

It feels as if I'm having a heart attack as I shakily bend over and grab the card. It's metal, which surprises me first. Then, I flip it over to find the wordLegionin bold, gold-foiled letters.Below is a phone number and nothing else.

No real name. No job title. Nothing.

But they look really fucking important.

Heart in my throat, I glance around suspiciously, still seeing no one, but not trusting that in the slightest. Other apartments surround the shelter, and the street is directly to my right. There are many places for them to hide.

Quickly, I retreat into my apartment and slam the door shut, relocking it again. Then, I distractedly make my way to my bed and slump down on the edge of it.

What the fuck isLegion?And what could they possibly want with me?

For a good five minutes, I argue with myself. To call them or run like my life depends on it and hope to God thisLegionnever finds me again. It doesn't look like a business card for a journalist or government official. And part of me is aware that if either one of those people found me, they'd be knocking on that door, not leaving me some obscure, ominous card.

Plus, it's incredibly fancy. It screams money.

I'm fairly confident a cop or news reporter doesn't makethismuch cash. Not enough to justify wasting it on a card, anyway.

I growl,growing irritated with myself. Without further thought, I slide my prepaid flip phone out of my back pocket, dial the number, and press call before I can talk myself out of it.

Curiosity won, and like a cat, it may get me killed.

The ringing stops, replaced by a sinfully delicious voice. Deep and raspy, yet toneless.

“I was hoping you'd call.”

My lips part, so incredibly unprepared that I'm at a loss for words.

Oddly, he waits. Doesn't even question if I'm still on the line.

After a few moments, I get my shit together long enough to eke out, “Who is this?”

“Legion,” he answers simply.

“And what do you want? How did you find me?” My tone grows increasingly aggressive with each word, the gears in my brain switching from shock to suspicion.

“I saw you at the mechanic and witnessed what transpired between you and your boss. You looked like someone who needed help, so I followed you home. Of course, I didn’t want to make you feel more unsafe than I already have, so I let you decide to make contact.”

I blink, unable to formulate a single coherent thought.

“Would you like my help?” he asks evenly.

“I— What does that entail?”

“A new life where you would be safe, comfortable, and provided for.”

Again, I blink, my mouth now hanging open. Then, my lip curls.

“You’re a freak, aren’t you? Expecting me to fuck you in return or something? You think I’ll willingly walk into another prison, you sick fuck? Go to hell.”

I hang up the phone before he can respond, my hands trembling violently. I feel sick to my stomach, and all those old memories resurface.

Doting on men and offering them pleasure at the expense of my own sanity. I was ‘taken care of and provided for’. I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach at Francesca’s house, too.

But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t dying a slow death. That I wasn’t being tortured alive and driven fucking insane.

I would rather be independent and struggle than have a monster provide for me. At least when I’m alone, the only demons I’m fighting are my own.

The phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I jump, the phone tumbling to the ground and flying under the bed.

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