Page 1 of Sold to the Fighter

Chapter One

Grace

I open my eyes slowly, wondering if the rough, scratchy palm that’s creeping up my thigh is just a part of my dream.

It’s not.

The touch is clammy, foreign, and wrong, and my stomach twists with nausea before my brain fully catches up and panic slams into me like a freight train.

I let out a scream, jumping to a sitting position and staring wide-eyed at the stocky, bald man beside me, his sunken eyes roaming my body greedily. He reaches for me again, muttering something low and slurred. I scream again, shoving him with all my strength. He stumbles back, cursing, and I don’t wait to see if he regains his balance.

I jump to my feet and start to run, and I don’t stop running until I’m far away from the homeless shelter.

By the time I finally slow down, my chest is burning, my breaths coming in ragged gulps. I look around, trying to get my bearings. Neon signs glow in the distance, and the sidewalks are crowded with people, some laughing, others rushing past, lost in their own worlds. Even at this time of night, Seattle looks alive, indifferent to me and the nightmare I just escaped.

I wrap my arms around myself, my body trembling in the crisp night air. My stomach rumbles, reminding me of how long it’s been since I last ate.

Two days.

But I’d rather be out here on the streets than go back home. Because home is hell and my father is worse than the devil. It’s ironic how he disguises his cruelty with his faith in God. He has a Bible verse for everything while going against everything that Bible stands for.

My stomach clenches. A little hunger and cold is not enough to make me go back to him. Years of physical and emotional abuse has toughened me enough that I know I can endure whatever harshness the world throws at me.

I look around at the cafés and restaurants lining the street, my stomach growling at the delicious smell of coffee. Maybe one of these places would be willing to hire me.

Taking in a deep breath, I head toward a coffee shop that proclaims itself to be open all night. There aren’t a lot of people inside, and that makes it so much easier to walk over to the dark-haired woman at the counter.

“Hi. Welcome to Olly’s,” she says with a cheerful smile. “What can I get you?”

I shake my head, swallowing nervously. “I—uh…was wondering if you needed a part-timer. I could serve and, uh…run errands. I’d do anything, honestly.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, but we don’t need any new staff right now,” she says, her eyes narrowing with pity. “You should try the diner down the block.”

I nod, dropping my head to hide the tears swelling in my eyes. “Thank you,” I mutter underneath my breath.

I turn to leave, but another voice stops me. “Wait…miss?”

A man I didn’t notice before is rising from a booth in the corner. He’s wearing a nice suit, and carrying a briefcase. I wonder what a businessman is doing out so late at night, but all thought comes to a halt when he says, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for work. I’m currently looking for an assistant. It’s just basic office work, some running errands, that sort of thing…so the pay isn’t—”

“I’ll do it,” I cut in quickly. Too quickly. “I-I’ll take anything. Thank you so much.”

He nods and gestures to the door. “Well, my office is right next door. If you’d like we can do a quick interview and get you set up.” His expression is professional and distant, and his manner is brusque, as if he just wants to get this over with, but my body is flooded with gratitude.

“Yes, that sounds great. I-I really appreciate the opportunity,” I murmur, biting down on the inside of my cheek to contain the excitement flushing through me.

I follow him out the door, unable to believe my luck. I’ve been roaming the city for two days, and no one so much as spared me a second glance. Because I lived with a devil for so long, I never believed in angels, but maybe—just maybe—they do exist.

The office building next door is a little run-down, and I feel a small shiver of nerves when the man locks the door behind us after we step inside, but I lift my chin and follow him to his office, where he offers me a chair in front of his desk.

“Tea? Coffee?” he offers, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh! Um, tea would be lovely, thank you.” My limbs ache with exhaustion, and maybe a hot drink will help.

I busy myself with looking around the room as he fixes me a mug of tea, noting the bland, nondescript décor and the lack of any name or signage.

“So, what is it you do exactly?” I ask him as he sits down at his desk across from me and passes me the mug of tea. I take a sip immediately—it’s an odd flavor, but the warmth is exactly what I needed.

He watches me closely for a moment before he says, “Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” He waves his hand airily and chuckles, but it sounds forced, and his laughter echoes oddly in the nearly empty room.

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