Page 27 of Trailer Park Billionaire
No one answers. Instead, two sets of hands grab me by the arms and yank me to my feet like I weigh nothing. My head reels. They put me on a chair in the middle of the room and keep holding on to make sure I don’t roll right off again.
The one who punched me kneels so we are eye to eye. There’s a scar on the side of his face, not from a knife but from something else, acid or fire maybe. It’s hard to tell in the darkness—and with the flickering and random flashes of white pain still going off in my skull.
“Your grandpa, Eddy, was working for us,” he explains, and wipes some blood off my face before it can run into my eye. “Unfortunately, he recently quit his job. Which means we’re owed reimbursement for our losses. You know, since he failed to fulfill his contract.”
I try to follow, the ringing in my head making it harder than it probably is.
“100k,” he says slowly, enunciating every syllable.
I swallow hard.
He dabs more blood from my cheek. “I’m sorry about your face. It’s a shame. You’ve got a good face.”
The scent of alcohol and gasoline wafts through the air as his hand lingers against my skin. “I do wish it didn’t have to come this far,” he says. “But that’s just life, or karma, or whatever. And I know—you’re a woman. But this is the 21stcentury, and we try not to discriminate.”
What a charming guy.
“Quite the feminist,” I reply under my breath, and then a little louder, “I appreciate the efficiency. Saves us both time on the empty threats.”
“Because now they aren’t.” He nods. “You catch on quick. Which makes me think you understand the gravity of this situation, yes?” He waits for me to nod as well.
The pain in my head pulses when I move my head.
“Good. We’ll be back in a month to collect.”
His goons release me and saunter toward the door. Their boss lingers a moment longer. It’s like he’s enjoying the view of me like this. A cold shiver spreads through my body. Then he follows his underlings.
“You guys offer installment plans?” I call after them, my voice hoarse. “Cash only, or do you accept checks?” With a long grunt, I push myself out of the chair. On wobbly feet, I stagger over to the door they left open. “And what does‘a month’mean?” I shout into the empty hallway. “Thirty days? Thirty-one?”
There’s no one outside when I reach the entrance. Just darkness. Quickly, I close the door and lock it shut—not like that would actually keep them out. With my back pressed against the door, I slide down to the ground and look around the empty room.
There’s no one here.
No one to help.
There’s no one here to even explain what just happened.
Because that person is gone forever.
All I have are the tears that start streaming down my face.
I let them fall in silence, not because I’m trying to be brave, but because I’m too stunned to sob. My cheek throbs with each breath, like my heartbeat’s migrated to the side of my face. There’s lasagna on the wall. Blood on my fingers. And the echo of that man’s voice still buzzing in my ears—“100k.”
I want to scream. I want to break something. I want to rewind time and not open that fucking door.
But mostly, I just want to understand how I ended up here.
I curl my arms around my stomach, like I can press the nausea back into place. Like I can soothe the knot that’s formed there—tight, ugly, pulsing with every unhelpful emotion.
Sorrow, sharp and aching. Anger, simmering like acid. Confusion, thick as fog, wrapping around every thought and choking it quiet. Ultimately, panic…
10
HELENA
What the fuck was that?
What the fuck were you caught up in, Dada?
