Page 57 of Forgotten Sacrifice
A blacked-out SUV pulls up to the curb, and Vince rolls down the window. “Get in,” he orders me.
“Fuck off,” I spit back at him.
Vince raises a gun, and I smirk, calling his bluff; he’s not gonna shoot his cash cow. But to my surprise, he points the gun at the old man. “I said get in,piccola. Keep pushing me, and I promise you won’t like the consequences,” he says in an eerily calm tone.
“Girl, get in the damn car,” the old man pleads.
I storm to the vehicle and climb in, slamming the door shut.
Vince has that easy-going look on his face, and it makes me homicidal. “Plotting my death, Luna?” he asks with a smile in his voice as we pull away from the curb.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He solemnly nods. “I would. When can I expect the next attempt on my life?”
“Is Daddy wanting me back in his bed so soon?” I mock.
“What will your weapon of choice be this time?” he muses.
“Sorry to disappoint; I’m busy tonight.”
“Doing what?” He eyes me.
“I’m meeting up with some friends from school.”
“You’re not.”
“What the hell gives you the right to control my life?” I ball my hands into fists.
“I told you; might makes right.”
“I hate you!”
Vince grabs a glass jar from the cupholder, holding it up.
“What the hell is that?”
“Hate you jar, like a swear jar. Drop in a dollar every time you say ‘I hate you.’ At this rate, your debt will be paid off in no time.”
I reach in my bag, pulling out a hundred and dropping it in the jar. “There you go,” I say. “You owe me ninety-nine bucks.”
Vince snorts a laugh. “Explain to me Luna math, seeing as that’smymoney.”
“Wasyour money. Might makes right.”
Grabbing my headphones from my bag, I put them on as I stare out the passenger window.
I can feel Vince’s gaze on me, and I make a show of uncrossing my legs and then crossing them back in my short skirt. Cutting my eyes, I catch him staring before he darts his attention to the road.
Well. Well. Well.Maybe my sacrifice wasn’t a total waste. If I can keep the man lusting after my body, that at least gives me some power in this fucked up power imbalance.
I pull my headphones off as Vince parks behind a shady-looking sports bar. “What are we doing here?” I wonder.
Vince gets out and opens my door for me. “Business.”
“So shaking people down,” I correct him.
Ignoring me, he uses a key, opening the back door and ushering me inside. “You’ll hang out in the break room until I’m finished.” He opens a door to a fucking broom closet with a stool.
