Page 18 of Tank
I force a steady breath. “Do we have enough to cover next month?”
Alex hesitates. “I… don’t know.”
Her voice wavers, and I see the worry in her eyes. Not for herself, but for every woman in this shelter.
I nod, my voice firm even though my insides are unraveling. “I’ll figure something out.”
Alex searches my face, then sighs and nods. “I hope so.”
I don’t let myself react. Instead, I force a look of confidence on my face and turn to Vanessa, placing a hand on her arm. “Alex is going to get you settled. She’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
Vanessa looks at me like she doesn’t believe it.
I squeeze her arm. “You’re safe now.”
For the first time since I picked her up, I see a flicker of hope in her eyes.
By the time I make it to my office, I feel like I’m carrying a hundred pounds of failure on my back. I drag myself inside, collapsing into the chair behind my desk, and drop my head into my hands. The fatigue of the last few years and the despair of this very day seem to press down on me, squeezing the confidence and resolve out of every pore. Everything—every shred of hope I’ve tried to build—is unraveling, and I can't seem to hold any of it together. I can’t lose Safe House. I can’t. It’s not just a building; it’s a fragile, precious lifeline. If it closes, where will they go? The women who walk in with nothing but the clothes on their backs, their skin marked with bruises and old scars? The ones who come here hiding from men who want to hurt them, who want to break them? The women I promised not to fail? I can almost see them, each face blurring into another, each story more haunting and desperate than the last.
I think of Vanessa. Of every woman like her. Every woman who should have something better, a chance at a future, and who just needs a little—or a lot—of help to realize it. The sense of futility digs in, like a knife twisting further with each thought. All of them slipping away, back into the hell they barely escaped. And I think of my brother.
Victor. He chews women up and spits them out, leaving nothing but used and hollow shells. He takes and takes, never caring about the wake of pain he leaves behind. If Safe House collapses, some of them—too many of them—will end up in his hands. I know his tactics all too well. His promises that turn into prison bars. His deceit that feels like home at first, but soon chokes the air out of your lungs. My fingers curl into fists, and feel it all like a gut punch, like something inside me tears open with the force of it all.
The first sob rips free before I can stop it. I press my fists against my eyes, shaking, trying to hold myself together through sheer will. But I can’t. I can’t. The weight, the fear, the guilt—it’s too much. Once the tears start, they don’t stop, and I am soon broken and heaving. I don’t know how long I cry. I just know that when the phone rings, I grab it without thinking, desperate for a distraction.
And then I hear the voice I never want to hear.
“Little sister,” my brother drawls, his voice oily and smug.
I go rigid, my breath catching in my throat.
I don’t speak.
“I hear you’ve got a little problem,” he continues. “Funding issues, huh? Money’s tight these days.”
I close my eyes, swallowing back the sickness curling in my gut. He knows. Of course, he knows.
“What do you want, Victor?” I manage, keeping my voice level.
“I’m just being a good big brother,” he says, mock-offended. “Checking in. And, you know… making an offer.” I grip the edge of my desk. “I know how much Safe House means to you. And I’d hate to see it… disappear. So here’s what I’m thinking — you let me help. A little cash infusion for a little… flexibility on your part.”
I want to vomit.
“What kind of flexibility?” I ask, even though I already know. This dance isn’t new, and it’s one that I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve danced before, when times were desperate, when my resolve was weak.
Victor chuckles, low and vile. “Oh, just helping me out with a little cleaning. And maybe helping me out with some of my property issues. You know how it gets from time to time. Sometimes you lose track of things, sometimes you need help moving things, and it helps to have some unconventional resources available to you.”
My blood runs ice cold. Property. He means the women. The strippers. The ones trying to escape him.
My throat tightens.
If I say yes, my problems disappear. Safe House gets its money, the women here stay safe—for now.
But I’d also be letting Victor’s disease spread deeper. I’d be giving him a foot in the door.
And if that happens, this place will rot from the inside out.
My skin crawls.
