Chapter 2 - Sold To Pay Off Debt

• Layla’s POV
• Did I have some sign on my head that said I was a pushover? Or desperate?
• I shoved the cleaning cart forward with more force than necessary, my hands gripping the metal until my knuckles ached. The farther I got from that penthouse suite, the harder it was to control my trembling legs.
• I wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of what that man had said or because of him.
• It was a miracle I hadn’t tripped and fallen flat on my face when I made my righteous exit. But I had to get out of there.
• That man, Jackson King, was rude.
• He didn’t need to ask a stranger to have his baby. A man like that could snap his fingers, and any woman in this hotel, in this entire city, would gladly climb into his bed.
• And yet, he had the nerve to look at me, a hotel maid, like I was his only option. He might have gotten his hands on some of my personal information, but it wasn’t exactly a secret.
• Everyone in Wolfdale knew about me.
• The girl abandoned by her mother. The girl who had to drop out of school to work and take care of her little sister because our father was an alcoholic and a gambling addict.
• But just because I was struggling didn’t mean I had no dignity left.
• I wasn’t about to sell my body for money.
• I wasn’t about to give up a child.
• The nerve of that man, the nerve that he had to think that he could cross his limits the way he did, thinking he could throw his money around and I’d say yes just because I wasn’t like him.
• The thought made my body boil.
• And yet… my mind kept going back to him.
• Back to what he would look like on top of me.
• I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was no use. The image was already there, seared into my mind.
• God, why was it always the handsome ones that lost their mind?
• Jackson King wasn’t just good-looking. He was perfection.
• Chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a short beard that probably cost more than my entire paycheck to maintain. And his hair, thick and dark, styled effortlessly, like he had just rolled out of bed.
• And those eyes. Cold. Ice-blue. Like he could see straight through me.
• The way he had looked at me had melted my panties in seconds. And he hadn’t even smiled.
• I had never reacted to anyone like that before.
• Which made it all the more frustrating that he was completely, undeniably strange.
• I let out a deep breath and pressed my back against the cool wall, hoping it would help with the heat burning through me. But sweat still trickled down my spine, dampening my uniform.
• It had been like this for days, like I was coming down with something, like I was going to be able to do something that would explain how I felt.
• But after that encounter in the penthouse, I knew exactly what or who had worked me up like this.
• By the time I finally left the hotel that evening, I looked even worse than I felt. I made my way out through the staff entrance, went straight to my little car.
• All I wanted was a long, cold shower.
• It took me almost half an hour to leave the nicer neighborhoods and cross over to mine.
• It was cliché, really, how the rich had separated themselves from the rest of us.
• Their streets were clean, their houses pristine, their cars new.
• My side?
• Nothing shiny. Old, rusting cars lining cracked sidewalks. Buildings that needed fixing or were too broken to bother.
• But this was home.
• Even if I itched to leave this place and find out what was waiting for me beyond Wolfdale.
• I pulled up outside the trailer and sighed before stepping inside.
• The TV was blaring.
• My father was sprawled on the couch, already passed out, almost like he always was every night.
• I didn’t need to get close to know he had been drinking again.
• The pile of mail on the counter near the door caught my eye, placed there where I couldn’t miss it. Unopened, of course. His name on every envelope.
• Bills. Overdue bills.
• Jackson’s offer flickered in my mind, but I shoved it away immediately.
• I didn’t need his money.
• I didn’t need to sell a part of myself to fix this.
• I grabbed the mail and headed for the tiny bedroom I shared with my sister Brit, carefully pushing the door open in case she was asleep.
• But there she was, hunched over her books, scribbling furiously.
• A small smile tugged at my lips.
• All the things I had to do to take care of her, it was worth it.
• Brit would make it out of here. She would forge a better life for herself.
• And then, finally, I would be free, too.
• I hoped that I would be…
• *************************************
• I felt like I had barely closed my eyes when my alarm went off.
• With a loud yawn, I went into the kitchen, cracked a few eggs, and started making an omelet for Brit. I had just poured myself a cup of coffee when I caught sight of my father through the window.
• He was outside, pacing back and forth, in nothing but his pajama bottoms.
• His hair was tangled. His beard was weeks old.
• The neighbors saw him like this all the time, and he didn’t care.
• But this time, something was different. He was on the phone, scowling, gesturing wildly with his free hand.
• A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.
• What had he done now?
• I reached for my bag, the faster I got out of here, sometimes, would be better.
• But it seemed that fate had things going the other way.
• A crash.
• Then raised voices.
• My pulse spiked as I inched toward the door, carefully easing it open to keep it from creaking.
• And then I saw him.
• A huge man, towering over my father, who was sprawled across the remains of the coffee table.
• My father Gerald tried to get up, only for the man to punch him back down again.
• My breath caught as I took in my father’s expression, pure fear.
• What had he done now?
• “I already gave you several chances, Gerald,” another voice said.
• A second man.
• He was lounging in my father’s chair, his blond hair slicked back in a way that reminded me of a villain from a bad B-movie.
• I should have turned around. Slipped out the window. Let my father suffer for his own mistakes.
• But this was Brit’s home. I couldn’t let anything happen here.
• Taking a steadying breath, I stepped out of the bedroom.
• “I swear, I just need a little more time,” my father begged. “I’m good for it this time.”
• “You said that last time,” the blond man mused.
• Then he turned, his gaze locking on mine as if he had already known I was standing there.
• A slow, twisted smile spread across his face.
• “Hello, Layla.”
• A second stranger knew my name.
• He laughed and looked back at my father.
• “You’re lucky this beautiful angel is here,” he said. “I think you know what you can give me if you can’t pay up. I’ll be in touch.”
• He shot me another grin before striding out, the huge man following close behind.
• The moment I heard their car drive away, I stormed over to my father.
• “How much do you owe?” I hissed.
• “Not much. Just twenty grand.”
• My breath caught.
• Not much?
• Twenty grand could send Brit to college.
• “How?! What did you do with that kind of money?” I demanded. “You haven’t paid bills. You haven’t taken care of us!”
• Gerald gingerly sat up, ignoring the wreckage around him.
• “It was supposed to be a sure bet,” he mumbled. “I would have paid off everything and then had enough to fix things.”
• My body turned to ice.
• He is gambling. Again.
• “You promised. You said you’d never—”
• “Well, I lied,” he snapped. “And I obviously can’t fix this myself, so you’ll have to think of your sister. I’ll give him what he wants and be done with it.”
• A sick feeling coiled in my stomach.
• The way that man had looked at me…
• “What does he want?” I whispered.
• Gerald met my eyes.
• “You. I’m going to give him you.”