Chapter 118
Elara's POV
"Yeah?" Jack's eyes gleamed with greed. "How much we talking?"
"I don't have it all here. I'd need to go to an ATM. But I can get..." I pretended to calculate. "Maybe five thousand? To start? And then more later if you find real leads?"
Five thousand dollars. It was a lie of course. I had maybe four hundred to my name. But he didn't need to know that.
Jack studied me for a long moment. I could see him weighing it. Trying to figure out if I was serious.
I made myself look smaller. Weaker. Let my hands shake a little. Kept my eyes down like I was ashamed.
He wanted to believe it. The money was too good. And I looked pathetic enough.
"Alright," he said slowly. "Where's this ATM?"
"There's one a few blocks from here. On Fifth Street." I picked up my bag. "You can come with me if you want. To make sure I actually get the money."
He hesitated for just a second. But greed won out over caution.
"Fine. Let's go."
I followed Jack out of the café. My heart was beating steady and cold in my chest.
He walked ahead of me. Confident. Like he'd already won.
I watched the back of his greasy head. The way his shoulders hunched forward. The cheap jacket that probably came from a thrift store.
This man had been bleeding my parents dry for fifteen years.
Ninety thousand dollars.
That number kept circling in my head. Ninety thousand dollars they didn't have. Money they scraped together month after month while this piece of shit sat on beaches and pretended to work.
"ATM's this way right?" Jack glanced back at me.
I nodded. Kept my face small and nervous. "Yeah. Just a few blocks."
He grunted and kept walking.
I guided him away from the main street. Took a left down a narrow alley between two old buildings. The kind of place where the streetlights didn't quite reach.
"Shortcut," I said when he hesitated.
He looked at me. Then shrugged and followed.
Good.
We passed a closed laundromat. A boarded-up pawn shop. The alley opened into a wider space behind an old warehouse. Cracked concrete. Rusted metal siding. One flickering light on a pole.
Empty.
I stopped walking.
Jack looked around. "Where's the ATM?"
I didn't answer.
"Hey." His voice got sharp. "I don't see any—"
I turned around slowly.
The scared-girl expression was gone. I let my face go flat. Cold.
Jack blinked. "What—"
"I never planned to give you money Morrison."
His mouth opened. Closed. Then he started laughing.
It was a nasty sound. Mean and mocking.
"Oh you got some balls kid." He stepped closer. "You think you can play me? You think you're smart?"
I didn't move.
His laughter died. His eyes got harder. Colder.
"You know what?" He looked me up and down. Slow. Deliberate. "Maybe we can work something else out. You're a pretty little thing. I'm sure we can find another way for you to pay me back."
My stomach twisted with disgust.
He licked his lips. Actually licked his lips.
"Come on sweetheart." His hand reached toward my wrist. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
I moved.
My fist connected with his nose before his fingers touched me. I felt cartilage crunch under my knuckles. Felt the warm spray of blood hit my hand.
Jack screamed. Staggered back. Both hands flew to his face.
"You bitch! You fucking—"
I didn't let him finish.
His body started to shift. I saw his shoulders broaden. Heard the beginning of a growl deep in his chest.
He was trying to change.
I was faster.
My leg came up in a sharp side kick. My heel slammed into his ribs. The crack was loud in the empty lot.
Jack's growl turned into a choke. He doubled over.
I didn't stop.
Knee to his stomach. He folded.
Elbow down on his spine. He dropped to his knees.
Fist to his ribs again. Another crack.
His attempted shift died. He was just a man now. A pathetic middle-aged man on his knees in a dirty parking lot.
But I wasn't done.
I thought about my parents. About Mom's tired face. About Dad working double shifts. About the worn furniture in our house. The careful way Mom counted grocery money.
Fifteen years.
Ninety thousand dollars.
All so this piece of shit could lie to them.
My boot came down on his back. He hit the concrete face-first.
I grabbed his arm. Twisted. Felt the joint strain.
"Please—" he gasped. "Please stop—"
I didn't.
Arm. Broken.
I stomped my heel down on his knee joint, hearing the sickening pop. Leg. Broken.
Every bone I could reach without killing him.
He was screaming now. High and desperate. The sound echoed off the warehouse walls.
I stood over him. Breathing hard. My hands were shaking but not from fear.
From rage.
Jack was sprawled on the concrete. Couldn't even curl up to protect himself. Every movement made him whimper.
His face was white. Eyes wide with terror.
Good.
I crouched down. Grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair. Yanked his head up so he had to look at me.
"You're going to give me whatever money you have left. Right now."
"I—I don't have—" His voice was a wheeze. "Maybe two thousand in my account—"
"Transfer it. To my parents' account. Every cent."
He fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. It took him three tries to unlock it. I watched the numbers move. Two thousand one hundred and forty-seven dollars.
Not even close to what he'd stolen. But it was something.
"Now listen carefully Morrison." I leaned in close. "You're done. You don't contact my parents ever again. You don't call. You don't text. You disappear from their lives completely."
"Yes—yes okay—"
"And if I ever—ever—hear that you've tried to reach them again?" I tightened my grip on his hair. "I'll come back. And next time I won't stop with broken bones."
He nodded frantically. Tears mixing with the blood on his face.
I let go. Stood up. Looked down at him.
This pathetic broken man who'd preyed on my family for fifteen years.
He'd gotten off easy.
I turned and walked away.