Elena's POV
After Mr. Jackson left for his date, I pulled out my phone and browsed the news, searching for any recent murders or reports of a killer on the loose. Nothing came up.
I noticed Jake had sent me two texts earlier this morning. I didn't even bother to open them, I deleted them straight away, blocked his number, and went on X to search for anything related to masked men. No mentions linked to this town or even this state.
Good. Maybe the guy who bought my painting this morning wasn't the killer after all. Maybe there's some kind of masquerade happening in town. I tried to reassure myself, pocketing the two $100 notes like they were the most normal things in the world.
I wrapped up work, ready to go home, take a long shower, change into something clean, and visit Mom at the hospital.
She'd said she wanted to celebrate my birthday yesterday. But I lied and told her I had to work late, all because I wanted to go to that jerk Jake's party. I was so foolish yesterday!
I was humming to myself as I approached my rundown apartment, which, for once, didn't look so terrible. But the second I opened the door, a strong stench of alcohol hit me in the face.
Crap. This wasn't good. Carl was back.
I instantly tensed, grabbed the envelope with the $200, and stuffed it into my bra.
There he was, Carl, passed out on the only couch in the living room. His dirty blond hair was greasy, and the floor was littered with empty beer cans and an old syringe. He was muttering something under his breath.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in a low voice, fists clenched, my body trembling slightly.
Ever since Mom got hospitalized, Carl only came around looking for money or food. I'd learned to carry cash on me and keep the house empty of anything edible. Since then, he only showed up maybe once a month.
Two weeks ago, he'd even borrowed an advance on my paycheck from Mr. Jackson, and then disappeared.
"Elena..." Carl reached for a can, wobbling to his feet.
He burped. Years of drinking had turned his nose and hollow cheeks permanently red.
Grinning like a fool, he downed the last sip and slurred, "You know what? Starting today, I'm gonna be rich..."
Then he collapsed back onto the couch and seemed to pass out.
What the hell? Did he win at the casino?
Whatever it was, at least he wasn't hitting me or breaking anything today.
Suddenly, someone pounded on the door, hard. My heart leapt to my throat. Was this it? Did Carl rack up more gambling debt, and now the collectors were here to settle the score?
I didn't dare open it. I crouched behind the old couch, praying they'd leave, or better yet, take Carl instead.
But whoever it was had no patience. They kicked the door open.
Three tall men in black suits and sunglasses barged into the room.
"She's here," one of them said, spotting me. He lunged forward, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out from behind the couch.
"What are you doing? Carl! Carl!" I screamed, hoping the drunk excuse of a father would do something. But he didn't even stir, he just rolled over, like he was trying to avoid the scene.
My heart pounded as the man lifted me like I weighed nothing and tossed me toward his partner. I barely hit the ground before another man seized my wrists.
"Please let me go. You've got the wrong person. I don't owe you anything!" I cried, my voice cracking. My eyes burned as I looked up at the man holding me.
He didn't even glance at me. Just stared ahead at the moldy wall like he was some kind of robot.
Then I noticed something, the same black skull tattoo on the back of all three men's left hands.
Did they come from some gang? What kind of people did Carl mess with?
The leader nudged Carl with his foot. "Hey. Stop playing dead. Is this the girl you told us about?"
Carl sat up immediately, nodding like a damn coward. "Yeah. That's my daughter, Elena Campbell."
"You sick bastard. You'd sell your own kid, huh?" the man sneered at him, then turned to glance at me.
Carl squeezed his eyes shut, trembling like a leaf.
"W-We signed the contract. You can't back out now! I sold my daughter to your boss to settle my debt. Look, she might not look like she's worth a hundred grand right now, but give it a few years, she'll be a real moneymaker. Or... she can serve the boss however he wants..."
That's when it hit me.
Carl had sold me. To these people. To pay off his debt.
Tears of rage and disbelief spilled down my cheeks. How could he sell his own daughter?
The men didn't bother responding to him. They just dragged me out.
"No! Please, my mom needs me! Don't take me!" I screamed, pleaded, begged. But it didn't matter. They'd heard it all before.
"We got the package, boss," the man holding me said respectfully, nodding toward the black Maybach parked at the alley entrance.
He opened the door and tossed the package, me, into the car.
Pain shot through me as I landed hard. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact, hoping I didn't crack my chin or jaw.
But then... a warm, rough hand caught my waist.
My nose brushed against something soft. A mix of cigar smoke and a man's scent filled my lungs.
A low grunt came from above me. The hand on my stomach tensed.
I opened my eyes, and saw a very obvious bulge right in front of me. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
I looked up. All I could see was a strong jawline and an Adam's apple.
Then he looked down.
A gold mask covered his face, catching the light with its cold metallic shine. Behind it, a pair of sharp blue eyes stared at me.
It was him!
The murderer from last night!
He was the one who bought me?!