Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

She took a breath.

“If you get me out of this, I swear I’ll change. I swear I’ll put it behind me. The drugs, Dean, everything.”

“You’ll really leave him?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

“He’s no boyfriend really,” she said. “When they came for us earlier he ran.” Her face crumpled. “He actually ran, Paige. He left me there to face them alone.”

I fought back another round of angry tears.

I’d heard about his bail on her already, several times over through the night.

It didn’t make any difference. The thought of the asshole leaving her in the backstreets to be beaten senseless for the debts he’d run up in her name was enough to burn my soul all over again.

Dean Woolston, asshole boyfriend of the century, might leave her in her darkest hour, but I wouldn’t. Not now, not ever.

“I need to go to college,” I told her and eased myself to the edge of the mattress.

I was hurting all over, flinching at every movement, but that didn’t matter.

For once in my life it was pain I was grateful for. Pain he’d given me. Just as he’d give me the lifeline that came out of it.

“Go?” she asked, and her eyes flashed with fear.

I nodded. “I have to go. He said he’s watching. That people are watching.”

She sighed. “I should go too.”

My hand squeezed hers tight enough to crush. “No,” I said. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’ll stay here, safe until tonight, and after that it won’t matter. I’ll take them the money and get us more time. It’s not me that owes them anything.”

Her hand squeezed mine right back. “You can’t,” she told me. “They won’t care who owes what, you won’t be safe.”

But they would care.

I’d make sure they cared.

I’d make sure they knew that I’d be coming back in a few short months with enough to clear her name and whatever else they needed to leave her the hell alone, whatever crazy rates of interest they were conjuring up.

“Charge your phone and get in touch with them,” I said to her. “Tell them I’ll meet them. Set up a time.”

“I shouldn’t,” she said with a shake of her head. “Hell, Paige, I really shouldn’t.”

“We’ll talk later,” I said, and kissed her head. “Arrange the meet up then get some sleep. You need it.”

“So do you,” she whispered, but I pulled away.

I was quick in the shower, bracing myself against the tiles as the water cascaded over my welts. I wiped away the steam to see the marks in the mirror as best I could.

They were still dark. Pink in places but purple in others. A crazy canvas of bruises that paired up seamlessly with my haunted eyes.

I was careful when I pulled my fresh clothes on. Leggings under a long-sleeved tunic dress, covering every tainted part of me.

Phoebe was already asleep when I eased my bedroom door closed behind me and made my exit. I made sure to leave a scrawled note for her on my bedside table.

Arrange the meet up. We’re in this together. Always. I love you.

I was early to campus. Early enough that I holed myself up in the library before lectures, staring into space as the memories of my night came tumbling through the tiredness.

It was during the first morning break that my phone bleeped in my pocket. I hoped it was Phoebe with the meet up details, but it wasn’t.

Carolyn, my contact list said. I called up the message as I made my way to my next class.

Rebecca’s gone. Please meet me at lunch. Normal place.

My heart pounded as concerns about my phone privacy sprang back up rife, but there was more to the fear than that.

I couldn’t place it. Not really.

Rebecca being gone could be anything. Mean anything.

All night drinking, despite the sisters leaving together. A one-night stand to distract her from her infatuation. An Impromptu holiday to get over him.

That’s what I told myself on loop until I saw Carolyn’s face at our usual donut table.

“What happened?” I asked as I dropped into my seat.

She shook her head, eyes darting around us before she answered. I felt the shiver, scoping out our surroundings myself for any misplaced onlookers.

Our eyes met across the table as we both came up blank. Carolyn didn’t waste any more time getting down to it.

“I left her place late,” she told me. “The conversation wasn’t pretty, not after she went batshit over that fucking asshole.”

I nodded, urging her on.

“I tried to get her to call the police. To bring him to some kind of justice. To stop him. Stop them. Stop all of this fucking bullshit.”

Fear for my own lifeline zipped up my spine. “But she said no?”

“She said I was out of my fucking mind. That these aren’t people who get put inside, they’re people who wipe out the snitches without trace, never to be heard of again. She said these people are serious, dangerous, loaded; not just with money but with contacts. That I’d be crazy to even think of bringing the cops into it.”