Paying My Father's Debt

Chapter 11:

The lights on this street didn’t glow — they bled. Neon signs blinked half-dead in every window, casting the pavement in reds and greens like a crime scene that never ended. The air was thick with perfume and sweat and smoke, layered with the kind of sounds that told you no one out here was entirely sober, and no one was safe.

They moved together through the crowd, Mary clinging to William’s arm, her eyes low, legs stiff, trying to remember what she was supposed to look like — sultry? broken? hungry?

She didn’t know. She just knew this wasn’t her world.

Around them, women in lace and latex leaned against cracked brick and smirked behind clouds of smoke. They watched her. Assessed her.

One of them snorted and elbowed the girl beside her. “New meat.”

Another lit a cigarette with a flick of her thumb. “Must’ve showed up last night and already snatched the best-paying client.”

A third rolled her eyes. “Not even dressed right. Sloppy.”

Mary’s face burned. The words hit like slaps, but she didn’t lift her eyes. She wasn’t here to win their approval. She was here to find her father.

Still, her chest tightened. Her skin felt wrong. Too exposed. Too available. She didn’t belong in fishnets and a painted-on top. She belonged in a classroom. In jeans. In control.

Then she felt William move.

He turned toward the women, slow and deliberate, drawing attention like gravity. His eyes gleamed behind the edge of the COVID mask, and his hand slid low on Mary’s waist — possessive. Proprietary.

“She’s mine,” he said, voice low and rough. “And you wouldn’t want to do what I’m going to do to her.”

Then his hand dipped lower. Gripped her.

Mary stiffened. Her breath caught — humiliation rising, fast and hot. His palm moved across her hip, his fingers rough and sure. How many girls have felt this before, she wondered?

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

To shove him away now would blow their cover. Draw the wrong kind of attention. Invite suspicion. Invite questions.

So she stood there, cheeks burning, skin crawling, heart thundering. Every instinct told her to push him off. But every rule of survival screamed stay still.

He leaned in, breath brushing her ear. “You’re okay,” he whispered, so quiet she barely heard it. “Just a role.”

The other women turned away, laughing, bored now. “Whatever,” one muttered. “Rich freaks always gotta mark their territory.”

Their attention faded. The moment passed.

William straightened, and his hand slid away.

Mary pulled in a sharp breath and finally exhaled. Her limbs felt shaky. Her face was still on fire. But she kept walking.

They made it two blocks before the Rattlesnake Bar came into view — dark wood, tinted windows, glowing red sign. No bouncers. No line. Just two guys leaning outside, chain-smoking and watching everything too closely.

Mary slowed, staring at the entrance. The windows were too blacked out to see inside.

“This is bad,” she whispered. “We can’t both go in. If someone recognizes you—”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m staying out here.”

She turned to him, voice low. “Then I’ll go alone.”

William’s jaw flexed. “Mary—”

“I’ll find my dad. I’ll get him out. Just give me a few minutes.”

He stared at her, hard. Calculating. Torn between letting her try and doing it his way — loud, fast, bloody.

“Five minutes,” he said finally. “If you don’t come out…”

She met his eyes. “What?”

He didn’t blink. “I’ll go in and kill everyone.”