e drafting table. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots. She coul

row creased with concern. "Are you in trouble?" she a

loorboards to hide the raw panic swimming in her eye

e her flinch so hard she knocked her pencil to the floor.

rete stairwell, her footsteps echoing in the cold, gray shaft, and ducked in

terical scream pierced right through the speake

ing off the concrete walls. "The hospital gave us the final notice! If we don't pay today, the

lia choked out, her throat so ti

, her voice rising to a glass-shattering pitch. "You

led. She slid down the freezing concrete wall, the rough surface scraping her back, until she hit the cold

her ear like a death knell. The weight of the entire wor

e burner number. An address. A high-end penthouse in Manhatta

fter: Be here at 8 PM for your medica

r veins. He was the middleman. The facilitator. He was going to force her into t

ake. But the image of her father-pale and dying on a hospital bed, an oxygen tube un

ids. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted the

y. No matter what. No ma

and saved the address

littered around her-yellow cabs, well-dressed couples, the distant wail of sirens. She wore a cheap, over

lobby. The space was all black marble and gold accents, dripping with cold luxury. The security guard behind the polished desk-a

oom number, her vo

shifting from contempt to extreme, almost fearful respect. He swiped a keycard wit

Emilia's stomach lurch violently. Her palms were slick w

ick, expensive carpet that swallowed her footsteps. Every step felt like walking barefoot on

and pressed the doorbell. The buzz sounded

icked open automatically, the sou

y. A blast of frigid air mixed with the faint, expensive

-to-ceiling windows. Clifton stood with his back to her, pouring a drink at the wet bar. He

around. He swirled the amber liquid in h

ed by the door. He looked at her like a predat

red, his voice cold