f the Vegas lounge. Three years. Three years of this hell, play

ntract" was fulfilled. The $500,000 debt Jax said he owed, th

th exhaustion and a desperate, fluttering hope. I was

oser to the man I had sacrificed everything for. I pictured his face, the way he' d loo

was empty, a layer of dust covering everythi

number, the one I had memorized like a

again. A

cation from a music blog I followed. It was a picture fr

here

ackdrop plastered with the logo of her father's massive record label, their smiles bright and triumphant. The cap

y numb fingers, clatter

Power

cle, my vision swimming. It talked about Jax' s "brilliant busi

ress wa

craper, feeling small and invisible. The doorman, seeing my worn clothes and batte

r. I could hear their voices from i

aid, her voice a syrupy drawl. "The loan shark? Ser

heard before. "It was perfect. She paid off a non-existent debt by working in my o

he floor seemed to d

ked. "Why go to all that tro

y dad. Ruined him. Drove him to suicide. I wanted her to feel what it was like to have eve

told me about that song. It was a collaboration. Your father was a jealous drunk who couldn't handle sh

lence fill

, their poison. My three years of suffering, my sacri

my entire motiva

g on autopilot. I stumbled out of the buil

. I had nothing. No ho

ocial worker had given me years ago, when I aged out of

it. I never tho

hone and dialed the international numb

e answered. "Rothsch

... I need to speak to Marcus