Chapter 4Bleeding To Save My Mothers Soul

[Is this what Frank meant by 'transfer'? This is devastating.]

[This mother-daughter bond is breaking me. They're both trying to die for each other.]

Good, I thought, slumped against a brick wall.

If the cancer moved to me, Valerie would be healthy. The System would lose its grip on her life. It didn't matter if I died. Between the shocks and the beatings, I was already a ghost.

But Frank wasn't done with me.

A few nights later, I was working a shift at a dive bar. As I was closing up, a group of local thugs walked in. The leader had a buzz cut and a jagged scar running from his eye to his jaw.

Frank stepped out from behind them. He grabbed my collar and shoved me toward the scarred man.

"Victor, use the girl to clear my thirty thousand in debt. She’s all yours."

The man, Victor—not the CEO, but a street-level butcher—pinched my chin, inspecting me like livestock. "Thirty? She looks like she’s about to keel over. Twenty, max."

Frank got desperate. "She’s sturdy, I swear! She can work. Come on, thirty!"

The men laughed, their eyes full of a dark, predatory hunger. I lunged forward and bit Victor’s wrist as hard as I could.

"You little bitch!"

He grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back until I thought my scalp would tear. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him a sound.

"She’s got spirit. I like that," Victor grinned, showing yellowed teeth. He tossed me to his crew. "Have some fun, boys. Just don't break the merchandise too fast."

They swarmed me. Frank watched with a smile, then turned and walked out of the bar, rubbing his hands together.

Hands tore at my clothes. Someone pinned me to a table. The smell of stale beer and sweat was suffocating. I felt a surge of nausea. I turned my head and sprayed a mouthful of blood directly into the face of the man holding me.

He recoiled, wiping the gore from his eyes. I laughed, a raspy, jagged sound.

"My father lied to you. I’m not worth thirty thousand."

"I have terminal stomach cancer. It’s in my blood. If you touch me, you’re dead men walking."

The thugs froze. They scrambled back, looking at each other in terror.

Victor stared at me for a second, spat a curse, and kicked me hard in the chest. A rain of blows followed. My vision began to fade. I felt my ribs snap—again.

It was fine. It was almost over.

Just as my consciousness began to flicker out, the front door was kicked off its hinges. Valerie stormed in, flanked by a dozen suited men. Her eyes were glowing with a murderous, unholy rage.

"If any of you touched my daughter," she whispered, her voice vibrating with power, "you aren't leaving this room alive."