Mick shrugged, squinting. “I don’t know. Three hundred?”
“Are you insane?” I snapped. “It’s worth more than a thousand.”
“You gonna do a title transfer?” he noted, smirking. “You want to get the authorities involved?”
Dammit. He had me there. The title was in my father’s name. I just needed to unload the car as quickly and quietly as possible. My ATM and credit cards had been canceled, leaving me with about thirty dollars that I’d scrounged from the pockets of unwashed pants. Apparently the beast was first attempting to starve me into compliance. “Four hundred,” I offered.
“Three fifty.”
I stuck out my hand. “Deal.”
Mick had apparently come prepared to buy. He dug into jeans that were even dirtier than mine and pulled out a wad of cash, counting some out and handing it over.
I counted, too, before giving him the keys.
“That must have been a helluva fight,” Mick noted, nodding at my bandaged wrist. “What happened?”
I jammed the cash into my pocket. “The other guy was better armed.”
Mick nodded, as if armed combat was a regular part of his life. “Give me back twenty bucks, and I’ll get you a blade that will mess up a guy so bad . . . well, he’ll look worse than you, and that’s saying something.”
I kept my tone noncommittal. “I’m listening.”
Mick held his hands about four inches apart. “It’s only this big. The blade flips out and the guy’ll never know you have it. Until it’s too late.”
I still kept my tone neutral. “When could I get it?”
“Tonight if you want.”
I took a moment to weigh the deal. Then I handed over the requested sum, not even bothering to negotiate.
Chapter 66
Jill
WHEN I GOT HOME from school, I lugged my portfolio up the stairs to my bedroom, got my easel, propped my canvas on it, and clipped on the school portrait, determined to buckle down and finish my painting. The assignment was due in less than a week, and my eyes were still a blank slash of white, which would guarantee me a failing grade.
And yet, I didn’t start working right away. I didn’t even unpack my oils from the box where I kept them neatly assembled like a rainbow. Instead, feeling restless and out of sorts, I wandered around my room, tidying up, telling myself that I wasn’t stalling. I was straightening. Keeping order.
And as I put my things in all their proper places, I kept an eye out for one thing that was definitely out of place.
The missing vial of formula.
Had I hidden it somewhere? Lost it?
Why had Todd Flick made that comment about the size of his . . . ?
I glanced at my closet. And those clothes. I had to get rid of them.
Opening the door warily, like the clothes might bite me, I knelt to dig in the back for the short skirt and tight shirt, pulling them out. But as I stood up, I rubbed the fabric of the shirt between my fingers. It was silky and would feel good against my skin. I could try the stuff on, just for a minute, and maybe find out that I hadn’t looked too slutty . . .
Dropping my jeans and unbuttoning my blouse, I stepped into the skirt and pulled on the shirt, then moved in front of the mirror, dreading what I’d see.
But my reflection . . . wasn’t so bad.
I turned to the side. Maybe I was showing a little too much bare leg, but the clothes weren’t totally out of line. Relief flooded me, and I smoothed the shirt against my body, straightening my spine . . . and frowning. The silky fabric was lumpy across my chest. Would it look better with the bra I’d stole . . . The new bra?
I went to my dresser and pulled out the top drawer. The black bra was hidden near the back, and when I pulled it out, something rolled forward.
The vial.
I picked it up, noticing that it was still almost full. This . . . with this I could . . .
“Jill?”
“What?” I yelped, shoving the formula into the drawer and slamming it shut as I spun around to face my mother, who stood in the doorway watching me.
Chapter 67
Jill
“I—I DIDN’T KNOW you were home,” I said, leaning hard against my dresser.
“I was taking a nap,” Mom said, still watching me.
I tugged at the hem of the skirt, but was suddenly more worried about Mom than my clothes. She’d pushed too hard, was relapsing . . . “Are you okay?”
She smiled a little, maybe understanding my concern. “I’m fine, Jill,” she said. “I’m just resting between shifts. I’m trying to work a little extra this week.”
“Mom!” I forgot all about my exposed legs. “Are you sure?”
She nodded—and yawned. But she honestly didn’t seem as weary as before. “Yes, I’m ready,” she said. “I want to start taking more of the burden off your shoulders.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She finally seemed to notice what I was wearing, and she frowned. “Are those new clothes?”
I tugged at the skirt again. “Um, I borrowed this stuff from Becca.”
Mom stepped closer, looking me up and down. Then she met my eyes—and smiled again. “The skirt is a little short but probably in style for girls your age,” she admitted. “You look cute, Jill.”
“Really?”
Mom nodded, and to my surprise, wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. How long had it been since she’d embraced me?
“I just wish I could buy you more of your own new clothes,” she said, pressing us together.
And I wish I hadn’t just lied . . . wasn’t hiding things from you . . . “It’s okay,” I reassured her, pulling away. “Don’t worry about it.”
Mom checked out my outfit again, and realization dawned in her eyes. “Jill? This new look isn’t for Tristen, is it?”
“Tristen?” I jolted, wondering if she’d suddenly recalled meeting him the night he’d drugged her. “No . . .”
“I just thought maybe, since he did that favor for you—for us—”
“No, Mom,” I promised, cutting her off. “We’re not . . . together.”
We never would be. That was the truth.
“Oh.” I’d thought she would
