Chapter 7

Emily's POV

Marvin stared at me, his expression shifting through a dozen different emotions too quickly to track. Then, slowly, he stepped back from the doorway.

"You better come inside," he said. "We should talk."

I walked past him into the apartment, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run. The interior was exactly what I'd expected—cheap furniture, empty beer bottles on the coffee table, the sour smell of old takeout and stale cigarette smoke. The television was playing some late-night talk show, the host's laughter tinny and artificial.

Marvin closed the door behind me. The click of the lock engaging sent ice through my veins, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I turned to face him, clutching the plastic bag of medical supplies like a shield.

"Your dad know you're here?" Marvin asked, moving toward the kitchen. He pulled two beers from the refrigerator, popped the caps, and held one out to me.

I shook my head, both to the question and the beer. "He doesn't care where I am. He made that pretty clear."

"Huh." Marvin took a long pull from his bottle, his eyes never leaving me. "That's not like Jack. He's always been real protective of you. Wouldn't even let me—" He cut himself off, but the implication hung in the air between us.

Wouldn't even let him what? Look at me? Touch me? Offer money for me the way he did for Mom?

But that wasn't protection. That was calculation. My father knew I wouldn't endure it the way my mother did. I'd fight back. I'd make noise. I'd create problems he didn't want to deal with. It was never about keeping me safe—it was about keeping things simple.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to take another step closer to him. Close enough that I could smell the beer on his breath, see the broken capillaries in his nose. Close enough that there was no mistaking what I was offering.

"Things are different now," I said softly. "Dad's getting worse. The drinking, the anger. He's going to kill her, Mr. Locke. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And I can't—I can't watch that happen."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" But his voice had changed. Less skeptical now. More interested in where this conversation was going.

I met his eyes and let the full weight of my desperation show. "I don't know, but I know he's going to kill mom and me if someone doesn't stop him."

"And you think I'm that someone?" Marvin laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think I'm gonna go up against Jack Gray for you?"

"I think you want something he has." I took a breath, steadying myself for the final push. "I think you've wanted it for a long time. And I think my father will never stop bleeding you dry. Five hundred now, but how much next month? Next year?" I paused, letting that sink in. "But if something happened to him, you wouldn't have to pay anymore. You could have it. Not for an hour, not for whatever cash he demands next time."

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Marvin's eyes had gone dark, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"You talking about your mom?"

I held his gaze and nodded once.

"And what about you?" He took a step closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "You offering yourself up too? Is that what this is?"

Every instinct I had screamed at me to run. To get out of this apartment and as far away from Marvin Locke as my injured body could carry me. But I'd come too far to back down now. I'd crossed too many lines already.

"If it means Mom is safe," I repeated, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my throat. "If it means he can't hurt us anymore. Then yes."

Marvin stared at me for a long moment. Then he reached out and touched my cheek—not the bruised one, but the unmarked side. His fingers were rough and cold from the beer bottle, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to flinch away.

"You're a smart girl, Emily," he said slowly. "Smarter than your old man gives you credit for. But you're also playing a real dangerous game here."

"I know." And I did. I knew exactly how dangerous this was. Knew that I was gambling with things I couldn't afford to lose. But the alternative—doing nothing, waiting, hoping—felt more dangerous still.

Marvin's hand dropped away from my face. He picked up his beer again and drained half of it in one long swallow, his expression thoughtful. Calculating. I could see him weighing the risks against the rewards, measuring what I was offering against what it would cost him to take it.

Finally, he spoke. "Accidents don't just happen, Emily. Somebody's got to make them happen. And that somebody would be taking one hell of a risk."

"Not if it looked like self-defense." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, the plan I'd been forming all these days finally taking concrete shape. "Not if Dad showed up here drunk and angry, looking for a fight. Not if he threw the first punch."

Marvin went very still. "And how exactly would that happen?"

"I could tell him tomorrow you have Mom." The lie came easily, smoothly, like I'd been practicing it for years instead of hours. "I could tell him you took her from the apartment. That you're keeping her here. He'd lose his mind. He'd come over here ready to kill you."

"And then I'd kill him instead." Marvin finished the thought, his voice flat. "In self-defense. Protecting myself from a violent drunk who broke into my home."

"Exactly." I forced myself to take one more step closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that there was no mistaking what I was offering as payment for this service. "And afterward, when everything settles down, when the police finish their investigation and rule it justified... Mom would need someone to take care of her. Someone to help her through the grief."

"And you?" Marvin's hand came up again, this time resting on my shoulder. Heavy. Possessive. "What about you, Emily?"

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, channeling every ounce of fake vulnerability I could muster. "I'd be grateful," I whispered. "So grateful to the man who saved us."

The words tasted like acid in my mouth, but I forced them out anyway. Marvin's hand slid from my shoulder to my collarbone, his thumb tracing a slow circle that made my skin crawl. Then his other hand reached for my waist, pulling me closer. His breath was hot and sour against my face, his eyes dark with an eagerness that turned my stomach.

I stepped back quickly, putting distance between us before he could close his arms around me. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my voice soft and apologetic.

"After," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Please. After he's gone. After we're safe." I let my voice tremble. "I can't—not while he's still alive. Not while I'm still so scared. I need to know it's over first."

Marvin stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally, he smiled—a slow, predatory expression that confirmed everything I'd suspected about what kind of man he was.

"You've got yourself a deal, little girl."