Unbeautiful
Page 3
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After I return the envelope to its hiding place, I extend my hand back farther until I feel another envelope. I don’t take that one out. I just need to know that my stash of money still exists, that my possibility of freedom still exists.
For the last two years, I’ve worked at my mother’s pharmacy. A firm believer in teaching me how our society works, she pays me a somewhat decent wage while teaching me work ethic. I save practically every dollar I make. Now all the cash is going to my escape plan, my ticket out of this maddening hellhole.
I’ve already set the plan in motion, to change who I am so I won’t become a part of my family’s madness. I’ve applied to colleges other than Ralingford Community College, something my parents aren’t aware of. Now that the medication is out of my system, my head is clearer. I’ve started reading about the world outside of Ralingford when I’m at school, the only time I’m allowed to be on the internet, so I know what I’m getting into. And I’ve found a few apartments I think will work for me.
As long as I stay on track with my plan, in six months, I’ll be free for the first time in my life.
Chapter 2
The Offer
Ryler
I’m fucked. More than fucked. I’m going to get my ass killed. I wish I could say it’s my own fault, that I made bad choices on my own free will that led me to where I am right now—hiding behind a garbage can while a group of questionable mobsters search for me. But nope, I ended up here because I acted like a puppet and allowed Cole Price, my father, to push me into gambling again, into cheating Elderman and his men, who just happens to be some of the worst people to screw over.
“Can you see him anywhere?” one of the men chasing me says from the other side of the dumpster.
I hear a stampede of footsteps in the alleyway then the clicking of guns being cocked.
“I could have sworn he ran back here,” a different guy answers, panting for air.
Running is the one thing I’m good at. Ever since I got out of juvie, it’s all I’ve done. I’ve tried more than once to get out of the pointless cycle I seem to constantly find myself in—getting into trouble then trying to start on a straight-and-narrow path, only to get into trouble again. But it’s difficult to stay on track when I have a record. Even getting my own place is complicated.
“Ryler, you little shit!” one of the men calls out. “Come out now, you fucking coward! After what Elderman’s done for you, giving you so many opportunities, this is how you repay him?”
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“Did you check behind there?” one of the men asks.
My back goes rigid as the footsteps grow nearer. Shit. I’m so screwed. After all I’ve been through, what a way to go—dying behind a dumpster with the rotting stench of garbage all around me. No one will find my body for weeks.
I smash my lips together as I delve farther into the shadows. It’s late, the stars and moon are shining, and the only light source is coming from behind a nearby club I’d been at when the men showed up. Music is cranked up from within the walls and flows outside, aiding my silence.
After four years of being mute, being quiet has become easy for me. Although, I don’t think it’s going to save me this time.
“Wait a minute. I think I hear—”
A phone rings from somewhere, cutting him off.
“Hold on,” one of the men says. “It’s the boss.”
He answers the phone and utters a few okays and nos before growing silent again. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for someone to appear and point a gun at me. I can feel that my time is up. This is it. I’m not getting out of this mess alive.
Fuck, I’ve lived a sad, pathetic life.
“Boss says we have to go!” the man who was on the phone hollers. “Melson’s being a pain in the ass again!”
“What about Cole’s son?”
“We’ll have to track him down later. The order is to get our ass down to the warehouses ASAP.”
“Fuck!” Someone kicks the garbage can, causing me to jump.
“Relax. The boy’s bound to go home sooner or later. We’ll put someone at the house after we’re done at the warehouse.”
“Fine,” someone grumbles. “But I want to be there when they bring him in. I’ve been wanting to pay Price back for fucking me over in New Orleans, and what better way than to torture his son?”
They continue to chat about what they’re going to do to me as they head down the alley away from me. I have to give them credit. They’re pretty creative with their forms of torture. Electric shock—been there done that. Breaking my legs with a hammer—broken bones are nothing new. Squeezing my fingers and toes with a wrench until they’re about ripped off from my hands and feet—okay, that one made me cringe.
I don’t leave my hiding spot for a half an hour after their voices fade, wanting to be absolutely positive they are gone. Once I’m satisfied, I crawl out of my spot and brush the dirt and garbage debris off my jacket.
I glance from left to right, raking my fingers through my hair as I try to figure out what to do next. Go home after what the men just said? It seems like a stupid idea. Plus, my father lives there, too. The last thing I want to do is see him again, not after this.
The man has been in my life for two years, ever since I was let out of juvie at eighteen. After growing up in foster homes for most of my childhood, I expected him to treat me better when he pried his way into my life. I hoped that perhaps he’d give me the new start I craved. It took me about a year to realize how wrong I was. He wasn’t looking for a son, but a gambling buddy to cover his ass and take the fall for his mishaps.
For the last two years, I’ve worked at my mother’s pharmacy. A firm believer in teaching me how our society works, she pays me a somewhat decent wage while teaching me work ethic. I save practically every dollar I make. Now all the cash is going to my escape plan, my ticket out of this maddening hellhole.
I’ve already set the plan in motion, to change who I am so I won’t become a part of my family’s madness. I’ve applied to colleges other than Ralingford Community College, something my parents aren’t aware of. Now that the medication is out of my system, my head is clearer. I’ve started reading about the world outside of Ralingford when I’m at school, the only time I’m allowed to be on the internet, so I know what I’m getting into. And I’ve found a few apartments I think will work for me.
As long as I stay on track with my plan, in six months, I’ll be free for the first time in my life.
Chapter 2
The Offer
Ryler
I’m fucked. More than fucked. I’m going to get my ass killed. I wish I could say it’s my own fault, that I made bad choices on my own free will that led me to where I am right now—hiding behind a garbage can while a group of questionable mobsters search for me. But nope, I ended up here because I acted like a puppet and allowed Cole Price, my father, to push me into gambling again, into cheating Elderman and his men, who just happens to be some of the worst people to screw over.
“Can you see him anywhere?” one of the men chasing me says from the other side of the dumpster.
I hear a stampede of footsteps in the alleyway then the clicking of guns being cocked.
“I could have sworn he ran back here,” a different guy answers, panting for air.
Running is the one thing I’m good at. Ever since I got out of juvie, it’s all I’ve done. I’ve tried more than once to get out of the pointless cycle I seem to constantly find myself in—getting into trouble then trying to start on a straight-and-narrow path, only to get into trouble again. But it’s difficult to stay on track when I have a record. Even getting my own place is complicated.
“Ryler, you little shit!” one of the men calls out. “Come out now, you fucking coward! After what Elderman’s done for you, giving you so many opportunities, this is how you repay him?”
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“Did you check behind there?” one of the men asks.
My back goes rigid as the footsteps grow nearer. Shit. I’m so screwed. After all I’ve been through, what a way to go—dying behind a dumpster with the rotting stench of garbage all around me. No one will find my body for weeks.
I smash my lips together as I delve farther into the shadows. It’s late, the stars and moon are shining, and the only light source is coming from behind a nearby club I’d been at when the men showed up. Music is cranked up from within the walls and flows outside, aiding my silence.
After four years of being mute, being quiet has become easy for me. Although, I don’t think it’s going to save me this time.
“Wait a minute. I think I hear—”
A phone rings from somewhere, cutting him off.
“Hold on,” one of the men says. “It’s the boss.”
He answers the phone and utters a few okays and nos before growing silent again. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for someone to appear and point a gun at me. I can feel that my time is up. This is it. I’m not getting out of this mess alive.
Fuck, I’ve lived a sad, pathetic life.
“Boss says we have to go!” the man who was on the phone hollers. “Melson’s being a pain in the ass again!”
“What about Cole’s son?”
“We’ll have to track him down later. The order is to get our ass down to the warehouses ASAP.”
“Fuck!” Someone kicks the garbage can, causing me to jump.
“Relax. The boy’s bound to go home sooner or later. We’ll put someone at the house after we’re done at the warehouse.”
“Fine,” someone grumbles. “But I want to be there when they bring him in. I’ve been wanting to pay Price back for fucking me over in New Orleans, and what better way than to torture his son?”
They continue to chat about what they’re going to do to me as they head down the alley away from me. I have to give them credit. They’re pretty creative with their forms of torture. Electric shock—been there done that. Breaking my legs with a hammer—broken bones are nothing new. Squeezing my fingers and toes with a wrench until they’re about ripped off from my hands and feet—okay, that one made me cringe.
I don’t leave my hiding spot for a half an hour after their voices fade, wanting to be absolutely positive they are gone. Once I’m satisfied, I crawl out of my spot and brush the dirt and garbage debris off my jacket.
I glance from left to right, raking my fingers through my hair as I try to figure out what to do next. Go home after what the men just said? It seems like a stupid idea. Plus, my father lives there, too. The last thing I want to do is see him again, not after this.
The man has been in my life for two years, ever since I was let out of juvie at eighteen. After growing up in foster homes for most of my childhood, I expected him to treat me better when he pried his way into my life. I hoped that perhaps he’d give me the new start I craved. It took me about a year to realize how wrong I was. He wasn’t looking for a son, but a gambling buddy to cover his ass and take the fall for his mishaps.
