Chapter 1

The heavy bass from the master bedroom vibrated through the thin wall of the small adjoining room Vicky called my "office."

It wasn't an office, it was a storage closet.

Inside, Vicky was with Chad. Again.

Their laughter, sharp and cruel, cut through the music.

I stared at the framed photo on my tiny desk, Lily, my sister, smiling. Her next treatment payment was due. The final one.

That' s why I was here, in this gilded cage, Vicky Sterling' s plaything.

The door to the closet burst open. Vicky stood there, a silk robe barely covering her. Chad lounged on the bed behind her, smirking.

"Ethan," Vicky purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "Chad needs a new vape pen. His favorite kind. Downtown."

"It's past midnight, Vicky," I said, my voice flat. "And it's pouring."

"Oh, is it?" She feigned surprise, then her eyes hardened. "And? You have a problem with that?"

Chad snickered from the bed. "Yeah, errand boy. Got a problem?"

I looked at Lily' s picture. "No problem."

Vicky' s friends, Tiffany and Brittany, were draped over the living room sofa when I passed through. They giggled, their eyes mocking.

"Off to brave the storm, Ethan?" Tiffany cooed.

"Don't get blown away," Brittany added, not bothering to hide her contempt.

I just pulled on my worn jacket and left.

The wind and rain hit me like a physical blow. Every step sent a jolt of pain up my arm, the one Chad had "accidentally" slammed in a car door last week. Vicky had just rolled her eyes when I told her.

An hour later, soaked and shivering, I handed the vape pen to Chad.

He took it without a word, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face.

Vicky watched, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. "Good boy, Ethan."

She then turned to Chad. "He's so trainable, isn't he?"

They both laughed.

My arm throbbed. The cold had made it worse.

"Chad was thinking," Vicky said, her eyes glinting, "those new party lights for the patio would look amazing. He wants to see them up. Now."

"Vicky, it's a storm out there," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "And my arm..."

"Your arm will be fine," she snapped. "Don't be such a baby. Chad wants the lights up."

This was like the grill incident last summer. Chad, drunk and showing off, had mishandled a propane tank. It exploded. I' d been closest, shielding Vicky. She' d complained about the catering being ruined while I was on the ground, burns searing my skin.

Now, out in the driving rain, I struggled with the tangled wires and flimsy poles for the lights. Each movement was agony. The wind whipped the lights around, nearly knocking me off the ladder.

I could hear their laughter from inside, even over the storm.

Then, a searing pain shot through my arm, and the world went black.