4. Kali

CHAPTER 4

Kali

Four days before I was taken…

Do you know how hard it is to keep a million-dollar secret?

A million times hard .

Sleep became a distant memory. Nothing could silence the relentless churning of my brain. Counting sheep turned into a bizarre dance of dollar bills with arms and legs, illuminated by disco lights and the song “She Works Hard For the Money” by Donna Summer playing in the background. Basically, I hosted a rave in my head all night. I should be a zombie this morning after a night of insomnia, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins is like an IV drip of caffeine.

Yesterday started out with a bad wine hangover, then I ended up spending the afternoon at our small local library searching the internet. From searching how to claim the prize to colleges in the area to compiling lists of the top ten things lottery winners buy, my notes filled page after page. By the time I finished, I was in a mountain of debt.

Might have to cross some things off.

As directed by the back of the ticket, I signed it, putting more effort into writing my name than I’ve ever done before and hiding it in my bra. Nestled in the pocket with the padding. Since no one, other than myself, has even seen my bra in years, it’s safe to say no one will find it. I don’t think I’ll ever again wear a bra in my life that will be worth four million dollars.

At least it’s what I overheard Sam estimate the other day in the diner, after taxes that’s the cash payout for eight million. He’s an accountant, so he must know what he’s talking about. Of course, I’m taking the cash payout.

The morning sun inches above the diner, and I stop and stare from across the street at the bright red roof and turquoise sign. The charming diner with a fifties flare looks different today. Everything feels different. Maybe because I’m not here to work since I have the night shift, but I’m putting in my notice. Or maybe anticipating the money, not yet in my bank account, has given me a fresh pair of eyes.

The promise of opportunities to come.

With a bounce in my step and giddiness, I skip into the diner.

Okay, Kali, chill.

I inhale and exhale slowly to calm the rush of nerves. I’ve rehearsed my story all morning. It’s a plausible story. Everyone knows I can’t wait to leave this place.

Pearl bites down on her growing excitement when she sees me walking through the front door. “Honey, you here to do the thing ?” She does a little dance in place, more excited I’m quitting than anything.

“I’ll miss you the most,” I say, putting my head on her shoulder.

“Well, I won’t miss you at all,” she quips, her southern drawl heavier than normal. Which either means she’s drunk or lying. She playfully pushes me toward Roberto’s office. “You have some business to take care of. And I’m not ready to cry yet, so get your hiney movin’.”

Yep, I’ll miss her the most.

Roberto took my resignation letter with zero questions and little emotion. “Good luck,” he says before turning back to his computer. When I stare at him, expecting more, he adds, “Do you need anything else?”

Yeah, how about a “I hate to see you leave. You’re one of my best employees.”

I hold up a finger. “Actually, my last day will be Friday.” If he’s going to act like I meant nothing, then he won’t mind if I leave early. I gave him two weeks to find someone to replace me because I’ve always heard that is what you’re supposed to do.

He shrugs without looking up.

This played out differently in my head. He begged me to stay. Offered to give me a raise. Of course, neither would’ve made me change my mind, but at least I’d have felt validated. I’ve worked here for five years. That’s half a freaking decade longer than most people have worked here, and I got a casual “ don’t let the door hit ya on the way out .”

Whatever. His cold shoulder can’t spoil my high.

I turn to leave. “It’s not like I need the money anymore,” I mumble under my breath as I leave his office. Good riddance.

I pull out my short list of things I need to do before I move, which is sooner than I originally had planned. No reason for me to stay two more weeks now. First thing is to open a PO Box. I can’t list a forwarding address because I don’t know where I’ll end up. The uncertainty adds a layer of anxiety and excitement.

As I pass the neighborhood boutique store, I stop and stare in. Trendy clothes, hats, and cute knickknacks for the kitchen. I’ve been here a million times, looking through the window, but this time I pull the door open. A gust of cold, sweet-scented air greets me. It smells like flowers mixed with something else I can’t place.

It smells expensive.

A soft threaded red blouse glides through my fingers, and the price tag of fifty dollars dangles off the armhole. I saw this shirt on a mannequin last week, and I made a mental note to look for it at the second-hand store later in the year. Plenty of times I’ve found clothes from this place that, a year later, pop up on the racks there.

I pass by this place twice a day, to and from work, and I’ve only ever been in here once. Not as a customer—because I could never afford to shop here—but to hand the owner mail delivered to the diner by mistake.

A palpable unease settles over me the more I look around, aware of the judgmental stares from the sales associate. Ignoring her fixated gaze, I walk back to the silky top. It’s calling my name.

“That would look amazing on you.”

I just threw up in my mouth.

My eyes lift to Hobie Prackett. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I respond, my tone devoid of any attempt at a polite smile. “Mayor Prackett. That’s slightly inappropriate.”

Considering he was my foster father at one point.

He shrugs dismissively. “You’re an adult now.” I shake my head in utter disgust. He takes two steps so he’s inches away from me. “I just wish it would’ve been me sinking into your wet pussy that night.” I gasp in horror, wanting to put distance between us, but I freeze from shock at his disgusting words.

“You sick, sick bastard,” I whisper-hiss, not wanting to cause a scene. I know how this would turn out if I did. No one would believe their coveted town mayor could be so vile.

The warmth of his voice in my ear makes me flinch. “That’s right, Kali. I am a sick bastard, but you’re the town slut. And a beautiful one at that. You should come over later. I’ll make it worth your while. You’d be able to buy that shirt.” His gaze travels over me, leaving a trail of filth.

Tears form, and I blink them back. Don’t you dare cry for this man . Why is he doing this? How can he be so hateful? The plastic hanger breaks in my palm. The snap is the jolt I needed. A jolt to wake the hell up and remember why I’m here, shopping.

Because I have money. And with money comes power.

God, I’d love to smear my winnings in his face.

“I suggest you take a step back, Mayor, or I’ll be your worst nightmare. If you thought I dragged your good name in the dirt before, just wait. You have no idea how much power I have now. And I’ll use every bit of it to take you down.”

His face hardens with anger mixed with a layer of confusion. I lift a brow with a sense of confidence I’ve never had. Where did this girl come from? I haven’t slept around since I was eighteen. Everyone knows I’m not the same wild child I used to be.

“And never talk to me like that again.”

I spin around, not giving him a chance to respond. The sales associate probably saw the entire interaction, but from her point of view, with our backs to her, we were just talking. She lifts a brow with a questioning expression as I stride to the register and place the shirt on the counter.

She looks down and huffs. “You broke a hanger? Do you know how much those cost?” she says with a snide tone as she takes the shirt off the broken hanger and starts to hang it on another one.

“I’d like to buy that,” I deadpan, stopping her in her tracks.

“Oh.” Her cheeks blush as she slides the hanger back off. Her eyes dart past me for a beat before she rings me up. I glance over my shoulder, and Hobie stands at the door with a perplexed expression.

That’s right, asshole, I can buy my own damn shirt.

Thankfully, by the time my new shirt is bagged, the mayor is gone. As I walk home with the bag in hand, I can’t help but think back to my time with Hobie. He took me in when I was twelve. The year he became mayor. I was a pawn in his election, a way to show his constituents he cared about the residents and how he wanted to give an orphaned girl from this very town a privileged life. Young, attractive, single man taking in a child. To say women loved him was an understatement.

That was all part of his plan.

He hired a full-time nanny the second I dropped my black plastic bag of belongings on the bedroom floor, and the only time he showed me attention was when we were out in front of people. I hated him. I craved attention from the one man who took me in, who was supposed to be a father figure. Hobie didn’t want to give me attention, so I found it in other places. He walked in on me having sex with an eighteen-year-old.

I shudder, thinking about his comment, wishing it was him.

I was fourteen.

Eventually, he said my extracurricular activities were affecting his career. In other words, he didn’t want to deal with me anymore. He made it sound like he had no choice but to send me back to the group home. People didn’t fault him because I was a troubled child, and no matter how stable a home he gave me, I needed help beyond his ability. I was painted as the town trash.

By the time I force the key into my apartment, I can’t shake his words off. Hobie’s breath is like a layer of ash from a fire on my skin. It burns. “I just wish it would’ve been me sinking into your wet pussy that night.”

Fuck.

I always wondered how long he’d been watching us. He said he had just walked in, but he made no noise. By the time we saw him, we had finished. Steve rolled my naked body off his chest, and that’s when we saw him standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a stoic expression. Steve jumped up and ran out. Hobie said nothing. Just turned around and left.

I retch, thinking about what he might have done after leaving the room. Stop! I yell at myself, not wanting to imagine him with a bottle of lotion and thoughts of a child.

Because that is what I was.