Chapter 2

One freezing afternoon, starved and desperate, I slipped out to scavenge for food.

Following the scent of fried grease, I stopped outside a diner. The smell of roasted chicken was intoxicating; my mouth watered uncontrollably.

The owner caught me staring, realized I didn't have a cent, and came out to chase me away. Head hung low, stomach growling, I backed up blindly.

And bumped right into a girl. Sarah.

Bathed in the afternoon sunlight, she smiled down at me and ruffled my messy hair. "Hungry, little stray?"

She bought me a warm meal.

Then she took me home and said, "Chloe, from now on, we look out for each other."

"Pinky promise. Forever and always."

One year passed, then two.

I thought our little pocket of happiness would last forever.

Then came the police report.

Sarah Miller, drowned after a fall.

That night, the nightmares returned. I dreamed of Sarah again.

In the dream, her estranged father had discovered where we lived.

Pointing an angry finger at her face, he bellowed, "Ungrateful bitch! You won't support your own flesh and blood, but you'll take in a stray rat?!"

He grabbed a wooden chair and swung it straight at her.

Sarah took the blow, weeping, curling inward. "Dad, please, just stop gambling! We can make an honest living, please—"

I lunged forward to shield her, but he shoved me so hard my head slammed against the wall, everything plunging into blackness.

Before I lost consciousness, his bitter cursing echoed above me. "Stupid women. Narrow-minded losers. If I don't gamble, what do you expect me to do? Bust tables like a pathetic waitress?!"

He rummaged through her drawers, pocketing every single bill she had managed to save. "Damn it, that's all there is?!"

I never understood why she kept giving him money, why she kept supporting him when he treated her like garbage.

Sarah had just wiped her tears and offered me a fragile, bittersweet smile. "He wasn't always like this, Chloe. When I was little, he used to carry me on his shoulders. He bought me pretty dresses and dolls."

"No matter what he becomes, he’s still my dad."

A sharp pang of jealousy had hit me then. Looking down, too afraid to meet her eyes, I whispered, "Will I always be your sister?"

"Of course. Chloe, you will always be my little sister."

Two months later, Sarah told me she’d landed a lucrative gig—waitstaff on a billionaire's luxury yacht, making hundreds of dollars a day.

She said the money would pay for my college tuition.

When she came back, she was zipped inside a black body bag.

The authorities told me, "Sarah was trying to get attention and accidentally fell overboard. The currents were strong; it took hours to recover her."

They added that, out of the goodness of his heart, the yacht's owner was offering me a fifteen-thousand-dollar settlement.

My senses shut down. The world went dead silent as I stared at her corpse.

Her face was chalk-white; her clothes and body torn, bruised, and filthy.

"Sarah..."

She didn't slip.

She took that job to put me through school—she would never try to "show off" or cause a scene.

The yacht owner had tried to force himself on her. When she refused, he turned her over to his security crew to be brutalized all night long. Only then did she jump.

"Enjoy yourselves tonight. She’s all yours."