He tossed A THICK STACK OF BILLS on my table.
“Here, princess. DON’T SPEND IT ALL IN ONE PLACE!” His friends laughed.
I thought I’d just saved Ethan’s mom’s life. I ran home clutching the cash, shouting to Mom, “Mom, FINALLY… WE DID IT!”
But she touched the bills, frowned, and whispered: “Honey… these are fake.”
Counterfeit. All of it.
I broke. I curled up on the floor sobbing. I wasn’t helping anyone—I was just a joke to them.
The next night, I was crying into my pillow when I heard it. ENGINES.
Not one. Not two. DOZENS.
I ran to the window. THIRTY motorcycles lined the street, headlights glowing like fireflies. My mom gasped.
Then one of the biggest, scariest-looking men stepped off his bike, came right up to me, and growled:
“Hey, kid. You’re coming with us!”
