Chapter 4: Lillian’s Return

If Preston has any redeeming quality, it’s that he’s generous with money and treats his men well. Following him for a month, I earned as much as I had in years before. Sometimes it felt like I’d sold my soul, but at least my sister’s hospital bills got paid on time.

In just half a year, I’d already saved nearly a hundred thousand, constantly calculating my sister’s medical costs in my mind. Once I had enough, I’d leave this man the first chance I got. I kept a spreadsheet on my laptop, updating it every night, hoping one day I’d see the number I needed.

“Bro, are you really tired lately? You’ve got dark circles.” My sister leaned on her pillow, looking at me with concern. The hospital room smelled of bleach and stale air. She wore her faded Atlanta Falcons tee, the one she’d refused to take off since fifth grade.

“No, don’t worry. I just changed jobs, so I’m working a bit harder these days.” I smiled at her and handed her a peeled apple. She took it with thin, shaking fingers, but still tried to look strong.

“Sometimes I think, if it weren’t for me being a burden, you’d be much happier.” My twelve-year-old sister was already far more mature than her peers. She watched me with big, sad eyes, the way only sick kids do.

“Silly girl, what are you talking about? Mom and Dad left early. Without you, I wouldn’t even have anyone to talk to. How could I be happy?” I ruffled her hair, careful not to pull the IV line in her arm. I tucked her blanket under her chin, just like Mom used to. She smiled, but I saw the worry behind it.

My sister smiled and took a small bite of apple. “You could get a girlfriend. Then you’d have someone to talk to.”

I laughed too. Just as I was about to crack a joke, my phone rang. Preston said on the phone, “Come pick me up. Hurry.” His voice was clipped, impatient. I grabbed my keys and told my sister I’d bring her a milkshake next time.

Preston had a rule for his guys: no matter when, you had to answer his call, and if he needed you, you had to arrive on time—just like clocking in at work. If you managed it, you got a bonus. But unlike an ordinary job, if you failed, the consequences were serious—not just a fine. Once, Derek was fooling around with a massage girl and missed Preston’s call. That night, he had two fingers broken.

If others hadn’t pleaded for him, maybe he’d have lost a hand. Rumor had it Preston made him apologize while kneeling in a parking garage, the whole crew watching.

He treated his own men this way, but not just them. Once, I saw him beat his own younger brother—a boy of fifteen or sixteen, skinny, wearing an expensive custom private school uniform. Preston slapped him dozens of times in a row, making the boy’s mouth bleed and his cheeks swell up. Preston whispered something in his ear, and the boy shook his head over and over, so scared he collapsed to the ground. There was a coldness in Preston’s eyes that made me shiver, even though it was eighty degrees outside.

Before getting in the car, I saw that boy—Ethan Hawthorne—biting his lip, eyes full of hatred under his bangs. Ethan glared at the world like he’d been betrayed by it, and maybe he had.

I rushed to the meeting spot, drenched in sweat, and saw Preston with a woman in his arms. He said, “Drive Miss Lillian and me to the house.” His arm was wrapped around her like he owned her. I nodded and opened the door, trying not to let my hands shake.

The woman got in the car, giggling nonstop. I thought her voice sounded familiar and couldn’t help but look back. She had delicate features, snow-white skin, and a faint dimple. I recognized her—my high school classmate Lillian Carter, the school beauty everyone worshipped. In another life, she would’ve been my date to prom.

Of course, I was one of them. Back then, I wrote her a Valentine’s card I never had the guts to give. Now, she didn’t even look my way.

In the car, Preston groped Lillian, his hand sliding under her short skirt. Lillian blushed and said, “Stop it.” Her voice was breathless, half protest, half tease. I gripped the steering wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead, wishing I was anywhere else.

“Screech—screech—”

The luxury car made a piercing braking sound. I gripped the wheel, sweating. Watching Preston’s moves, I nearly crashed into a billboard at the corner. My heart slammed against my chest, my mouth dry as dust.

The sudden stop made both of their heads bang into the front seats. Lillian’s makeup was smudged, and she cursed at me, “Jeez, did you get your license out of a Cracker Jack box?” Her eyes flashed, and for a second I saw the same girl from sophomore year, the one who laughed at my jokes. Now, she looked right through me.

My heart turned cold—so she didn’t recognize me. I realized I was just another face in the crowd to her, another nobody driving the rich kids home.

Preston was magnanimous. He said, “Marcus, drive carefully and watch the road.” His tone was light, but his eyes in the mirror told me not to screw up again.

That night, I sat downstairs in Preston’s house, listening to them mess around upstairs. The noise was loud, echoing straight into my ears. For some reason, Preston knew I was sitting downstairs but deliberately didn’t close the door. My body kept trembling, a wave of oppressive emotion rising inside me, pushing me to stand up and scream, to smash all the expensive vases in front of me. There was even a voice in my head yelling: grab a knife, rush up there... I pressed my fists to my knees and counted backward from ten, just trying to breathe.

The only girl I’d ever liked since I was a kid, now under the man I hated most, while I could only sit there like a fool. I stared at my sneakers, wishing I could disappear. Every laugh and moan from upstairs scraped at my nerves like sandpaper.

The humiliation kept gnawing at my sanity. Just as I was about to lose it, Preston’s voice called me back: “Marcus, take Miss Lillian home. Drive slow, Miss Lillian is tired.” I stood, legs numb, and went to get the car.

Lillian’s face was flushed. She playfully pounded Preston’s chest. “You’re so bad,” she giggled, not caring who heard.

Preston smiled and grabbed her butt. Before leaving, I noticed him watching me from behind, a wicked grin curling his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.

My knuckles went white on the wheel as her laughter drifted up from the back seat, sweet and sharp as lemonade. After the humiliating night, I sat in the dark, counting every second until I could leave, every dollar closer to freedom—and every piece of myself I’d never get back.