Chapter 4 - Sold

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞

I finally put my foot down about something pivotal in my life—then the universe flipped me off.

My family scrambled as the five armed men filed into my tiny apartment with military precision. I stood frozen, watching it happen like I was outside my own body.

The last man closed the door behind him. The click echoed through the space like a death sentence. We were trapped.

The scarred man—the one who'd been at the front—surveyed the room with cold calculation. His gaze swept over each person before landing on Ivy, cradling the infant against his chest. He looked down at the child with what almost seemed like fondness.

"Beautiful boy," he murmured. "What's his name?"

"A-Adrian," Ivy stammered.

"Adrian." The man tested the name, nodding approvingly. Then he looked up at the room, still holding the baby in one arm.

With his free hand, he pulled his gun from its holster.

And placed it directly in the infant's tiny hands.

The room collectively inhaled.

The baby—three weeks old, barely able to grip anything—wrapped his fingers around the weapon. It was far too heavy for him, but the man supported it from beneath, keeping the barrel pointed vaguely toward the ceiling.

"There we go," the man said softly, adjusting the baby's grip like he was teaching him to hold a rattle. "Just like that."

Ivy made a strangled sound in her throat. Aunt Agatha's hand flew to her mouth. Even Ryder, who'd been trying to look tough, had gone pale.

"Now then," the man said, his voice carrying easily through the silent room. "Let's establish some ground rules. I'm going to talk. You're going to listen. No one is going to do anything stupid." He glanced down at the baby, who was now gumming the gun barrel with his toothless mouth. "Because if someone does something stupid, this situation could get very messy very quickly."

He let that sink in for a moment before continuing.

"My name is Jericho. These are my associates. We're here on business." He shifted the baby slightly, and everyone's eyes tracked the movement of the gun. "And you're all going to cooperate fully, aren't you?"

Frantic nodding from everyone.

"Good." Jericho smiled again. "See? We're all reasonable people here."

He walked slowly back to the center of the room, still cradling the baby and the gun. Everyone's eyes followed him like he was a bomb that might explode at any moment.

I found myself taking shallow breaths, afraid that any sudden movement might trigger something terrible.

Jericho stopped and turned his attention to Ryder, who was still sitting on my couch trying to look composed despite the cigarette burns he'd left and the general chaos of the scene.

"Ryder Jameson," Jericho said, his tone shifting to something harder. "You owe me money."

Ryder swallowed visibly. "I—I can explain—"

"Explain?" Jericho's eyebrows rose. "You've had two months to explain. Two months to make even a partial payment. Two months to show me you're taking this debt seriously." He adjusted the baby again, and the gun shifted with the movement. "Instead, I've gotten radio silence. Blocked calls. Excuses through third parties."

"I was going to pay—"

"With what?" Jericho cut him off. "You're unemployed. You've gambled away everything you had and then some. You've borrowed from everyone who'll still talk to you." He tilted his head. "So I ask again: with what were you planning to pay me?"

Ryder opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. He looked like a fish gasping on dry land.

Then his bladder gave out.

The dark stain spread across his jeans, the acrid smell hitting the air immediately. Someone behind me made a disgusted sound.

Jericho's expression twisted with contempt. "Disappointing," he muttered.

He shifted the baby to his other arm—carefully, gently—and walked over to Ryder. The baby gurgled happily, still playing with the gun like it was a toy.

Jericho crouched down to Ryder's level, bringing himself and the baby and the weapon all within inches of my brother's face.

"Here's what's going to happen," Jericho said quietly. "You're going to tell me exactly how much you owe, with interest. Then we're going to discuss payment options. And you're going to do it without pissing yourself any further. Understood?"

Ryder nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face.

Jericho straightened and turned to address the whole room. "Actually, let's make this efficient. Everyone who owes me money, raise your hand."

Slowly, hesitantly, hands went up. Ryder. Ivy. Uncle Gerald. Even Aunt Agatha, though she looked furious about admitting it.

"Excellent." Jericho's smile was sharp. "Let's talk numbers. Ryder, you first. How much?"

"Th-thirty thousand," Ryder stammered. "With interest, maybe forty—"

"Fifty-two thousand," Jericho corrected. "Try again."

Ryder's face crumpled further.

Jericho moved on to Ivy. "And you, sweetheart?"

Ivy's voice came out tiny and broken. "I needed things for the baby. And I wanted to get away before I gave birth, just for a few weeks, somewhere nice, and the medical bills were so high, and—"

"Numbers," Jericho interrupted.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand," Ivy whispered. "Maybe more with interest."

The room went completely silent.

Jericho's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Now that's a debt. What did you do, buy a diamond-encrusted crib?"

"She stayed at five-star resorts," Aunt Agatha spat, unable to help herself. "Spa treatments, designer maternity clothes, a private villa in the Maldives—"

"I was stressed!" Ivy shrieked. "I was pregnant and alone and—"

"Enough," Jericho said mildly. He looked at Gerald and Agatha. "And you two?"

They admitted to smaller amounts—twenty thousand here, thirty thousand there. Gambling debts, mostly. Some bad investments.

Jericho did the math in his head. "So we're looking at roughly four hundred and fifty thousand in principal. With interest over two months..." He calculated silently. "Call it six hundred thousand total."

The number hung in the air like a guillotine.

"And none of you," Jericho continued, his voice almost conversational, "have even a fraction of that amount. Do you?"

Silence.

Then, from the floor where they'd been huddled against me, one of the twins spoke up.

"Auntie Selene has a million dollars," the little voice piped up.

Everyone froze.

Jericho's attention shifted immediately. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me, still standing near the door with my arms around the twins.

"Selene," he repeated slowly. His expression changed, recognition dawning. "Wait. Selene Jameson?"

I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up completely.

"The Westbrook Wolves' forward?" Jericho's face split into a genuine smile, completely different from the predatory expression he'd worn moments before. "No way. My wife and daughter are obsessed with you. You're their favorite local player."

He looked down at the baby in his arms, then back at me. "Josephine—that's my daughter—she doesn't even like sports, but she watched every single one of your games. She has your jersey. She made me promise to take her to the championship."

The whiplash from threatening to friendly was disorienting.

"You really won a million dollars?" Jericho asked, sounding almost impressed.

Ryder found his voice then, jumping on the opportunity like a drowning man grabbing a life raft. "Yes! She won! It was all over the news! She's got the money, she could—"

"We're family," Ivy added desperately. "She'll help us, she has to—"

"She owes us," Aunt Agatha said firmly. "We raised her, fed her, clothed her—"

Their voices overlapped, each one trying to paint me as their salvation, their ticket out of this nightmare.

Jericho held up a hand and they all fell silent immediately.

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he walked over, still carrying the baby and the gun.

"Is it true?" he asked me directly. "You won a million dollars?"

I found my voice, though it came out rough and uncertain. "Yes."

Jericho nodded slowly. "And these people are your family?"

"Unfortunately," I heard myself say.

He barked out a laugh at that. "Fair enough." He glanced around at the others, taking in their desperate expressions, the obvious dysfunction, the way they'd immediately thrown me under the bus.

"Alright," Jericho said, making a decision. "Here's what we're going to do." He looked at me. "You pay off, let's say, two hundred thousand of their debt."

My stomach dropped.

"And," he continued, "you come to my wedding anniversary party next month as a special guest. My wife will lose her mind. Lilienne will probably faint." He grinned. "Bring your jersey, sign some stuff, take some pictures. Make my girls happy."

He made it sound so reasonable. So simple.

"Do that," Jericho said, "and we'll call the rest of the debt settled. Clean slate for everyone."

The room erupted in relieved sounds. Ryder actually started crying. Ivy looked like she might collapse with relief.

Jericho walked back to Ivy and carefully, gently, handed her the baby.

She took Adrian with shaking hands, clutching him to her chest. The relief on her face was palpable.

Then Jericho held out the gun—and my heart nearly stopped.

But he didn't give it to Ivy. He walked over to me and pressed it into my hands instead.

"Hold this for me," he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I didn't understand. "Just for a moment."

The gun was heavy and cold in my palms. I stood there, unsure what to do, while Jericho stepped closer.

Too close.

He was in my personal space now, his eyes tracking down to my wrist where my sleeve had ridden up slightly.

His expression changed.

"What's this?" His voice had lost all its previous warmth.

Before I could answer, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Not roughly, but firmly enough that I couldn't pull away.

He pushed my sleeve up further, exposing the crescent moon mark.

And then everything changed.

Jericho's grip on my wrist tightened. Heat radiated from his palm where it touched my skin, spreading up my arm like fire. It wasn't painful, but it was intense, overwhelming, like my entire nervous system was being scanned.

I gasped, trying to pull away, but his hold was iron.

His eyes began to glow.

Not red like mine had earlier—deeper, darker, like embers in a dying fire. The whites of his eyes disappeared completely, replaced by that burning crimson.

And then his face began to shift.

It wasn't dramatic, wasn't a full transformation, but it was unmistakable. His jaw elongated slightly, becoming more angular. His cheekbones sharpened. His teeth—when he opened his mouth slightly—were pointed, predatory.

The heat from his hand intensified until I thought my skin might blister.

Behind me, someone screamed. One of the twins, maybe. Or Aunt Agatha.

Jericho's men didn't move, didn't react. They'd clearly seen this before.

But my family was in full panic mode. I could hear them scrambling, backing away, making terrified noises.

Jericho's eyes bored into mine as he held my wrist. I felt like he was looking through me, into me, reading something I didn't know was there.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

His eyes faded back to normal brown. His face shifted back to human features. The heat from his palm cooled to normal body temperature.

He released my wrist and stepped back.

I stood there, shaking, cradling my arm against my chest. The mark on my wrist was still tingling, still warm where he'd touched it.

Jericho stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he turned to address the room.

"Change of plans," he said simply.

His voice was calm, but something in it made my blood run cold.

"I'm taking her," Jericho announced, gesturing toward me.

The room erupted in confused sounds.

"What—"

"You can't—"

"Wait, I thought—"

"Your debts are cleared," Jericho continued, speaking over them. "All of it. Six hundred thousand dollars, gone. Wiped clean." He paused, letting that sink in. "On one condition."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"You don't call the police. You don't report her missing. You don't make any trouble whatsoever." His voice hardened. "You tell anyone who asks that she moved away. Got a job opportunity. Eloped with a boyfriend. Whatever story you want. But you don't mention me or my men. Understood?"

Silence.

Then Aunt Agatha spoke up, her voice cautious. "And if we agree to this, the debt is really gone?"

"Really gone," Jericho confirmed.

"All of it?" Ryder asked, still crying.

"Every penny."

I watched them process this. Watched the calculations happen behind their eyes. Six hundred thousand dollars of debt, gone. All they had to do was let me go.

Let me be taken by armed men to God knows where.

"Wait," I managed to say, finding my voice. "You can't just—I'm not a thing you can—"

Jericho pulled out a thick wad of cash from his jacket. He didn't count it, just tossed it onto my coffee table where it landed with a heavy thud.

"Call it a signing bonus," he said.

Then he reached over, plucked the baby from Ivy's arms with practiced ease, and tossed the infant toward her.

Ivy lunged forward with a shriek, arms outstretched. She caught Adrian—barely—but her eyes were already tracking to the money on the table.

The moment the baby was secure in her arms, she looked at the cash. Then back at Jericho. Then at me.

"Deal," she said.

Just like that.

"Deal," Ryder echoed, scrambling toward the money.

"Agreed," Gerald and Agatha said in near unison.

They didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.

They all dove for the cash like starving animals, even Ivy with the baby in one arm. They scrambled over each other, grabbing bills, shoving each other aside to get more.

It would have been funny if it weren't so horrifying.

Jericho's men moved toward me.

That's when survival instinct finally kicked in.

I dropped the gun I'd been holding and bolted for the door.

I made it maybe three steps before hands grabbed me from behind. Strong, professional hands that knew exactly how to restrain someone without hurting them too badly.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly. "I'm not a thing! You can't just take me!"

But they could. And they were.

Someone zip-tied my wrists behind my back, the plastic biting into my skin. I kept fighting, kept screaming, hoping someone would hear, would call for help, would do something.

"We'll tell everyone you eloped," Aunt Agatha called out, not even looking up from counting bills.

"No one will suspect a thing," Gerald added.

I twisted to look at them, at my family, at the people who'd raised me and hated me and sold me for six hundred thousand dollars and some cash.

Ivy was the only one who met my eyes. She was still holding Adrian, still had money clutched in her free hand.

She looked away first.

Of course she did.

I felt a sharp prick in my neck. Cold liquid flooded my veins.

The world immediately began to swim. My legs turned to water beneath me.

"No," I tried to say, but it came out slurred. "No, no, please—"

The fight drained out of me as whatever they'd injected took hold. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in.

Someone caught me as my knees buckled. I was being carried now, I think. Everything felt distant and muffled, like I was underwater.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Jericho's face, still watching me with that unreadable expression.

And behind him, my family, still scrambling over each other for money like it was the most important thing in the world.

Maybe to them, it was.

The darkness pulled me under, and I stopped fighting.