Ruthless King

One day, she was going to marry that man.

She would be his queen.

Five months ago. . .

The bills were piling up.

Jilly stared down at them all, fighting back the heat of tears. She was so tired. Tired of fighting. Of trying to keep her head afloat.

This was useless.

She always tried to be positive, to see the good side of things. But this . . .

There was no way she could get her head above water.

“Surely you can go to the police about this,” Scott said, frowning down at the papers strewn across her worn table. “This is illegal. He can’t just open accounts in your name and then rack up bills like this!”

Sasha shook her head. “Fucking Lowell! He’s a con artist. I knew I didn’t like him as soon as I saw him.”

Jilly sighed sadly.

“Sasha, that’s not helping,” Dan scolded. “Do you think Jilly needs to hear how you never liked her boyfriend? No. What she needs is a solution to get out of the mess she’s now in.”

“You should go to the police. I’m telling you, this is illegal.” Scott scowled. “If I could get my hands on that bastard . . .” He curled his hands into fists, his muscles bulging. Dan put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

The two of them were like night and day. Scott was huge. Muscular and tanned with blond hair. While Dan had midnight-colored hair and a slim build. They’d moved in next door three years ago.

“I have some money I can lend you, dear,” Mrs. Yards said as she sat in her chair, knitting.

She looked like everyone’s favorite grandma in her floral dress and white apron with her gray hair back in a bun.

But appearances could be deceptive.

And Jilly knew that whatever she was knitting was unlikely to be a scarf or hat.

“I can’t take your money, Mrs. Yards. Thank you, though.”

The older woman lived in the house across the street. It was stately and beautiful but practically falling down around her. She’d had to rent a room to Sasha to help pay the property taxes, so Jilly knew she didn’t have much to spare.

Mrs. Yards grunted. “Well, I’m knitting a voodoo doll of Lowell. I’ll be sure to give him a good pricking each night.”

Jilly sniffled. “Thank, Mrs. Yards. That means a lot.”

See? No hat or scarf from this old lady.

“Unfortunately, pricking that dick . . . and make sure you get him in the dick, Mrs. Y . . . isn’t going to make these bills disappear,” Sasha said. “Some of these credit card rates are high. Just paying off the interest alone will take you years.”

Sasha was about the same age as Jilly but utterly different in personality and appearance. She had her black hair piled high on her head. Red lipstick and smokey eye make-up gave her a sexy, sophisticated look. She had on a tight top and a short skirt.

Sasha was so utterly gorgeous and always looked amazing.

Jilly was in awe of her.

“I can’t go to the police. That’s not an option,” Jilly stated.

Not if she wanted to keep breathing.

Mama had told her the rules so many times there was no way she’d ever forget them.