Pivot

Chapter One

by

Rebecca Zanetti

Tough love had never been her thing. Not in her wheelhouse.

No matter how many shrinks, friends, or boyfriends had told Michelle Pamela Peach to write off her mother, she just couldn’t do it. Refused to do it.

Which was why she found herself at her small kitchen table, across from her mother, staring at the screen on her tablet.

“I only have two grand, Jayleen.”

She’d stopped calling her mother “Mom” after she’d been kicked to her third foster family at the age of nine. They were both okay with that fact.

“You must have more money than that.” Jayleen leaned forward, her wiry frame engulfed by a too-tight tank top and Daisy Duke shorts that were two decades too young for her. “You’re a famous, um, graphic novelist. Right?”

“No.” Michelle snorted, her gaze drifting to the adjacent living room where she’d hung a poster of the cover of her first comic book. “I’m a struggling comic book creator. One who works as a waitress to pay the bills.”

Maybe her superheroes would someday pay out, or maybe not. Either way, she drew and wrote for herself—and waited tables to be sure she had a home. One with bright colors, clean surfaces, and plenty of food. The necessities.

“I can give you half of my savings.”

“No.” Jayleen’s bloodshot blue eyes widened, her pale face turning even lighter. The sores along her neck from her latest bout with meth had finally healed, and she’d stopped twitching. Being clean for more than a month was a good sign.

“I owe them money. A lot of it. If I could just get free of them, I’d be okay.”

Michelle’s heart kicked, but she swept her hand out at the small apartment. “Look around. I have secondhand furniture and live in a small place in the center of Portland. I use public transportation, and when I want highlights, I buy a box at the dollar store. But I’ll give you all my savings.”

She mentally calculated how long it would take to rebuild her nest egg—then stopped counting. Her tips weren’t that great. “Will that help?”

“That’s not enough.” Jayleen’s gaze raked her. “You’re obviously eating well.”

Ouch. Whatever. Michelle had always been full-figured, and that was fine with her.

“Not all of us end up on a meth diet,” she said quietly.

“Touché, Michelle. Or Chelle. Or Pam. What are you going by these days?” Jayleen’s bony shoulders dropped.

Michelle sighed. One benefit of moving from foster home to foster home, between bouts of living with her mother, was that she’d been able to reinvent herself each time.

“Michelle. I’ve used my real name for the last decade. At least.”

It shouldn’t hurt that her mother didn’t know that. It really shouldn’t. So why did it?

“Okay. Michelle.” Jayleen sucked in air, her expression brightening. “What about credit cards? You have good credit, I’m sure. You can get a loan on those.”

Michelle’s stomach ached. The woman didn’t care if she put her daughter into debt for life.

“Do you really owe people money?” she asked.

“Yes.” Jayleen pounded a fist on the polished table. “They’ll kill me. For real this time.”

Michelle shut her laptop and scrubbed her hands down her face. “How much do you owe?”

“Twenty-five thousand,” Jayleen whispered.

Michelle’s head shot up. “Seriously? Why would they give you that much without security?”

Jayleen blanched. “Well…”

Oh, crap.

“You were dealing.” Michelle’s stomach churned. “You had a stash, and you stole it.”

“It’s not my fault,” Jayleen said. “I’m an addict.”

Michelle didn’t even have a chance to respond. The front door burst open, and two men rushed inside.

The bigger guy, a six-foot-six bald man who looked like he’d just escaped from Rikers, smoothly shut the door. Michelle froze. Jayleen cried out and pushed back from the table so fast her chair tipped over. She landed with a loud thump and crab-walked backward until she hit the side of the refrigerator.

Terror filled her eyes.

The shorter guy smiled, his blue eyes gleaming. With his dark hair and lashes, he had probably been good-looking once—but the obvious ravages of alcohol and drug abuse had slackened his features and hollowed his cheeks.

“Hello, Michelle. Remember me?”

She blinked. Shock rooted her in place.

“Joey Bandini. I didn’t recognize you.”

He had been handsome years ago, back when he’d charmed her friend Meri for a night—and impregnated her.

“What do you want?”

“Well, now.” He moved past the sofa toward her. “You’re even prettier than I remember. I should’ve gone home with you instead of that bitch.”

This wasn’t good.

Michelle cut a glance at her mother, still cowering against the humming fridge. A chill ticked down her spine, but she kept her face calm and her body still.

“That’s kind of you to say,” she said evenly. “But I’m wondering why you kicked down my door. You could’ve knocked. I don’t have any cash, Joey.”

“Oh, sweet thing, I don’t want money from you.” He leaned toward her, breath reeking of rotgut whiskey. “I want to know where that lying Meri is. Tell me, and we’ll be gone.”

Meri?

Michelle’s world tilted.

“Not a chance,” she snapped, anger rising alongside fear.

Jayleen finally found her voice. “Wh-who are you?”

“I’m Joey Bandini. An old friend of Michelle’s,” he said smoothly.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Michelle muttered before she could stop herself.

Bandini had a one-night stand with one of the few friends she’d kept—Meriwether Jones. They’d had a beautiful little girl, and Meri had dumped his sorry ass, rightly so.

“I have no clue where Meri or Lily are, Joey,” she said. “That’s the truth.”

He sneered. “They’re on the way here. She always wanted to move to Portland, and I heard you two met up again at the funeral last month. She has my money, and I want it.”

Michelle planted her hands on the table. “I talked to Meri right after the funeral. There was only eight grand. Most of it’s gone.”

“Bullshit.”

Jayleen sat up straighter. “Loaded?” she asked eagerly.

Michelle flushed. “No. She wasn’t. She was a nice lady with a small amount of money. Meri isn’t hiding anything.”

Joey’s eyes glittered. “I bet you’re pissed the old broad didn’t leave you anything.”

Michelle shook her head. “Not at all.”

“She’s coming here. Stop lying.” Joey tilted his head toward Jayleen. “I’ll give you a grand if you tell me where she is.”

Jayleen stopped whimpering. Her gaze sharpened. “I don’t know, but Michelle will tell you. It’s for a grand, Michelle. Come on.”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said firmly.

Joey moved fast. He slapped Michelle across the face—sharp, brutal.

Pain exploded through her cheekbone. She barely kept herself from launching at him. Her hands tightened around the table.

“I wouldn’t,” said the bald man by the door, licking his lips.

Michelle knew she couldn’t take both of them.

Joey moved to hit her again. She ducked.

“Kowalski, grab the old lady,” he barked.

The bald guy pushed off the door. Jayleen cried out, scrambling to her feet.

“Please, Michelle. Help me.”

Michelle stood. “I really don’t know where Meri is,” she said quickly. “But I can give you her phone number.”

Joey paused. “Dooby Brown is back in Seattle. He can trace it.”

Jayleen gasped. “Dooby Brown?”

Joey turned on her. “Shut up.”

He looked back at Michelle. “Number?”

Michelle rattled off Meri’s phone number.

“Thanks.” Joey scanned the apartment and snagged her tablet off the table.

“No.” Panic surged. Michelle lunged for it.

They fought, but Joey yanked it free, sending her crashing into the table.

Her temple cracked against the edge, and she dropped to the floor, stars exploding across her vision.

Joey laughed. “Let’s go find my money. Maybe we’ll come back for a visit. I always liked a chick with spunk.”

Michelle’s ears buzzed. She clawed at the chair to steady herself.

“I have friends in Homeland Defense, dickhead,” she ground out. “I’m making that call next.”

“Right,” Joey said, snorting. He and Kowalski disappeared through the broken door.

Jayleen straightened. “You okay?”

“No,” Michelle whispered.

She dragged herself upright and left a message for the one man who’d always had her back: “Raider? I think I’m in trouble. Call me.”

The phone slipped from her hand as she collapsed to the floor.

Darkness claimed her.

At some point, she crawled to the sofa and passed out again. The screech of tires outside jolted her awake at dawn.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

It couldn’t be Raider. Not yet.

The door burst open.

Not Raider.

Someone else from her past.

Someone she’d tried very hard to forget.

“Well, crap,” she muttered as he filled the doorway.

This was all she needed.

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