shut the door, locking her out. "You owe a hundred and seventeen dollars."
She groaned, setting the items on the ground beside her luggage. Slipping her hand into the back pocket of her shorts, she pulled out all the money she had on her. "Here's seventy-five dollars. I'll get you the rest tomorrow night after work."
The manager shook his head and walked away from her. She hurried to catch up with him.
"Come on. I know you're a nice man." She stepped in front of him, stopping him from going into the office. "Give me a little more time. Please?"
"You have five minutes to get off the lot, or I'm calling the police." The manager looked at his watch.
Frustrated, she stormed back to her belongings and hefted everything to her car. Once finished, she got into the driver's seat and reversed out of the parking lot. The only other place with any vacancies was a high-end hotel that would take all her money for one night. And for what? A roof over her head and a lock on the door?
She couldn't afford to pay more, and she wouldn't get paid until Monday.
Driving around the block—three times, she gave up. She was out of options. Now that she couldn't depend on herself, she would either have to go back to Big or tuck tail and go see her sister.
She would never go back to Big after the way he'd treated her. No matter how many times he begged or threatened her—depending on his mood.
She was done with him.
If she could go back and take away the night she'd met him and her stupid decision to stay at his house to save money, she would in a heartbeat.
Though she never wanted to admit she'd made a few bad decisions, she'd need to go ask her sister for a place to crash. Just until she had more money where she could get a cheap apartment instead of staying at a motel.
Turning off the main drag, she headed to South Tenth. Her mood soured. Angie was thirteen months older than her and had always fought. Her parents pit them against each other, making the sibling rivalry worse by always making an example out of her.
'Don't act like Twyla.'
'Don't lie like Twyla, or you'll get grounded, too.'
'Twyla, why can't you be more like your sister? She never causes us problems.'
She grew up hating the way they treated her. As if she was the example of what her sister shouldn't do, even though she was the youngest. Angie hated her for getting all her parents' attention.
The attention she never asked for but received all the same. If verbal abuse was called attention.
She was far from perfect but not once had her parents made her feel loved or showered her with the positive praise Angie received from them.
By the time she was thirteen years old, she had given up on trying to gain favoritism. If they couldn't love her for who she was, then she'd live her own life on her own terms.
Once she matured, she'd done what she wanted, paying no attention to curfews or rules. Eventually, her parents stopped caring. No one noticed when she stole a shirt from Meier and Frank. No one noticed when she went joyriding in her father's car before she was legally old enough to drive. No one noticed when she lost her virginity at fifteen years old.
Exhaling loudly at the sight of a motorcycle parked in front of her sister's two-bedroom cottage, she parked along the street. It wouldn't surprise her if Angie hooked up with a biker after finding out she'd moved in with Big.
She and Big only lived together for one month. Not long enough to save her money like she'd planned.
Knowing Angie, she was probably making her way through whatever biker club let her hang around, trying to outdo her. As if dating an outlaw was cool.
No, thanks. She wasn't playing that game. One biker was enough for her. She was swearing off the rest of them. The next guy she dated would have a nine-to-five job and drive a Celica or pickup.
She shut off the car. Leaving her things in the vehicle, she walked up to the front door. Music blared inside. She looked out at the street. It wasn't the best neighborhood in town.
Houses were literally ten feet apart up and down the block, with matching houses across the road. A few children played two driveways down, and a pizza delivery car roared past.
Lifting her hand,