“It’s not a hard choice, Ella. Sleep with me, or your dirty little secret is out.”

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It wasn’t a hard choice.

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It was an impossible one.

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If I were in my right mind, I’d close my eyes and let Gary do to me what he’d always wanted to. There were many times during my life I could have done just that. Maybe he would have scratched that itch and never come back for more, but because I’d always turned him down, it had become more than an itch for him.

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It had become an all-out rash.

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“I’d rather lick my own day-old vomit off the floor than sleep with you.” Shit. Those words poured out of my mouth before I’d fully thought this through.

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Sleeping with Gary was the logical choice. My life would be so much easier. I’d have probably received that bank loan I fiercely needed to pour into our little farm that so desperately needed to be repaired. Fences, gates, livestock, food. Hell, I’d even settle for a safe powerline that didn’t crackle whenever it rained. I needed food for the livestock so I could sell the wool to my one and only client. But no food equaled sick sheep, low-quality wool and no client.

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As son of the mayor in this little godforsaken town on the outskirts of bum-fuck nowhere, Gary the sleezy little prick, held all the aces. His father was a crony of the bank manager, who was figuratively in bed with the local bible-wielding minister, who had tainted everyone for miles around with his tripe about hell and redemption and had brainwashed everyone into a very sickening version of holier-than-thou born-again Christianity.

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Mayor Ellis Myers held everyone’s legal rights and police force in his right hand. Herman White, the bank manager held everyone’s money in left hand, and minister Jeremiah White held everyone’s soul in the pits of his fat, fleshy, sausage-fingered hands. The Holy Trinity of Conway.

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I couldn’t look sideways when I went into town without someone pontificating on about how pathetic I was to live on my dinky little out-of-the-way farm with my mother. I should be married by now, with ten kids. Wanted any more out of life than that? You were flat out of luck if you lived around Conway.

​

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Sounded archaic? That was my life in this hick-town I couldn’t seem to escape.

If I could sell our farm, I’d bundle Mom into the car and get the hell out of here, into a city where I could lose myself. I’d get Mom to decent medical care in an affordable facility and never, ever look back. I’d just never been able to get that far. Something always came up to keep me nailed down here.

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As it was, Gary’s dad had scared off anyone from looking at this farm, despite the rock-bottom price I’d put on it. My one customer was the only buffer between me and the town. If I didn’t have my customer, I’d be forced to sleep with Gary so the townsfolk would be “allowed” to do business with me.

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It wasn’t like I was spoiled by a choice of new customers. This town was isolated from larger cities, tucked in the Berkshire Mountains, and the close-knit population tended to chase off outsiders. The weather could turn terrible here in the winter, when the horrible nor’easter storms would hit with anger and dump snow measured in feet.

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I’d taken Mom to a friend’s house hoping she’d have a nice evening away from the house for once. I’d left her my car so that she’d be able to get home, as I had work to do, only to find Gary walking out of my front door, with my Grimoire clutched in his meaty hands, while Dean stood outside. I hated to think they’d broken in and had rifled around my things while no-one was there. My fists curled and uncurled with impotent anger.

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“That might be your only source of food. Wouldn’t want Minister Jeremiah to find out just what you’ve got, would we now?” Gary’s smile was more a grimace that was overshadowed by his flabby cheeks and three-day growth.

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Dean giggled like a little girl, safe in the knowledge he’d never be on the outs like me. Not when he was the minister’s son.

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“Give it back to me, Gary. You have no right to walk into my house when I’m not home!”  Let alone snoop around like it was his God-given right. Rage made me tremble and I hated showing weakness. Especially to him.

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“You know it’s against the law to have contraband like this.” Gary flipped his thumb over the pages.

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“Don’t!” I held out my hand to stop him ruffling through the delicate parchment, my feet coming onto the bottom step. That book was centuries old, carried down from a long-lost ancestor – my third removed great grandmother, to be accurate. “It’s a family heirloom.”

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Not to mention my most prized possession.

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I knew every page like the back of my hand, wishing like anything the spells I knew by heart were actually real magic. That I could cure my mother’s mystifying illness, restore her to perfect health, get out of this town and live my fullest life.

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But that was only fiction.

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Wishful thinking.

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If I lost my customer, I’d have to sell it. It would provide us enough money for food, heating and a few months of survival. The truth was, that book was worth far more than an heirloom.

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It was my last straw.

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“It’s heresy.”

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God, I wished I could wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. “Give it back, Gary. It’s not even mine. It belongs to my mother.”

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Of course, it would eventually be mine, but it was still my mother’s, passed to her from her mother. And so on.

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Gary’s eyes narrowed and gleamed. An uneasy feeling swept through me, making me sweat despite the frigid air. “Then your mother will be taken into custody.”

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My heart thumped to a stop. “You can’t do that to her.” She was too weak to be forgotten in some cold, dank cell. I couldn’t – wasn’t – going to let that happen.

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“Then you know what you have to do, Ella.” He cupped his balls and licked his lips. “Sleep with me and I’ll forget all about this little thing.” Gary punctuated the air with my Grimoire.

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“Yeah, this little thing,” Dean repeated.

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“Just stop talking about the size of your dick, Gary,” I couldn’t help myself. Again.

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“What?” Gary clutched my book in just in one hand, but he was looking down at his pants as though to check the package I’d insulted.

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I didn’t pause long enough to deal with the outrage I knew was coming. I jumped the remaining steps, grabbed my Grimoire out of his hands, bolted down the porch stairs and dove into the open door of Gary’s truck. The idiot had left the keys in the ignition. I had the motor started and was backing out, the wheels spinning in the mud, before he stumbled down the porch steps towards me, a look of horror on his ruddy face.

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He pointed at me. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret, Ella.”

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I only paused to give him a one-finger salute before spinning the steering wheel and turning the truck onto the road. I pressed the clutch and threw it in first. “The only thing I regret is not kicking you in the nuts before I took back my book, you souless asshole.”

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I lifted the clutch, pressed the gas and zoomed down the road in a squeal of Gary’s brand-new tires.