“Fifteen hundred,” one man said. “She’s damaged goods. Tracks on her arms. Nobody wants a junkie.”
“Two grand,” another countered. “She’s young. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Still profitable.”
They laughed. One slapped her. I heard it through the wall. Then the third man spoke, and his voice made my skin crawl. “Five thousand. Final offer. I’ll take her to Denver. Have her working by sunrise. She’ll make that back in a month.”Continue reading…
