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So, I manage the thing I couldn’t for the last couple of hours, and I push myself up with my numb legs.

Silence stretches between us. I’m itching to ask him what he wants again. To find out the price. But it doesn’t matter, does it?

Whatever it is, I’m going to pay.

“You want this money, right? For your kid?” He gestures to the cash.

“Man, that’s like asking a guy if he wants to eat or breathe.”

He pulls a face. “Not everyone gives a shit about their kids.”

Right. My parents are decent examples. They tried, but they could barely manage caring for themselves.

My throat sticks when I try to swallow. “I’m not letting her down.”

He nods. “Kids are expensive. You’ll need a place to live. Diapers. Formula.”

“The hospital says they’ll give me some samples,” I say stupidly. Even I know those won’t last long.

Dread washes through me when he unsnaps the gun at his hip and holds it out. “What if I told you to take this piece and go handle someone for me? You’d do that? For your kid?”

Ella’s little face fills my head. The last time I saw her, she was bundled up like a burrito in the nursery, eyes all wide and intelligent like her momma’s. She had her tiny, light brown lips pursed and her forehead scrunched into a frown as if she already had serious concerns about the parent she’d been handed.

“Anything,” I say, more to myself than the man in front of me.

He’ll want me to prove it. With a shaking hand, I reach for the gun.

As I put my hand out the man yanks the weapon away, laughing. “Just fucking with you, man, Jesus.”

God. I rub my palm against the side of my face. “You’re a genuine piece of shit, you know that? Here I am with my life in shreds and a little girl who needs me, and you’re sitting there making jokes?”

“You have options, you know. Find a shelter. Give her up for adoption. Go and live your life and let her go to a family that can give her what you can’t.”

“Screw you.” I’d spit at him if I didn’t think he might shoot me. The problem is, he’s right. The hospital sent a social worker to talk to me, and she laid it all out. Letting Ella go to a good family would be the sensible thing. Maybe even the best thing.

I can’t do it, though. Any of it. Shelters don’t seem entirely safe. And when Billie called to tell me she was pregnant, I promised her I’d help. Swore I’d look after them both, and on one count I’ve already failed. I can’t fail at this, too. What if, wherever Ella ended up, they didn’t love her the way she deserved?

I’d storm out if I thought I could. I intend to, in fact, but at the moment, I think I might be sick.

“Okay, look. Chill. I was only trying to take your temperature.”

I’m not really sure what that means.

But I figure it out when his hand goes to his zipper. “Wanted to see if you’d really be willing to do anything.”

“Oh.” If he didn’t have a gun, I’d punch him.

He inches his fly open one quiet click at a time. Each one makes my heart beat faster.

“I’ve got a new business venture going. Plenty of girls on my roster, but I’ve had a lot of requests for guys. You’ve got a nice muscular body, big blue eyes. All that pretty, peachy-tan skin. Probably don’t have a single tattoo marking you up, do you?”

It’s an effort not to choke on my own tongue. “No, sir.”

“You can make some good money, Dean. More importantly, so can I.” He pops his button open. “Come over here and show me what you got, pretty boy.”

“Here? Now? You’re serious?” I glance at the door.

“That’s right, someone could walk in any second. Better get to work.”