On The Run

Erin’s Pov

I was running again.

My lungs burned, my legs felt like they were made of fire, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them open. Every step echoed in my ears, too loud, too desperate. Behind me, I could hear them. The men I owed more money than I’d ever be able to pay back. Their boots pounded against the pavement, their voices filled the night like curses meant to drag me down.

“Stop running, pretty boy!” one of them shouted. “We’ll make it quick if you stop now!”

‘Quick.’

I almost laughed, but I couldn’t waste air on it. I knew better. I’d heard what they did to people who couldn’t pay them back. Quick wasn’t in their vocabulary. These were men who dragged time out, who carved it into you with blades and fire until you begged for death.

If they caught me, they’d cut me open, take what they wanted from inside me, or worse—skin me alive.

I didn’t know which was worse, losing my organs or my skin, but both options made my stomach twist in panic. That’s why I kept running.

And as I ran, a single thought beat harder in my head than my heart: how the hell did my life turn into this?

A month ago, I was untouchable. I was sitting high above the city in my penthouse, drinking whiskey worth more than most people’s rent.

I was a hotshot stockbroker, the kind of guy people pointed at and said, he’s going places. I had the expensive suits, the fast car, the women who laughed at jokes that weren’t funny because they liked the way my money smelled. I thought the world was mine.

And now? Now I was running like a rat, my breath stinking of fear instead of cigars and brandy.

It made me want to scream at myself. How did I get so stupid? How did I think I could cheat the system, borrow from devils, and come out clean? I thought I was clever. I thought I’d borrow, patch up my losses, double it, triple it, and pay them back before they even blinked.

But the market doesn’t care about clever men. It doesn’t care about plans or pride. It swallowed me whole in a single night, and all that was left was the debt.

The loan sharks didn’t care about excuses. To them, a million wasn’t just a number. It was a knife at my throat. It was chains on my ankles. And the interest they tacked on every week? It turned numbers into death sentences.

My chest screamed at me to stop, but my fear screamed louder. I darted around a corner, nearly falling when my shoe skidded on gravel. The street narrowed here, choked in shadows. It smelled of piss and smoke, and it felt like the kind of place people disappeared.

I needed to hide.

My eyes darted everywhere until I spotted it—a half-open gate leading into some forgotten back alley. Without thinking, I shoved myself through and pulled it shut, pressing my back against the cold brick wall.

The footsteps got louder. My breath froze in my chest.

They ran past, shouting to each other. The sound of their boots rattled against the walls until it faded into the distance.

I didn’t breathe until it was silent. Then I let out a shaky exhale, my body trembling. My knees nearly gave out. For a second, I thought I might collapse right there on the dirty ground.

I’d escaped, for now.

But I couldn’t keep this up forever. How many times could I run before they cornered me, dragged me out into the open, and carved me like meat? How many more close calls until it was my blood painting the street?

I wiped sweat off my face, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Going home wasn’t an option. The penthouse wasn’t mine anymore anyway, and even if it was, I knew they’d be waiting. They were patient men. They could sit outside for days, weeks, until I walked right into their arms.

No, I couldn’t go back.

And I didn’t have anywhere else. My so-called friends vanished the moment I fell. They used to call me genius, toast glasses with me, beg me for advice. Now they wouldn’t even pick up the phone. I was like a coffee stain in a white shirt. Nobody wanted to stand close to a man who was falling apart.

My throat ached, dry and raw. Not just from running. I was thirsty, and the thirst was sharp enough that it cut through the fear.

I forced myself to move. Slowly at first, then faster, head low, steps careful. I stuck to the shadows until the glow of a convenience store appeared ahead. It wasn’t much, just a dull with peeled paints, flickering sign and a dirty window not the usual 5 stars mall I used to shop at before.

The bell above the door gave a tired jingle when I pushed it open. Inside smelled like cigarettes and stale bread. A man sat behind the counter, half-asleep, flipping through a magazine. He didn’t even look at me.

Good. The less attention, the better.

I headed for the fridge at the back, grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and drank deep. The cold hit my throat like salvation, sliding down into the dryness and loosening the knot in my chest. For a second, I closed my eyes, nearly groaning at how good it felt.

When I opened them, I saw a poster staring at me.

It was stuck to the wall near the entrance, half-covered by other scraps of paper, cheap phone repairs, pawn shop deals, job ads that paid pennies. But this one stood out. Bold red marker at the top.

NANNY WANTED

I blinked, my brain trying to make sense of it. A nanny?

Then I read the line underneath, and my breath caught.

Pay: Two Million. Advance Payment Available.