Chapter 1
Sham Sacrifice
An offer of material, which is made at no risk
The burst of pollen hit Scout’s nose, like a feather laced with pepper. No, she couldn’t sneeze. If she sneezed, she’d get glassy-eyed and look as if she were crying when she certainly had not been crying.
As a matter of fact, she hadn’t cried for days. After what was likely the most trying five days of her
life, Scout made a vow to never cry again. Tears were useless and, frankly, a big pain in her girly ass.
As she shifted to the shade out of the warm May sun, her pale pink dress shirt was a light cover to
her skin. Her heavy gray wool slacks, however, were not. Coming directly from work and living out of
a small bag for the past week hadn’t left her much choice in the wardrobe department. Pavement
smacked beneath her Nikes along the busy Folsom sidewalks with each determined stride.
For five long days, Scout contemplated her predicament. She’d always aimed to be something more
than homeless, but tolerated her circumstances all the same. Now, however, things had changed. There
was no way she was going back to where she’d started.
Her memory was an endless revolving door of strife, covered in a bleary haze, smothering the
prettier things in this world. Scout never had pretty things. Well, that wasn’t true. Lucian gave her
many pretty things. He also gave her away.
The pain hadn’t subsided. It was very real and seething angrily inside of her. Scout simply made a
decision to channel that anger into something worthwhile. And that was what today was all about,
something worthwhile.
She was worthwhile. So worthwhile, it was possible to put aside the hurt and the sting of his
betrayal to do something for herself.
For twenty-three years she had struggled to survive. At age four she was diving in dumpsters for the
smallest scrap of salvageable food. At age seven she’d been scavenging while other girls her age
played house and learned their ABC’s. Scout never played house, because she didn’t know the first
thing about living in a home. And she never learned her ABC’s, because her mother, the only person
Scout ever had to look up to, didn’t know how to teach her.
Pearl wasn’t a typical mother either. She never baked cookies, sang lullabies or kissed scraped
knees. Rather, she cooked crack, mumbled ramblings of a stoned soul and gave her body to men who
funded her next high. Scout was likely seven by the time she realized if you gave certain things to
men, they’d give you almost anything in return; yet she never wanted to go down that same degrading
road.
Scout wanted to be somebody. Her needs were more basic. She wanted four walls and a roof to call home. She wanted a key for her own front door. She wanted a job, and she wanted money for food and
heat, and clothing thick enough to keep her warm even in the coldest blizzard.
Now she was halfway there. She had a job working at Clemons Market. It wasn’t a spectacular place
to work, but she liked it. The people treated her nice. And her boss, even though he sometimes gave
her the creeps, was tolerable.
Her last boss expected much, much more. He expected her heart. The son of a bitch got it too. Scout was still dealing with that emotional fallout.
Lucian Patras was likely a name she’d always know. He was a person quite difficult to forget. She
tried. Lord knew she tried, but he was inside her, like a tattoo inked deep into her flesh. She couldn’t wash him away no matter how much she wanted to.
Scout finally admitted that he’d used her, and with that shameful admission came some much-
needed clarity. She could use him too.
She required a plan. Lucian had taught her many things. He taught her how to make love. He taught
her how to socialize with aristocrats. He taught her how to play chess. And he taught her that she was
more than a lost cause. However, he also taught her what it feels like to be truly fucked over.
She learned the agony of a broken heart, the torment of betrayal, and the misery of knowing the one
person she wanted was the one she could never have. Her intimate relationship with Lucian was over.
One didn’t have to be literate to read between the lines. She was given a chance to see behind the
scenes as to how men of wealth play the game. She might not know how to count very well or be able
to read heavy books, but Scout was not a stupid person. And she was a survivor.
Business was business, and so long as she kept the intimacy at bay, she could do what she needed to
do. Scout’s abbreviated taste of high society left nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth, and it was
time to change the game.
Rounding the corner, Scout brushed her moist palms down the coarse wool covering her thighs. She