The sex toy store was tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat on a strip of road that had long since given up on respectability. The windows were tinted black, the sign above the door read "Pleasure Paradise" in faded pink letters, and the bell above the door gave a tiny jingle when Caroline pushed it open.

Eric had kissed her forehead that morning, told her it would be easy money, and reminded her that she owed him. For what, he hadn't said. But she knew. She owed him for the bus. For the changing room. For the photos that lived on his phone like a leash around her throat.