Fifteen-year-old Felicia was a tall, beautiful Dhampir.
Her mother, Samir, was an undocumented Mexican immigrant. Because of her status, the poor woman had been controlled by the bar's former owner for twenty years, and had even ended up bearing Felicia for that fat man.
Samir had once been very beautiful, but endless labor, years of mental torment, and domestic abuse had worn away her spirit.
But fifteen-year-old Felicia was different. She had been born in the United States, and even her beast of a father couldn't stop her from going to school.
She couldn't avoid working at the bar, or dealing with her uncle's endless harassment on top of that, but Felicia had still managed to grow up.
Old bruiser Mahone was right. Felicia was a knockout, and she'd spent years preparing to get revenge on her father and her gangster uncle.
Who could have guessed that before she was ready, one day a terrifying-looking Black kid would suddenly show up with several vicious thugs, buy the bar, and, by the way, "buy" her and her mother too?
Felicia wasn't stupid. She understood that Richard wanted to help her and her mother, and she'd realized that this towering, ugly brute had a personality entirely different from his appearance.
Felicia had never attended a good school, and most of the people she'd met were scum. From a very young age, she'd been intensely wary of all men.
But when Richard appeared, the precocious Felicia felt a sense of security she'd never experienced before.
That feeling had nothing to do with money. It came from the quiet determination and composure Richard carried himself with.
At Nick's teasing, Felicia blushed for once, then awkwardly looked away from Richard, turned, and picked up a mop to help her mother clean the floor behind the