A clink of metal against metal provides me the signal. It’s go time. Officer DF loosens his duty belt and pushes down his pants. They sag under his white, hairy ass. His fat fingers fumble with the hem of the girl’s skirt. I dart forward, clinging to the shadows. He’s inside of her when I reach him. Or, at least, he’s busy thrusting into something and doesn’t notice the loss of the police radio from his belt.

  The prostie doesn’t notice either. Her eyes are closed. Probably focusing on something pretty to get her through this bad fuck.

  Because I practiced, it takes me less than thirty seconds to bust open the radio, insert the bug and then return the radio to its holster. Another thirty seconds has me back into my hiding place behind a dumpster. Good thing, too, because Officer DF is a three-pump chump. His loud groan of satisfaction fills the alleyway.

  I check on the girl, whose face is filled with confusion. She mouths something to me. I can’t read her lips, so I back up until my body brushes hers. I dip my head low and point to my ear.

  She bends forward, whispering so lightly that I can’t even feel her breath on my skin. “Is man hurt?”

  I shake my head no. She slumps backward, her small brow bunched together.

  There’s the sound of a hand slapping flesh. I poke my head out to see that it’s just him tapping the whore’s ass and not her face.

  “Dammit, Patty, you made me come too fast,” he complains as he hauls his pants upright. “Next time you’re gonna be on your knees, sucking me good. You hear me?”

  Patty replies, but her voice is too quiet for me to make out the words. It must be a yes, or something close to it, because Officer DF slaps her ass again before zipping up.

  “Good girl. Now, we’re going to have a probie working next week. Don’t come on to him until I give you the okay. Got it?”

  This time she nods.

  “We don’t know if he’s into this or not. If he’s not, he’s probably a fucking twinkie, but your guy sells boys, too, right?”

  Patty shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I work for myself,” she says.

  Officer DF pinches her chin. “You lie to me and it won’t be good for you.”

  Patty twists her head out of his grip—which I think is a bad idea. She’s thin and small. A bundle of toothpicks held together by stretchy fabric. The cop agrees. He punches her in the gut. She folds in half, her cry of pain filling the alleyway. My fist clenches at my side, and my gut churns at my own helplessness, but I’m no hero. If I go out and help Patty, I’m gonna get nailed.

  There’s a tug on the back of my T-shirt. I turn to see the little girl twisting the cloth into her fist. She’s trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. I peel her fingers away and give her a rough shake of my head. I can’t have her hanging on me or distracting me. She retreats into the shadows, a tiny ball of misery.

  I’d feel bad, but I don’t have the luxury of pity—haven’t had it. Ever.

  I direct my attention back to the cop. He’s our biggest danger. The cop hauls Patty upright by her hair. Black streaks down from her eyes, and the red on her lips she used to attract the cop’s attention is smeared, clown-like, around her mouth.

  “You going to treat my probie right next week?” he asks.

  Patty nods obediently.

  “Good.” He yanks hard on her hair once more before releasing her. She stumbles but manages to right herself. “And brush your goddamned teeth next time. You taste like a fucking ashtray.”

  He wipes his hand across his mouth. Creep had his dick in Patty’s pussy and he’s mad about the taste of her mouth. That shit is stupid and wrong. He adjusts his gear belt, gives her a brief nod and walks off. His boot heels make a crunching noise as he stomps out of the alley.

  Patty waits until he’s cleared the opening of the alley before scurrying out.

  I give her a minute head start before creeping forward. A squeak of anxiety escapes the little girl behind me.

  “I’m checking to make sure it’s all clear. I’ll be back. Promise.”

  Her big dark eyes have tears in them. Whatever her age is, she knows one important thing. Most promises aren’t worth shit.

  I reach under the hem of my jeans and tug the wad of money out of my sock. I hand it to her. “This is all the cash I got in the world. If you don’t believe I’ll come back for you, believe I’ll come back for that.”

  She doesn’t make a move to take it, so I stuff it into her lap, my hand brushing against her bony ribcage. My own stomach clenches sympathetically. I haven’t had a crumb today either.

  “After I check out Officer Dickhead, we’ll eat. Keep my loot safe. ’Kay?”

  That earns me a tiny nod. Good enough.

  I spring to my feet and hug the shadows as I make my way to the sidewalk. Patty is a block down, getting shoulder pats from the other girls in the stable. The cop is in his patrol car, head down, doing fuck knows what. I flip my hood up and continue in the opposite direction until I reach a black, ten-year-old El Camino. The window rolls down just far enough so I can see a fist and a thumb pointing upward.

  I don’t stop or nod or give a hand signal in return. I just keep walking. The listening device has been planted, and from the sign of approval, it’s working. From what I gathered this morning, the bug I planted allows my boss to listen in to a private police channel on the radio. He thinks the cops he bought might be working against him—either with a rival gang or a plant from the feds.

  I walk two more blocks down, in case the eyes in the El Camino are watching me. Then I hang a right. Hunching low, sticking to the dark spaces, I make my way through backyards and alleys until I reach the wooden fence. I run up the brick wall and use the angle to propel myself high enough to grab the top of the fence. Effortlessly, the momentum carries me over. I drop to the ground, tucking myself into a ball and rolling to a stop not far from the girl, who hasn’t moved an inch.

  I find the wad of money tucked exactly where I left it.

  “You hungry?” I ask, dusting myself off.

  She nods.

  “Come on, then.” I jerk my head toward the side door of the apartment building. It opens after a sharp kick.

  She follows behind me, moving lightly and quietly. Her tennies don’t make any noise. Quick learning, I think. I lead her up the stairs, looking for the right apartment. The third one down, left side with small tennis shoes on the mat next to a larger pair of work boots, fits the bill. Slipping my knife out of my sock, I make quick work with the lock.

  The apartment is dark. I position the girl by the front door and motion for her to stay. Silently, I move down the hall. The living room is empty. There are two bedroom doors, one is slightly ajar. The junk inside tells me it’s the mom’s room.

  I twist the knob of the other room. Jackpot. There’s a doll on the floor and a stuffed animal on the bed. Inside a small dresser, I find what I need. I jam the stuff under my own shirt and then leave two twenties on the dresser. I take the girl to the stairwell.

  I hand her everything. “Can you dress yourself?”

  She stares at the pile of stuff in her arms and then at me. Sighing, I take the clothes and drop them on the floor. Holding up the jeans, I say, “Legs in.”

  She places a tiny thin hand on my shoulder for balance and steps into the clothes. They’re way too big for her, but shit, too big is better than the ripped, dirty thing she’s got on. I motion for her to pull the nightgown up over her head and then turn around. I can hear her struggling but keep my eyes down. At the small tap in the middle of my back, I twist around to see her dressed, with the sweatshirt on backwards. It’s good enough.

  I roll up the sleeves three times before the tips of her fingers peek out. The socks, which I think are ankle ones, go up to her shins.

  Resting on my haunches, I take a look at her. She’s a drowned rat in this stuff. I pull the last piece off the floor. It’s a knit cap. I fit it over her head, tucking her long hair up until there’s not a strand hanging down.

  “I’m hungry,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “Let’s eat.”

  She follows me down the three flights of stairs. We exit out the back of the building—away from the cop, Patty, and the El Camino. I’m a fast learner, too. You have to be to survive on the streets. Information is key. The more you know about a person, the more you can control them.

  So I keep all my shit locked down tight. Not that I have a lot of shit right now. Other than the cash that’s back in my sock and a few other pieces I’ve managed to squirrel away, I don’t own anything. But I will. Someday.

  About the Author

  Jen Frederick is the USA Today bestselling author of Unspoken, part of the Woodlands series, and Sacked, part of the Gridiron series. She is also the co-author of the New York Times Bestselling series, The Royals. She lives in the Midwest with a husband who keeps track of life’s details while she’s writing, a daughter who understands when Mom disappears into her office for hours at a time, and a rambunctious dog who does neither.

  Drop her a line:

  jenfrederick.com

  jensfrederick@gmail.com

  Also by Jen Frederick

  Want You

  Sacked (Knox & Ellie)

  Jockblocked (Matty & Lucy)

  Downed (Ace & Bryant)

  Undeclared (Woodlands #1)

  Undressed (Woodlands #1.5)

  Unspoken (Woodlands #2)

  Unraveled (Woodlands #3)

  Unrequited (Woodlands #4)

  Unwritten (Woodlands #5)

  Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)

  Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

  Revealed to Him

  Last Hit (Hitman #1)

  Last Breath (Hitman #2)

  Last Hit: Reloaded (Hitman #2.5)

  Last Kiss (Hitman #3)

  Last Hope (Hitman #4)

  Copyright © 2018 by Jen Frederick

  Cover Design by Alexa Riley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

 

 

  Jen Frederick, Bombshell

 

 

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