Page 1 of My Girl to Protect
Prologue
Cammi
Please be asleep.
I stand outside apartment 3B with my hand on the knob, not turning it yet, the strap of my bag twisted tight around my fingers. The hallway reeks of cigarettes and old grease. The yellow overhead light flickers, buzzing softly like it might give up any second. Just like everything else in this building.
One quiet night. That's all I want—one night where I can slip into my room, lock the door, and pretend this place isn’t slowly suffocating me.
I push the door open. The smell hits me first. Alcohol. Cheap whiskey and something sour. My stomach sinks. The living room is dim—just the blue flicker of the TV and the lamp in the far corner, its light not quite reaching the couch. Some late-night game show plays too loudly. An empty bottle lies on its side near the carpet’s edge.
I exhale slowly. Just Mom, I think. I keep my bag on my shoulder—I’ve learned not to leave anything where she or Rick can pick through it—and move carefully through the room toward the hallway, my shoes soft against the floor.
Their bedroom door is open. I glance inside. My mother is sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging over the edge, herblond hair tangled across her face. An empty glass sits on the nightstand beside her.
Passed out. Again.
A familiar ache spreads through my chest, but I push it down. Nothing new. I turn away quietly. Almost to my room. Almost safe.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”
My entire body locks.
The voice comes from the couch. Rick. Of course, he’s here. My mother’s boyfriend has lived here eight months now—long enough to stop pretending to be charming, long enough that I’ve learned to read the danger in him before he says a word.
I close my eyes for half a second, gathering myself before I turn. He’s slouched against the cushions, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he owns the place. His beer bottle dangles loosely from his fingers.
His eyes slide over me slowly. Too slowly. A crawl of unease creeps up my spine.
“You’re out late,” he says.
I keep my voice soft. Neutral. “I had a double shift.”
“Hmm.”
His gaze drifts down my body. My skin prickles. I wrap my arms around myself instinctively.
“Well,” he drawls, “that uniform sure does you favors.”
My throat tightens. I hate the way he looks at me. Like he’s already imagining things.
“Goodnight, Rick,” I say quickly, turning toward my room.
I just need to get inside. Close the door. Turn the lock. That’s all. I reach my door and slip inside.
A hand slams against it before I can shut it. The door swings open again. Rick fills the space behind me. My pulse jumps.
“Why so jumpy, sweetheart?” he says, his breath thick with alcohol.
I step backward into my room automatically. “Just tired,” I murmur.
He leans against the doorframe like he has nowhere better to be. His eyes roam again. Slow. Lazy.
Hungry.
“You know,” he says, “you get prettier every time I see you.”
My stomach twists. “Rick…”
