Page 4 of Wild (Chicago Underground 4)
In the interim since I’d quit, I had counted down the days until I wouldn’t stink of dirty money. Until I would be worthy of him. But yearning wasn’t enough to buy a new life. Pity was worth nothing, and self-pity even less. I, however, was worth a whole awful lot. My daddy had taught me early and taught me often. I may have been born a whore, but I’d always been high priced.
My fancy, high-rise condo was suddenly unbearable, the pictures of Allie and Bailey tainted, the extravagant knickknacks lining the mantel muddied. This had never been a home, but now it wasn’t even safe. My skin crawled, and with nothing on me but my keys and a crumpled gray suit, I left my apartment and hit the stairs.
Chapter Three
Parties were dangerous, but they were nothing compared to streetwalking. I didn’t look like a working girl tonight, just a poor sap whose car had broken down in the wrong part of town. Because even though I paid a ridiculous sum to live in my condo off the books, the streets were a different stratosphere.
Glossy buildings jutted from the concrete like shards of glass, untouchable from the smog-drenched alleyways. Bums gathered behind Dumpsters, burning pinches of weed in a bonfire to keep warm. Urgent sounds of cars squealing, slamming, speeding ricocheted off the concrete walls.
I saw a girl hovering against a building. Her clothes were tight and revealing, ordinary. As a whore, she looked downright virtuous, but I recognized that stillness.
Her too-young body and timid posture would attract only the worst kind of client—if she even found anyone. The sallow light of the streetlamps only lit cracks in the sidewalk tonight. If she was counting on a john to buy her dinner, her stomach would probably go empty.
Cautious, I approached her. No sudden movements. She froze when she noticed me but didn’t meet my eyes. Smart girl.
I stopped a few feet away and leaned back against the wall, looking out. “Hey.”
“Am I in your spot?” Her voice trembled.
Was she too scared to notice how I was dressed? Or maybe just too damned perceptive. “I don’t work the street.”
“Oh.”
I cast her a sideways glance. She stared at the ground, clutching the dirty concrete wall behind her.
“You don’t want to be out here,” I said.
“No?” she said on an exhale.
“The men here—they’re rough. You know what I mean?”
Her mouth tightened. She could only be all of fifteen or so, but she knew what I meant.
She licked her lips. “Wh-where should I go?”
“I know a place.” She wouldn’t like it, not at first, but it was where she needed to go. “I can show you.”
She examined me, trying to see beneath the surface, but I could have told her it was a futile occupation. There wasn’t anything there.
“Maybe we’ll pick up a burger on the way,” I said.
A low-pitched grumble emanated from her stomach. She clasped her arms around her waist.
“I’m not going with you.”
A hint of scorn entered her voice. Where she’d gotten that lick of spirit from, I didn’t know—not when she looked about to keel over from hunger and fear.
“Sweetheart, do you think I’m going to hurt you worse than a guy you find out here?”
She shook her head, more in denial at what I was suggesting. Better she hear it from me than suffer it at their hands. “They won’t just fuck you, honey. They’ll make it hurt. In your cunt, in your mouth. You ever take it in the ass?”
Her eyes widened. Her upper body canted forward, bent over at her arms. I might have worried she would throw up if I thought she’d had anything to eat today.
If I told her I wasn’t going to do anything to her, she wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t have. “Some of them don’t even care about the fuck. They just want someone to wail on. Beat you up, leave you for dead. Whatever I’m going to do to you, it’s gotta be better than that, right?”
“P-p-please,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
She looked so pitiful, so desperate for comfort as she stood there hugging herself. I wouldn’t touch her, but I could take her to someone who could. They would take care of her, and I would be absolved once again.
