1
Penny
Don't panic, Penny, I instruct myself.
I drag in several deep breaths through my nose, going over all the bullshit meditation advice that Holly gives me when I get like this. I slip my hand into my pocket, running my thumb over the little worry stone she purchased for me a while back. When she first handed it to me, I laughed at her. Why the hell would I want to carry around what looked like a misshapen marble?
"All that tension you carry around with you is toxic," she replied with a coy smile. "You're just going to burst like a balloon one of these days if you don't let it out."
Now, almost a year later, I'm running my fingers over the damn thing constantly. There's been an endless parade of things to worry about. Within the last year, my best friend Cleo was almost murdered by the psychotic ex-president of our MC, a vicious splinter group is trying to kill as many Spades as possible, and one of the few family members I have left was forced to go underground.
There's no end to the shit life is slinging at me.
I should be at home watching some garbage reality tv show to take my mind off things. Unlike Cleo or Holly, I don't have a man to strap to a bed for some good old-fashioned stress relief. The last boyfriend I had, Marcus, had been a disappointment in that department, and I was leery of jumping back on the horse, especially in fraught times like these.
So I fell back on my usual modus operandi and sought to seek out a little peace by checking on the junkies and working girls I work with at the clinic. Our two newest, Dominique and Lily are just seventeen and unable to rent an apartment just yet. In a few months, Dominique can slap her name on a lease, and the pair can move in together. But for now, they're stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Connolly, a philanthropic pair that holds something of a devil's bargain with the Spades. They take in all our strays, no questions asked, and we offer them whatever they need in exchange.
When I knocked on their peeling front door, I expected to be invited into their usual evening game of cards or Scrabble. Elderly Mr. Connolly often pretends to be the worst card player in existence to make the women he takes in feel right at home. I know for a fact he was a champion poker player in his youth. He's even smoked me in a few matches, gouging a couple hundred from my wallet when I made an ill-conceived wager with him.
Instead, Mrs. Connolly tells me they haven't turned up since breakfast.
Probably it's nothing to worry about. I've seen girls do this a thousand times before, especially those like Dominique and Lily, who are just getting used to living outside the harsh purview of a pimp. They'd been rescued not so long ago from the corner of town that’s dominated by the Hellions, the ugly splinter group that sprang from the Spades when our ex-president became their martyr. Now they're getting used to life without a reign of terror and realizing that they can make their own decisions.
They're probably out turning tricks on Morley street, the hot spot for the sex trade in South Hollens. It's covered by awnings, so the girls and their johns stay relatively dry, despite the constant pour of rain around here. I can't blame them if they are. God knows that it pays better than the waitressing jobs that I've hooked them up with. Labor laws prevent them from working full time, and they make more in one night on their backs than they do in a week of working for the little cafe on 11th street.
That's what I keep telling myself as I walk mechanically back to my bike, still rubbing the damn stone between my fingers. They're probably fine.
But they still could be hurt. The Hellions don't give a shit who they attack, so long as they hurt the Spades somehow. I swallow hard against the pulse throbbing in my mouth. I'll go home once I'm assured they're safe.
I jam my helmet on and peel out of the Connolly's driveway with an audible squeal.
The streets of South Hollens are painted a dull, monochrome gray. It's late evening, and the sun disappeared hours ago. Hundreds of horny men will flock to Morley to get their rocks off tonight. There will be men working there too if I'm so inclined. But I don't think I'm desperate enough to pay for sex just yet. Ask me in another few months, and the answer might be different. A good fuck sounds like what I need to take my mind off of things. I'm jumping at shadows these days and need to unwind stat.
I reach Morley street about ten minutes later. Business is in full swing, people discreetly pairing off beneath awnings and in alleyways. The cops that frequent this area are often the best clients the girls get, as hypocritical as it sounds. I see one escorting a mini-skirt clad brunette into the front of his cruiser as I approach. I pity the girls here their wardrobe. I see many skirts, tights, and halter tops. I'm clad in snug jeans and long-sleeves beneath my club jacket, and I'm still freezing.
A quick scan of the area doesn't reveal Lily or Dominique among their number, but that doesn't mean jack. They could have found a client for the night and are sequestered in a home or the backseat of a car.
I pull to a stop behind the police cruiser and cut my engine, hopping off as soon as I've secured the bike. I'm not worried about it being stolen. I don't plan to stick around long, and it would be a monumentally boneheaded decision to steal a bike from a Spade.
Eva is leaning against a man's car window, pouring on the charm when I approach her. She straightens at once when I remove my helmet, disregarding her potential client in favor of turning to face my direction. Eva is easily the oldest among the working girls on the Spade side. She's tipping the scales close to forty but still looks damn good for her age. She's tall and attractively thin, with legs that look perfect for wrapping around a broad male waist. It's no wonder that she's still one of the most popular on Morley.
Eva is the unofficial leader of the working girls. The Spades don't allow pimps to move onto our turf and hurt the girls. Still, nature abhors a vacuum, and a leader has to spring up somewhere. Eva looks after the younger girls and directs those with substance abuse issues or who simply want out to Holly and me. She makes sure her girls get tested at least once a month. If anyone will know what's happened with Dominique and Lily, it's Eva.
"Something's wrong," she says, making it a statement.
"Have you seen Lily or Dominique?"
Eva blanches, and I have my answer before she even opens her mouth.
"You haven't seen them? I thought you sent them to the Connolly’s."
"They're not there, and they're not at work. And they haven't been seen here?"
"No. Not for a month or two at least. I thought they were flying straight."
Acid churns in my stomach, and I draw out a pair of twenties, offering them to her. I might have cost her a client, so I don't want to leave her with nothing, even if she can't offer me much in return. Then I pace away from her, trying to hide my mounting fear.
If my girls aren't here, it leaves only two options. They're dead or in enemy territory. I'm not sure which side will be worse for a working girl. The Hellions will beat them for escaping their clutches the first time. And the Calamity Kings...
