One hard tug on the collar of her shirt dragged her to a stop. A long tear sounded, and her shirt gave from the back.
Her gasp was loud and sharp. She spun and shoved against me. Her face scrunched in pain, and her breath caught. Then she folded her arms over her chest, her sleeves keeping her torn shirt in place.
“What is wrong with you?”
I looked up to the heavens.Really? I asked the big man upstairs. God was more than trying my patience with this girl. With a grunt, I slipped my suit jacket off and handed it to her. While she put it on, I signaled Ricco to get in the back seat. Then I grabbed her arm and hauled her to the car. She cried out, curling into herself.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m fine.”
I curled my fists at my side to tamp down my sudden surge of rage. What was it with women of all ages using that term so liberally to mean everything but its actual definition? She was anything but fine.
“What happened to you? Your eye? Your leg?”
“That’s what this is about?” She looked at me incredulously. “I fell.”
“On what?”
“Stairs.”
“Which stairs?” I gritted out.
“Does it matter?”
“When I smell bullshit, yes.”
“Why do you even care? I delivered your letter. So, unless you have another ‘job’”—she air quoted—“for me, leave me alone.”
The weariness in her eyes caught my attention. It was the same look my mother used to bear when no one was looking. The same sadness that dimmed my sister’s vibrant eyes when I came to visit my father’s home. To see it in a teenager after less than a year of hardship tore something in me. I may have been complacent in many crimes and people’s pain, but this was the one that reminded me of my vulnerabilities.
I was so eager to move out of my father’s home before I reached twenty, so sick of the suffering he inflicted, that I left behind the two people I cared about most. Back then, I thought that with a little time, I’d free my mother and sister from him too, but my mother chose to stay with him despite the beatings, afraid he’d take full custody of my sister, younger than me by eight years, or discover the hidden truth of her parentage. In the end, he killed her and sold my sister off because I wasn’t there to protect them.
I shook off my worrying thoughts. “Where’s the money I gave you? Shouldn’t girls enjoy dressing up a little bit better? Even at your age? Don’t you have any pride?”
“Wow, insulting how I look now. You just get better and better.”
“The world judges us on our appearances, Ms. Burch. If you ever intend to succeed in anything, what you wear and how you wear it will help determine how long it takes before you reach your goals.”
“Thanks for the tip, but I’d rather dependon my brains.”
“Those will only get you so far.” I grabbed her around the waist and heaved her to the front passenger door of my car, despite her feeble protests. “Achievement is determined by three things: wealth, presentation, and intellect. Based on your last little stunt, you’ve proven to have none.”
She glared up at me. “Is there a point to this beating down?”
With every taunt and gibe, my neck and jaw muscles loosened. The rage dissipated, as long as I avoided looking too hard at the dark bruises across her face. From the way she held herself, I suspected there were more down her body.
I opened the door, then leaned my forearms over it, facing her. “I’ve been where you are. A child broken by those meant to care for him. A child hoping for a light in the tunnel.”
“That’s rich. So…what? You’re here to pretend to be that light? You created the tunnel, jerkwad.”
“Your vocabulary needs some work.”
“My vocabulary adapted to my surroundings.”
“Touché, Ms. Burch.”
She huffed, every line of her face tense and her posture rigid with discomfort. “Why are you here?”
