“Be right there, Al,” I call back. I pull back the bolt, unlock the door and yank it open, brushing a greasy strand of hair from my forehead as I do. It’s been a week since I washed it. Seems a good way to fit in around here. Besides, the rust-brown trickle from the broken faucet in the cubicle that’s my bathroom is unlikely to help much.
He looks down at the crumpled ball of dollar bills I shove in his fist, then carefully unfolds them, and counts them out. Suspicious. I guess that’s not surprising in this place.
“You’re a dollar short,” he mutters. I plaster on a guilty look and haul another note from the top of my shirt.
“Sorry…my mistake.” I pretend that I’m reluctant to part with the cash. He needs to think I don’t have much of it on me. I have no doubt the man would rob me blind as quickly as any of the other low-lives around here.
“Business been slow?” he asks. As if he cares.
“Not too bad. It’ll get better.” I don’t meet his eye. Mainly because he’s staring at my chest. I make a mental note to avoid snug t-shirts in future.
“Don’t you worry, darlin’, it’ll pick up for sure. Pretty thing like you…” He licks his lips. He’s jumped straight to the assumption that I’m a prostitute – which is just fine with me. “Just takes a little time to build up that client base. I can help out a little if you want.”
I’d rather drown in one of the pools of vomit on the stairwell.
“That’s very kind of you, Al.” I glue on a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that.” He gives a phlegmy cough. I’m pretty sure Al’s a two-packs-a-day kind of guy. It would account for the voice that sounds like a frog in a blender. And the stink. God, his breath could melt paint.
“Okay…thanks again,” I say, about to close the door when he puts a hand on it.
Shit.
“So, where you from, anyhow?” he asks.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Out of town.” I still have that smile plastered on, but it’s slipping.
“Yeah? Your family throw you out? Lotta girls here have family problems. I know that coz I pay attention. They like to talk to me.” He leers. “You could talk to me too if you ever need a…friend.”
I resist the urge to slam the door shut and broaden my smile instead.
“I could? That would be great, Al. Maybe I could come by your apartment later? I need to make a trip past the Nova-Life Clinic for my meds, but I’ll be free after for an hour or two.”
Al sucks in a breath and takes an abrupt step back. The clinic nearby dispenses HIV medication, and suddenly he looks like I’ve sprouted horns and warts.
“Yeah…well…maybe another time.” He’s backpedaling down the hall. I put on a disappointed expression, and even take a step forward. I’m guessing I won’t be seeing much of Al from now on. As he disappears, I shut the door and go back into my filthy little room, thinking that even an afternoon in Al’s company would be better than the conversation I’m about to have.
The small burner phone I bought a week ago is tucked in my bra cup along with my extra cash. I haul it out and stare at the screen, pulling up the number I’ve stored there. A number I got from my father when I called him. Only person I’ve called since I left, and the bastard hadn’t even asked how I was. Just fed me some bullshit line about me being smart enough to know what’s best for my family.
Yeah, right.
We have pretty different definitions of family. In his version, he gets his children killed or sells them off to the highest bidder. Right now, that bidder is the very man I plan to take out of this world. A man whose trust I’ll have to earn before I can get close enough to do it. Yet again, Al seems more appealing. But I’ll do whatever I have to. If I have to fuck him before I slash his throat, I’ll do it with a smile. And then I’ll bathe in his blood.
I pull my shoulders back, suck in a deep breath, and hit the dial button.
Chapter 2
Mateo Ricci
“Any word?” I ask, then hold the phone away as a stream of profanity is unleashed.
“For the thousandth fucking time, I said I’d call you if I heard anything!” Dario yells. “Jesus, Mateo! What do you want me to do? Make her magically appear out of thin air?!”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. I guess I can’t blame him. I’ve probably called him a dozen times a day since Andy went missing. So far, nothing. No calls, no responses to texts. Her phone’s been off since the morning of the wedding. I can still picture Nikki’s face the day she met me halfway down the aisle.
She’s not coming. Andy’s gone.
