Jagged Edge

“Wait!” he calls as I turn blindly toward the door.

I open the door and hesitate on the threshold—not only of his apartment, but of something bigger, something that’s pulling at me like a promise, a light right beyond reach. I turn around. “What?”

“Your jacket.”

He tosses it at me, and I catch it. I also catch the glint of anger in his gaze, and a flash of heat that has me scrambling out the door and down the stairs before I can analyze it any more.

I have enough on my plate as it is—without adding Raine to the fucking mix.

Pun intended.

Pulling up the hood of the jacket, I hurry down the dark streets, returning to my side of town. Not that there’s a line dividing the rich from the poor, the good from the bad—but I know it when I cross it, I feel it in my bones.

I know I’m entering my haunts, the hunting grounds, cuz the spot between my shoulder blades starts to itch, and my muscles tense.

I’m the prey here, I’m the hunted, and I have to pretend I like the feeling. It’s familiar and well-worn like an old shirt. It’s taken the shape of my fears, and it clings to me as I wander down narrow back alleys, trying to spot my gang.

It became my gang the day Kaia died, and I found myself the oldest in our little group. The oldest and most experienced in just about everything, from whoring to living hand-to-mouth and avoiding trouble, so I took over.

Kaia was a harsh pimp.

She was also the mother I never had. Losing her was a heavy blow. Didn’t think anything could make it worse, although having Simon replace her managed the damn trick. Things went from bad to downright ugly the moment he stepped in and announced this was now his turf.

Simon Gomez should have sat and rotted in prison until he died. Not only did he beat up my kids just to show he could, not only did he bring in drugs and guns and his bored thugs into my territory, into my life, but he also tried to rape Jesse Lee years ago and smashed a bottle on Jesse’s arm when he fought back. My friend’s still haunted by that time, and I’ll never fucking forgive Simon fucking Gomez. For any of it.

But instead of rotting in prison as he deserves, Simon got out after a year for good behavior and thanks to his connections.

And made my life hell.

I don’t see anyone from my little gang as I trudge down the street where we usually meet up. Probably got customers and left with them. Worry for them grips my insides, like every time, even though they aren’t really kids, not anymore, and the risks they take are fewer than mine. At least they don’t deal with Simon, not if I can help it.

Taking a deep breath, telling myself to cut it out and think of my own troubles, I move to the road and choose a corner that normally sees lots of traffic. I’ve scored plenty of times there in the past, and the police don’t pass by so often.

The hollow feeling in my stomach ain’t just hunger, or the itch for drugs: Simon is waiting for his cut, and I’ve nothing to show for tonight’s activit

ies except for more bruises and confusion.

I lean back against a brick wall façade and settle in for the wait. Damn, it’s cold. I wish I had a shot of brandy, or even better a joint to warm up a bit. Traffic is slow. Way too slow. Leaves me time to think.

About my gang. About my fears.

Not so many of my gang are left. Mikey skipped town, and so did Mia after Simon’s goons beat her up. I made sure of it. I’m sending my kids off, one by one, to a safe place, out of Simon’s long reach.

But I’m not done yet. There’s still Josie, Mayleen and Adam who’ve been with me forever—well, for the past six or seven years at least—and two new relatively ones, Sheena and Clary, who wandered here from Milwaukee last year.

So I’m working my lily-white ass off every day and night, and still it’s not enough. Since I’m splitting the money I make between Simon’s demands and paying the way for these kids to leave town, leave the state and land in a good place, a better place—a place Simon doesn’t know about—my plan isn’t moving as fast as I’d have liked, even with the kind donations of Ocean and Jesse Lee.

And speaking of the devil…

Well, not Simon, thank fuck—but Jesse Lee. He’s walking my way, and I can’t help a smile, despite my worries. Handsome as always, with his tanned skin and bright green eyes, sexy even in the conservative sports clothes he favors these days.

Not that I blame him for blending in. He has a different life now, a family, a steady job. He wants to leave his days hustling on the street behind.

Wouldn’t we all.

“You’re a hard man to find,” he says by way of greeting, and we bump fists. “I came here last night, but nobody knew where you were.”

“Yeah. Places to go, things to do. You know how it is.”