I flipped him off and looked up, where Brendan still glared down at me, shouting.
“You’ll wish I killed you when Pope gets you.”
Shit. Pope. That was enough to send me hobble-running down the dark block as fast as I could.
It was a shitty neighborhood. Not just poor, but also riddled with crime, which meant I couldn’t stop just anywhere to ask for help or I might end up in a worse fate than whatever sick shit Brendan Rhymer had planned for me. One block turned into two and then three, just rows of two and three story rental homes with a few broken down apartment buildings in between. No place that seemed like they would even open the door, never mind help a girl in need. It’s probably why they chose this neighborhood.
The next block turned into small businesses, owned and operated by people who lived in the neighborhood, I guessed. I passed a check cashing store, two liquor stores and a dark store front before I found Ronda’s Chicken Shack.
“Oh, thank fuck!” I rushed inside and leaned against the door, breathing heavy from the run.
“Oh honey, we don’t allow that kind of business in here.” I opened my eyes and found two people inside the restaurant, an older man in the corner with a chess table in front of him and a plate beside him. And a plump woman in a stained apron with her hair tied up into an impressive topknot.
I looked down at my sliced up dress and sexy lingerie with a groan. I had to tell her something to get her to help, but with no clue what Brendan and his family were into, I had to be careful. These people could be working for him, too.
“I’m not a working girl. Some guys grabbed me and drugged me,” I told her and showed her the ugly bruise starting to form on my arms and stomach. “I ran away from them, but I don’t know exactly where I am.”
Her perfectly sculpted brows pulled into a worried frown and she came to me, ushered me behind the counter, only stopping once to talk to the old chess player.
“Keep an eye on things, Larry, and if any crazed men show up, call Crayton.” She smiled at me and moved me towards the back of the restaurant. “I’m Ronda.”
I wanted to know who Crayton was, but I had more important problems at the moment so I smiled. “I’m Maisie. Can I use your phone?”
“You want to call the police? They might come for you, but it’ll be a long time. No one gets any love in this part of town, black, brown or white,” she said with a pointed smile , but she handed over her cell phone anyway.
“The ole po-po has forgotten us out here.” The man named Larry said.
Good thing I wasn’t planning on calling the cops. I shrugged and tried to seem disappointed.
“Then I guess I’ll call someone else.”
I debated whether to call Uncle Max or Virgil for so long, Ronda put a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad honey. None of us knows anybody’s number these days. You hungry? How about I fix you up a plate of food while you remember?”
I nodded, unsure if my stomach was strong enough for food, but if I went back out on the street, Pope would be there. That much, I knew.
“Sure, that would be great Ronda.”
She was right about one thing; I didn’t know any number but Bonnie’s and hers rang and rang. A quick online search and I found one of the phone numbers for Virgil’s house. A man answered.
“Virgil?”
“No. Virgil isn’t here at the moment.”
Shit. “Uhm, can you give me his cell phone number?” The man was silent but he hadn’t ended the call so I sucked in a deep breath and explained.
“My name is Maisie and I lost my phone—”
“Maisie? Tell me where you are and Oliver will you retrieve you right away.”
A smart woman would have taken the lifeline, but a smarter woman would be cautious.
“Thanks, but do I know you?”
“Thomas, Sadie’s right hand man.”
Ah, his snooty no nonsense behavior made a lot more sense now. I rattled off where I was and heard beeps, texting maybe, then Thomas said Oliver was already on his way.
“Thank you, Thomas.” I breathed.
“You’re welcome, Maisie.” There was amusement in his tone as the call ended, and I sank against the small table beside the walk-in freezer.
“Thanks, Ronda. My friend is coming for me.”
I wished it were Virgil coming, but Oliver was a nice man, and I knew I’d be safe with him.
At least I hoped so.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Virgil
“You’ll find her, won’t you?” Maisie’s friend Bonnie stared up at me with giant, guileless eyes that were, once again, on the fucking verge of tears.
I looked over the hood of my car at the woman Maisie described as her best friend, the one who introduced her to church.