Bow Down(140)

“By the way,” Eloise said as I went to leave the room, “I just remembered. Some reporter was sniffing around here maybe a month back.”

“Reporter?”

“Sure. Young girl, maybe mid-twenties. Pretty thing. She was asking questions she shouldn’t be asking.”

“Like what?”

“Like how many girls I had. How many of them were from eastern Europe. That sort of thing.”

I frowned. “You think that’s important?”

She shrugged. “Fuck if I know. It was just out of the ordinary.”

“Thanks,” I said. She nodded and walked off, back into another room.

So a journalist had been snooping. A young, pretty journalist. I didn’t know if that meant something or if it was just a coincidence, but I was going to have to follow it up. I wasn’t the type to get accused of being bad at my job after all.

I heard a loud thud, a crash, and some cursing. I sighed and headed to the foot of the stairs just in time to hear the Madame yelling obscenities at Fat Jimmy. He laughed and stumbled into the hall.

“You dumb fucking pig,” she yelled. “This place is trashed enough. You sick motherfucker.”

He was laughing and buttoning up his pants.

“Jimmy,” I barked. “Get down here.”

He grinned and came down toward me. “What’s up?”

“What did you do?”

“Just had a little go. Did you know they have a room full of porn up there?”

Jesus fucking shit. That pathetic bastard.

“You dumb asshole. Keep it in your pants.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “We done?”

“We’re done. Come on.” I led the way back outside.

Jimmy followed, that fat fuck.

We climbed back into the car, but I was already thinking about that girl again. I couldn’t get her hips out of my mind, the way she fucking kissed me, like she was reluctant, afraid, but fucking dripping wet. That made me hard just thinking about it.

Fortunately, I had her number. For the first time in my life, maybe I was actually going to call a girl back.





3





Cassidy





The park was beautiful, but I was not going to do a beautiful thing

Or maybe I was. I was trying to do something good, but I kept finding myself getting stuck at a dead end or backed into some corner of my own devising. I needed to get myself together and finally buckle down, or else I was going to let this story get away from me.

It was pretty crowded, but that wasn’t surprising. It was Sunday afternoon, the day after I nearly let that mafia man do whatever he wanted to me. In the bright sunlight of the afternoon, I felt totally foolish for the way I had reacted to him.

I’d never done that before with a stranger. I’d never followed a man outside like that and kissed him with the intention of doing more, let alone allowed a guy to talk to me that way.

And yet when Rafa had said those words to me, I had believed him. He had somehow made it seem completely normal that I’d go out into the alley with him and give myself to him. I’d wanted it, too, to make it that much worse. I had wanted it really, really badly.

As I sat down on the bench and scanned the park, I did my best to banish that man from my mind. This meeting was about something far more important than some attractive thug. I checked my watch, satisfied that I was ten minutes early.

Young mothers watched their children play. People walked their dogs, young couples lounged on blankets, and a man with cutoff jean shorts was playing an acoustic guitar for tips.

I’d gotten in touch with her through another informant I’d met while researching human trafficking. That guy turned out to be a loser, but this new contact seemed solid. She sounded like a real insider, someone who knew the city and knew what was going on. I had high hopes for her, but I was also nervous.

“Nice day.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked over, and a pretty woman was sitting next to me. She was wearing simple jeans and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I recognized her from a picture. She smiled at me.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” I said. “Very nice day.”

“Are you meeting someone here?”

I blinked at her, a hint of recognition tugging at my mind. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. What’s her name?”

I paused. I didn’t want to tip my hand. What if this wasn’t her? “I don’t know her name.”

The woman smiled. “My name is Dasha. It’s nice to actually meet you, Cassidy.”

She was my contact. I let out a breath and cocked my head, getting a better look at her. She was maybe twenty-five or so, right around my age. I couldn’t believe my contact was so young, but it had to be her. Besides, I recognized the voice, just a hint of a Russian accent.