“You know what? I’ll just pay for the baby food for you. You look a little down on your luck. Come back with me and we can ring it all out.”
Like I was falling for that. A shiver ran up my spine at his words. They were a reminder of all the times men had been nice to me, offered me a favor, then had wanted something in return. By thirteen I had figured out never to trust a kind gesture from anyone who possessed a penis. “So you can then blackmail me for a blowjob or whatever? No thanks. I’ll take my chances. You’re probably not even a cop.” Though I knew he was. He had the air of authority. Of righteousness.
His eyes widened. “Where the hell would you get an idea like that?” His mouth curled. “I don’t want a blowjob from you.”
Something about the way he said it, like I was disgusting, like he wouldn’t even stoop so low as to accept a blowjob from a “girl like me” made my cheeks burn with heat and my mouth sour. Story of my life. Not good enough. Not good enough to keep by my biological or adoptive parents. Not good enough to date by so-called decent men, not good enough to hire for a job. Not good enough to even suck this guy’s dick.
Down on my luck? Yeah, well, fuck him.
It never ceased to amaze me how men could look at me like they thought I was a piece of shit, yet would jump at the chance to shove my head down on their dick. Fury, the one emotion I was comfortable with, smothered the humiliation, the insecurity that had momentarily risen in me.
Taking a step closer to him, I looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t do me any favors. You want to arrest me for stealing three dollars of baby food, you go for it. But I don’t need your bullshit Good Samaritan act and I don’t need your judgment, so take a step back or you’ll be arresting me for assaulting a police officer.”
My voice was strong, steady. I was so angry I had expected to hear a tremor or two, have my shoulders shake. But I was stoic, in control, powerful. It would have been a great speech if I hadn’t passed out at the end of it. I realized suddenly it was about to happen. The bus station spun around me and black spots danced in front of my eyes. Knowing what was about to happen, I reached out to the very guy I’d just vowed to hate, my hand grabbing his arm.
His jaw dropped and I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Not wanting to drop Asher when I blacked out, I leaned against the guy, pressing my son against his chest.
Then my eyes rolled back in my head and I went under into nothing.
Chapter Two
Thank God I have quick reflexes. There was about a split second between when I realized the girl was about to faint, to when she crumpled to the ground like a marionette doll off its strings. When she’d leaned on me, I’d instinctively taken the baby from her. Now I had the little guy safely on my hip and I glanced around the bus station for my sister, Kasey, who had wandered off in search of a coffee. The baby was crying, but I figured he was just startled. It was the mother I was more worried about.
She was out cold and her cheeks were leeched entirely of color. She looked like she was either a junkie twelve hours out from a fix, or like she hadn’t eaten in days. It didn’t look like the flu, because she didn’t have that high color to her face or glassy eyes when I’d been talking to her. Though I didn’t really believe it was drugs either, because she hadn’t shook and her gaze wasn’t jittery. I’d seen enough people detoxing in my days on the job to know what it looked like. I thought in all honesty that she was dead broke and that she was starving. Her cheeks were hollow, her frame much too thin. There had been dark circles under her eyes and that erratic walk someone gets when they’re barely keeping it together, pushing one foot in front of the other.
In the convenience store, I’d noticed her right away, because she stood out. She looked young, and harsh, yet vulnerable. For a second, I’d thought maybe she was a teen runaway. More likely she was running from an abusive baby daddy because she was older than I’d thought on first glance. Either way, the second I’d seen her slip the food into her bag, I had decided to follow her because, one, I’m a sucker, and two, I’m an idiot. Despite her prickly, okay, downright bitchy attitude, I had followed her out of curiosity and sympathy.
Damn it. I always did this. I found strays and hard-luck cases everywhere I went. I half wished I were the asshole she thought I was, but I didn’t mean it. My mom always said I’d been born to look after people, unlike my father. He’d run off and left six kids and sometimes, I envied him his callousness, because doing the right thing was a pain in the ass. Yet I couldn’t do anything but what was decent, because that was me, and so I’d followed her. It was a good thing I had because without me standing there, she would have dropped her child.