by Jennifer Ann
“Stop. You’re a minor, for shit’s sake!”
“Not for much longer,” he answers with an exaggerated wink.
I jump to my feet and head for the door. It’s urgent that I evade this kid’s prodding. Maybe I can convince my supervisor to take the case. She’s over sixty, homely as hell, and as stern as a nun in a Catholic school. Liam wouldn’t have as much fun messing with her. Would serve the little shit right for making me think things that are both illegal and highly immoral.
“Where you goin’?” he calls out behind me, humor heavy in his tone.
With heat rising in my chest, I push my glasses up before glancing over my shoulder. “I’m going to run to the mall…get you something clean to wear. What size are you?”
“Nine. Inches,” he answers, his tone bursting with pride.
I turn with my arms crossed, waiting for him to laugh. The way his eyebrows rise in challenge, I’m scared he’ll insist on proving it.
“This is serious shit! You almost killed your father this morning! If he hadn’t been so belligerent with the cops, or they hadn’t seen your injuries, it’s likely you would’ve been spending tonight behind bars!”
“Exactly,” he snarls, stabbing the table with his finger. “They’re going to haul my ass to juvie. So why are you busting my balls, offering to buy me new Nikes, Brooke?”
“You’re not going to juvie. There was an emergency hearing while you were in the hospital, and I convinced the judge to release you under my supervision. I have the perfect placement for you. He’s—”
“No fucking foster homes!” For the first time since I entered the room, his expression darkens enough that I feel the need to take a step back. With all I really know about Liam Rooker beyond heresay and a handful of reports, he could be a sociopath working his way toward a goal of becoming a serial killer. The kid shot his own father. I should be afraid…terrified.
Instead I feel the insane urge to wrap my arms around him. I’m starting to get the impression that he wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with himself if someone showed a kind hand.
Popping the unlit cigarette back between his lips, his voice lowers when he mutters, “People like you have no clue what goes on in those goddamned places.”
Except I do know. More than a person should. “I wouldn’t place you anywhere unsafe.” I lift my hand between us in a calming gesture and give him the most raw, honest expression I can muster. “This guy’s a personal friend.”
He lets out a barking laugh before leaning over the table. “You mean ‘personal’, like in the biblical sense?”
“Enough!” I screech, pounding a fist on the table.
We both flinch. Liam, only a fraction. His cracked lips draw into a firm line as I realize my mistake. How could I raise my voice to him after his dad used him as a punching bag?
Heart slipping down to my worn ballet flats, bile slithers up my throat. I take great pride in my work, wanting to make a difference for disadvantaged kids to make up for the system that once failed me. Wrapping my pounding hand over my forehead, I stare at my dangling bracelet. Truth is, I suck at making the right choices.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It’s just that I want to help, and you’re not making it very easy.”
“No sweat,” he answers in a much quieter voice.
I glance up to find him staring at the ceiling like he’s attempting to count the pinholes. Dropping my shoulders forward, I release a long sigh. I’ve already screwed this intake all to hell. May as well go for gold. “Wanna go outside to smoke?”
Surprise sparks in his beautiful eyes when they return to mine. “Yeah?”
I nod. I could use one myself if I hadn’t given up the expensive habit in college. “Come on,” I say, opening the door and motioning for him to join me. “As much pain as you must be in, you’ve earned it. Just don’t tell my boss I let you do it. I have a steep rent to pay.”
Suddenly 6’2” of mass looms over my 5’7” stature, threatening to swallow me whole. A savage shiver ripples through me before I clutch the doorframe. Liam grabs my elbow like I’m about to face-plant on the tile. I lean into him, not so sure I won’t.
“Careful, babydoll,” he whispers, full lips a half inch away from my earlobe. Despite my best shot at willpower, I become lost in his mystical scent. The way his hard body radiates warmth onto mine. Those beautiful green eyes swimming with lust. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
The double entendre doesn’t go unnoticed. I shake him off like it had, leading him out through the office and up the back stairwell toward the parking ramp. By the time we’ve reached our destination, my pulse returns to a steady beat, and I’m no longer vibrating with need.
Though the fifth floor’s uncovered and does little to stop the cold March wind from whipping around us, we’re given complete privacy since no one hardly ever parks this high up. Once it occurs to me what this means, I trip over my own feet. It’s too private of a place to be with a horny teenage who could very likely make someone as destitute for sex as myself come in record time.
Oblivious to my frozen state, Liam makes himself at home on the ledge, dangling one foot over the side while holding his cigarette over a cheap lighter. His eyes penetrate me as he inhales, holding it in a moment before forcing it out through his nose like a bull. I fight back the urge to lean into him and breathe in his essence mixed with nicotine. Since I gave the habit up, it’s normally a turn off with guys. With Liam, however, it’s hot as shit.
“What’s your story?” He squints as if the answer’s written somewhere on my face. “Aren’t you a little young to be supervising delinquents like me?”
“I’m twenty-three,” I blurt, surprised by how much I'm at ease now that we’re no longer inside my place of work. It’s also as if we’re suddenly on common ground, like I no longer have any authority over him. He’s treating me like…a human. Not okay. “I started working here when I was twenty-one.”
“Aren’t we ambitious.” He laughs in a deep, rolling sound, taking another drag while motioning to my hair. “Based on how tight you’ve tied that ponytail, it doesn’t surprise me. You probably weren’t anything like a normal twenty-one year old who only cares about finding the best clubs.”
Presumptuous asshole. What does he know about clubbing? With a deeply set frown, I once again run my hand over the sleek ends of my ponytail. “I don’t see what my hair has to do with anything.”
“You need to let it down.” Another stream of smoke shoots from his nostrils. “Allow yourself to have a good time for a change.” His eyes dart off into the distance. “And for the love of fuck, quit palming it like that. I’m trying like hell to control myself over here, and that’s not helping.”
I glare him down, hoping to appear offended by his assumption rather than curious if he’s really turned on. In reality, he nailed my personality. Since I started working for the county, I’ve played it safe and avoided drinking in public, opting instead for a glass or two of wine in the privacy of my own four walls. Part of the reason is due to the fact that my clients frequent bars, although most of them avoid anything on the north side. Most of all, I’m terrified that I’ll be forced to interact with random men who want to give me more than a stiff drink.
How is it a seventeen-year-old can see right through me in mere minutes the way my peers can’t? I’ve spent months dating reserved guys who assumed I was something else. No one’s ever made me this self-conscious about my appearance, either. The way his beautiful eyes keep sizing me up, I may as well be standing here naked. Before long, my nipples draw tight beneath his gaze and my skin prickles with excitement. Then a gnawing ache builds between my legs—one I’m not sure I’ve ever felt with any guy.
Sex is another thing I’ve avoided. It’s too intimate. Too complicated.
And it’s certainly not happening with a minor. A client.
“You should give my friend a chance,” I say, crossing my arms over my sensitive breasts.
“Jordan’s a good man. We go way back. He’s not a licensed foster parent, but I pulled some strings to make him an emergency guardian. He already agreed to take you in. I trust him more than I trust anyone else.” I eye him thoughtfully, huffing through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me send you to a juvenile center, Liam. You don’t belong with those delinquents.”
His brows raise in question. Every time he makes a facial expression, his bruised eye contorts, reminding me of the hell he’s been through. “How do you know?”
I inhale a shaky breath, fingers itching to run over the ends of my ponytail. Guys like Liam Rooker don’t tolerate bullshit. They’ve seen the worst in people, and they’re all to aware not everyone can be trusted. The only way he’ll believe that my empathy is genuine is if I lay down all the cards I’m willing to reveal without becoming too exposed.
“Because I know your type,” I tell him, resisting the urge to add, I was one myself. “You don’t always abide by the law, but you’ll do what’s necessary to survive.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
Because there’s hope for you. I don’t want to see another kid from the old neighborhood get sucked into this way of life simply because no one gave you a chance.
Sucking in a shallow breath, I shrug. “It just…is.”
While taking a long drag of his smoke, his bruised gaze studies me until a warm flush spreads across every inch of my skin. Until I’m ready to submit to him and do whatever he asks. I’m so out of my damn mind that I’d let him use me in whatever way he desired until I collapsed from exhaustion.
Smoke passes through his thick lips before they press together. “If I agree to stay with this friend of yours, what will I get in return?”
“W-what?” I stutter, assuming the implications of his request to mean something inappropriate. “You’re getting a safe shelter out of the deal. That should be more than enough.”
He drops the cigarette on the pavement and hops off the ledge, crushing what’s left of the filter with a combat boot. Then he storms toward me, taking my face in the palm of his hand. Before I’m able to stop myself, I lean into his touch, feeling as if it’s the one thing I’ve been missing my entire adult life. He rests his body on mine, his raging erection taut against my stomach. A quiet moan slips through my gritted teeth.
In this moment, I’m extremely aware of the intense connection I share with his misplaced soul. As products of the South Side. As kids who were cast aside by their creators. We’re both…lost.
The playful act is gone as clear green eyes search mine, overcome by a grave expression. “I wanna know, Brooke. How will you return the gesture?”
I close my eyes for a moment, wishing I had the power to become invisible. What the hell is this kid’s game? What’s he going to accomplish from making me all wet and achy? Something to beat off to later when he’s alone?
“What are you asking for?” I whimper. “I have nothing to offer you outside of my position with the county. And even that’s not much.”
It’s the truth. I’ve been through my own hell and back enough to last five eternities. I’m penniless and tired. Broke from a defective system. Weary from going up against those in charge who don’t give a damn about kids like us. Exhausted by trying to survive, and live a decent life.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he whispers, his smoky breath hot on my lips. His beautiful eyes dance back and forth between mine, drawing my nipples even tighter. “One day down the road, I’ll need something from you. Doesn’t matter what or when, just know it’s coming. Are you willing to give me that?”
And that’s when the truth finally clicks into place. This seventeen-year-old isn’t hot for me. He’s been toying with my emotions all this time, hoping to get me worked up enough to promise that I’ll one day grant him a favor. He wants to insure that there’s a responsible adult on his side. Kids from the South Side think everyone’s out to get them, and they’re absolutely right.
Someone who endures regular beatings from his old man doesn’t trust anyone outside of his tightly knit circle. He’s looking for an olive branch.
I’m pathetic as hell for thinking this was about anything else. There’s an entire high school filled with female asses in their prime at his disposal. What would he want with me?
Dropping my shoulders, I dip my chin twice with a slow, hesitant nod.
He releases my face, taking a step back. Then he throws me a flirty smile, followed by a wink. “Guess I’ll give this friend of yours a try.”
Hallelujah. As soon as I can get this jailbait out of my hair and placed into a safe home, I’ll be able to breathe without worrying whether or not I’ll go to Hell for soaking through my underwear in his presence.
The day Liam Rooker is taken off my caseload can’t come soon enough.
3
LIAM
Assaulted with flashbacks of what went down when I shot my old man, I screw my eyes shut as the cop car takes me to my new foster home.
I felt nothing when the bullet pierced his head.
Blood splattered against the wall like something out of a Manson documentary.
He collapsed in a heap.
I didn’t do a damn thing to help.
With every flare-up of pain in the hospital, I thought of my old man. The doctors told me he’s in a medically induced coma, the damage not clear at this point. They think he’ll pull through, which pissed me off to no end. If I had been a better aim and he had less of an instinct to jump out of the line of fire, maybe I could’ve caught him right between the eyes and put an end to this shit.
But what’s done is done. I doubt my old man will be messing with me ever again.
The way my chest burns, I wonder if I really believe that, or if deep down I know it’ll never be over until he’s dead.
I should’ve emancipated myself years ago, and skipped over the part where I have to worry about being charged with attempted murder while living with some random dude and answering to a hot chick like a fucking child.
Then again, the moment Brooke stepped into the room with that damn ponytail swinging behind her, large hazel eyes gaping behind black frames like something about me threw her off her usual game, I knew I had to have a taste of her inherent goodness. When the hell did social workers become sexier than pin-up librarians?
I didn’t get a good read on her background, although the bracelet she was wearing was worth hundreds of dollars. She either comes from money, or hooks up with someone who’s loaded. Best part, she treated me like something other than a mere client on her caseload, or another fucked-up kid from the South Side. She treated me like a man. Gets me hard just recalling the caliber of respect that shone in her expression when she apologized for her mild outburst.
With every word she uttered, calling me by my first name, the need to grab that dark hair in my fist and whip those glasses off her head before kissing her grew until I was practically salivating. I couldn’t stop picturing how her sweetheart face would light up, and her luscious lips would curl when I gave that ponytail a firm tug.
I’m not usually one to get sadistic with women, but I get the feeling Miss Sensible Shoes would be down for a rough and dirty fuck. The lustful way she kept peering at me behind those glasses and thick eyelashes, blushing every time I gave her shit, she clearly wants it. By the time she handed me over to the deputy sheriff so she could attend another hearing, I could smell her arousal. The way she leaned into my hand in the parking lot, I’m confident she would’ve bent over if I had asked.
Five days until I’m eighteen. Five. Maybe then she’ll give in. Doesn’t mater, because either way, she will be mine to play with, whether she’s ready to admit it to herself or not. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life.
For now, I have bigger problems. Namely the fucking rhino with thick dreds standing in the doorway of a quaint bungalow.
Situated between a house with a swing set and one with a basketball hoop in the driveway, lawns neatly trimmed,
not a single junkie in sight, it’s clear I was dropped in the heart of suburbia. I would’ve felt more at home in juvie.
“I’m Jordan,” he barks out, opening the door wider. The stench of his b.o. is strong enough to produce a slight gag. Something about the intense brown hue of his gaze makes me feel at ease though, even if I don’t like his authoritative bullshit. “Come on in…make yourself at home.”
Plastic bag of shit Brooke bought from the mall in hand, I slip past him as he exchanges a few words with the cop who escorted me. I show myself around the place, deciding it may not be all that bad, although the bus ride back to the South Side will be a bitch. It’s neat and clean, scarcely decorated. But there isn’t a stick of furniture or single appliance you’d see in my neighborhood. The dude has a fair amount of money.
“You want something to drink?” Jordan calls out from the other room.
I shuffle my way back to him. “Nah, I have places to be.”
He shakes his head while folding his thick arms over his gargantuan chest. “Sorry, bud, but I can’t let you wander off. It’s for your own good. You’ve been through more than enough in the last twenty-four hours. Your body needs time to heal.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to stick around and braid your fuckin’ hair while I share stories of my fucked-up childhood. I need to check in with my crew.”
He chuckles in a sound so deep I’m surprised the windows don’t rattle. “You’re a funny guy. But Brooke would have my ass if I let you go while on supervised probation. Won’t you see your crew tomorrow in school?”
Clutching an arm to my aching side, I retreat to the buttery-soft leather couch, grunting when my broken bones shift against the dark fabric. This guy may not be so bad as long as he doesn’t have a mean streak. With the shape I’m in, I wouldn’t be able to fight him off.
I pop a cancer stick into my mouth. Damn sheriff confiscated the pack I had on me, but I was able to swipe another one from the overcoat of an attorney at the station. Although I was told this is a smoke-free residence, something about the flavor of the filter on my tongue and the scent of tobacco calms me. “What’s your story, man?”
