by Anne Marck
“Damien, we already discussed this. I have no interest in returning.”
He snorts. “Do you think me and Christian don’t wanna do what we like? What the hell, Dom? We own a major business and have hundreds of people depending on us.”
“I respect that, bro, really respect it. But answer me honestly: have you ever considered supporting a real cause? Low-cost housing opposed to high?”
“No,” he growls, clearly annoyed, knowing where I’m going with this.
“Exactly. Nobody wants to do work like that. And it’s those people who need it the most.” I put my silverware aside and look at him seriously. “We know better than anyone else what it’s like not to have a roof over our heads.”
Damien moves his food around without looking at me, while Chris continues watching us in silence.
“You can start a department inside the company aimed at that if you want. And you would still be head of the bigger projects,” he insists more moderately.
I take a drink of my water, not wanting to continue this discussion. My day didn’t start well, and I want to leave so I can look for the girl with the fiery hair and not enough sense.
“Okay,” I snap. “I’ll think about it, but I can’t promise anything. Don’t get excited.”
He looks as though he’s won. I can see it in his eyes.
“You two are just alike.” Christian snorts, good-humored as ever.
• • •
It’s already night, and the community center is packed. More often than not, I find myself looking through the side window, checking to see if the girl has returned to search through our garbage.
Dammit, why can’t I stop thinking about her?
“No sight of her?” Simone stops at my side, understanding my fidgeting.
“No.”
“Don’t worry, boy. She’ll be fine.”
But I’m worried. Fever, wounds, badly healed stitches, She’s alone and hungry, and with that kind of genuine beauty, she’ll be an easy target on the streets.
For the first time, I feel like leaving work early to look for her. I need to keep looking.
• • •
It’s past midnight when I return to my apartment to trade my motorcycle in for my truck, the cold rain outside changing my plan.
I put on a leather jacket and make haste to the vehicle. I have a good feeling about her whereabouts. I just hope I’m right.
Following my instincts, I head to one of the places where I think she’ll be and search, but there’s no sign of her. Then I park in front of the second place, another restaurant in the area. If she’s hiding, she’ll probably be digging for food at the back of some restaurant, and this one is about to close.
I walk through the dark alley, not seeing her here either, but when I’m almost back to my truck, I hear a low-pitched sound, like a cry. I backtrack and look in the direction of the noise. There she is, in the corner, near the gas pipes, cowering on the floor, trembling in the cold rain, wearing only my T-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot. She’s a disaster, visibly sick, her eyes closed, fever burning, and delirious. Hell, that breaks me.
Fucking shit!
I run to her. Thinking of nothing else, I pull off my jacket and wrap it around her before pulling her into my arms and picking her up.
“Too stubborn to accept help,” I mutter irritably before I lay her down on the back seat of my pickup and jump in the driver’s seat, turning the hot air to maximum.
Now what? What am I going to do?
I connect the phone to Bluetooth and call Simone.
“I found her, and I need help,” I say quickly when she answers. “She was lying in the rain. Her temperature’s risen …” I look into the rearview mirror when she moans a few incoherent words. “And she’s obviously delirious.”
Simone breathes heavily into the phone. “I’ll head over to your house, but it’ll take a while. I need you to put her in a warm bath to try to balance the temperature. Then keep her warm until I get there.”
“Okay,” I growl then hang up, furious like I haven’t been for a long time. The girl put her life at risk because she wouldn’t accept my help? What was she thinking?
I carry her inside my apartment and slam the door with my foot, taking her straight into the shower. With one arm around her waist, I use my other hand to regulate the water temperature. Then I pull her wet T-shirt off. As her small breasts jump free, I avoid looking at them as I quickly slip off the sweatpants and my boxers she’s wearing. And then I see her fully.
What the fuck is that?
Her thin, pale body is covered in so many bruises and abrasions that I’m not sure how she’s still standing. What could have caused all this? By the stitches, I can tell she’s been to a hospital, so why doesn’t she want to be taken there again?
I put her limp body under the shower and let the water do its work, lowering her temperature.
“He’s going to try to kill me again,” she whispers. “He killed my mother.”
The desperation in her words shocks me for a moment.
“Who?” I ask.
“He’s going to kill me,” she says on a whimper, her eyes closed, head dropping to the side.
I end up having to get in the shower with her to hold her up, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her face out of the water with the other.
“I won’t leave,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say that. She can’t hear me.
Little by little, I feel her trembling stop and her body temperature lower. That’s when I turn off the shower, grab a towel, and wrap it around her. I put another towel on her head then carry her to the bedroom. From the closet, I pull out a sweater and a pair of sweatpants. Soon, I have her dressed, lying on my bed, and wrapped in a blanket, while I dry her hair with the towel.
• • •
Simone comes and goes. She left medicines and administered an injection, and now the girl sleeps more peacefully. I, on the other hand, have been sitting in a chair for more than five hours, watching her sleep and making sure she doesn’t run away again.
Soft, delicate, with wild red hair, she looks like an angel.
How old is she? Where is she from? What’s her name? Thousands of questions fly through my head.
I take a deep breath, waiting patiently to discover the answer to each one. If she thinks she’s going to run away again, she’s greatly mistaken.
Dominic
I know exactly when she wakes up by the quick way her frown lines crease even before she opens her blue eyes. I wait as she looks around and finds me then pulls the blankets up around herself protectively.
“How did I get here?” Her voice is weak, hoarse with sleep. Her hair is messy, and her face a little more ruddy as she stares at me.
I take a deep breath, half of me relieved to see her looking better, and the other half trying to control the irritation that tries to surface. “There’s a breakfast tray and medicine at your side. Eat, and then we’ll talk.” I keep my tone soft.
She opens her mouth to protest.
“I advise you to do what I say, young lady,” I tell her. Then I stroke my beard. God help me. I am patient, but in this moment, I’m not sure how much more I can tolerate of her obstinance.
I see a glimpse of frustration burning in her eyes. She has a rebellious temper.
Sending a clear message that I won’t surrender here, I remain seated, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
After a low snort, she sits up, pulls the blanket against her chest, and then grabs the tray beside her. With pale fingers, she calmly picks up the sandwich that I prepared.
I keep an eye on her for a few moments more before leaving the room to give her some privacy. I walk around the house, trying to calm myself and understand what all these feelings are that she awakens in me. Annoyance at her stubbornness, no doubt. Worried about her health, sure. Unsure about the decision of not taking her to a hospital, absolutely.
I scratch my beard then rub the muscles on my neck, str
etching my it from side to side. Then I draw a deep breath and return to the room.
She’s still sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. She ate only half the sandwich, but at least it’s something. I look up at her, seeing her bite her lip nervously. Her hands are hidden in the sleeves of her sweater, and she doesn’t move them to push back the streak of red hair that fell from the knot tied at the top of her head. Her apprehension doesn’t affect me.
“Okay,” I say, sitting back on the chair. “My name is Dominic, which you already know. I work at the community center. And to answer your question, I brought you here after finding you in a dangerous alley, in the rain, unconscious and burning a fever.”
She shrinks an inch with each word.
“You realize you put your life at risk, right?” I push.
She doesn’t answer.
“Like I thought,” I grumble. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. I have two options for you.”
Those big blue eyes stare at me, ready to refuse whatever I say. I ignore the look and continue.
“The first and most reasonable option: you stay in my house until all your wounds are healed, without me having to worry about finding you passed out in an alley.”
No sound comes out of her mouth.
“The second is: you do what you did yesterday—run out of here, barefoot, sick, looking for food in the trash—and I’ll find you, put you in my car, and take you straight to a hospital, where they will keep you for several days, without calling the police, if you’re lucky.”
I don’t like pushing her, but my instincts tell me that she needs my help. It’s what I felt the instant I laid eyes on her. I can’t describe it.
I take a long breath and stare straight ahead. “So, what’s it gonna be?”
In response my harsh tone, she presses her lips together, but not before nodding discreetly and shakily.
Nothing is said for a long minute until she raises her chin proudly. “Why are you doing this?”
I don’t like the accusation in her tone.
“Because I cherish all life. You’re too young to understand the risks you’re running out there.”
She looks at me suspiciously.
I’m not sure what I’m doing. I don’t want to keep her here against her will, but letting her return to the situation that I found her in last night is out of the question.
“What’s it going to be?” I ask again.
She looks away and wraps her hands in the sleeves of the sweater, remaining silent. I imagine she’s processing her options. If she looks at it clearly, she will see that my offer is what she needs.
I could persuade her further, but I don’t. The decision has to be solely hers, and in this respect, I unfortunately can’t do anything more. Not that I don’t want to.
“I’ll stay.” I barely hear the whisper.
“Sorry. What did you say?” I lean closer, pretending I didn’t hear her.
“I’ll stay,” she answers louder and annoyed, her cheeks red.
I can’t avoid the smile at the corners of my mouth. “Great.” I relax marginally. “Now that we got that out of the way, tell me your name.” Although it sounds like an order, my interest is genuine.
Her face pales, her eyes widen, and she shrugs. It’s evident she doesn’t want to answer, and by her expression, I know she wants to lie.
What the hell! I want her to trust me, to realize that I’m doing all this for her own good.
“Look at me,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t move.
“Please look at me,” I repeat.
Hesitant, she does what I ask, slowly raising her freckled face, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. She seems indecisive, and in her blue eyes … yes, I see fear. Something fucked her up.
I breathe deeply, grinding my jaw so hard it causes pain. Then I lean forward and rest my forearms on my knees, staring at her. “Listen, you can trust me, okay? Your time in this house is limited, and I intend to keep your identity a secret.”
I see the way her pupils dilate before she murmurs, “Luna.”
I take in the name and analyze her face, looking for evidence that she’s lying. No, she’s telling the truth. That’s her real name. Luna. It matches her—beautiful and delicate.
I nod, strangely satisfied by the small achievement. “Very well, Luna.” I return to the unplanned interrogation. “What caused all your injuries?” I’m going straight to the damn question that has been in my head since she came into this house.
“That’s my business,” she answers quickly, breaking our eye contact and seeming willing to fight tooth and nail to keep her secret.
I frown but confess that she’s right about that. My offer here is to help her. I shouldn’t be concerned with what or who hurt her. And if I’m being fair, to accept the blackmail of a stranger and having to stay in his house is too much trouble for anyone to deal with.
I choose to respect her privacy, at least for now. I won’t deny, though, that I want to know, but there’s a time for everything, and now that we’ve reached an agreement for her to stay, the opportunity to learn the truth will come.
One step at a time.
I get up, rubbing my hands on my jeans, feeling uncomfortable. “Simone will be here in the afternoon to see you. Your stitches are inflamed, and she left the ointment that’s by your side to use. If you have pain, or need something, don’t hesitate to call me.” I soften my tone. “Understand?”
She confirms with a slight nod.
“I asked her to buy some clothes for you. If you want her to bring anything else, let me know.” The fragility I see in this girl arouses a strong desire to protect her.
Without thinking, I sit beside her on the bed and take her face in my hands. “You’re safe here, Luna. Nothing bad will happen to you.”
Her eccentrically honest clear blue eyes find mine. Beyond the pain, I see something stronger that I can’t explain. “Thanks, Dominic.” The sweetness in her voice surprises me.
This is the first time she’s looked at me with something other than a challenge or mistrust. It seems that we’re making progress.
• • •
Luna spends the afternoon sleeping. She seems a little more relaxed.
Simone stopped by, checked her condition, gave her another injection, and then left some more medicine.
Now, it’s early evening and time to go to the community center. I won’t deny it; I’m afraid she’ll run away again. I shouldn’t care. She’s free to do as she pleases. I would never keep her here against her will, as much as I want her to be safe.
I knock on the door softly then walk in, finding her awake. I stop in front of the bed. “I’m heading to the community center. I left your dinner next to the oven. Just warm it up when you feel hungry, okay?”
“Hmm,” she murmurs, hunched over.
Narrowing my eyes, I notice the already familiar red tone in her cheeks. It doesn’t look good.
Succumbing to instinct, I lower myself next to her and lean in close to her face. I pull a loose strand of red hair behind her delicate ear then place my hand against the middle of her forehead. It’s very hot.
“You’re still feverish,” I tell her softly, as if raising my voice will aggravate her condition.
In the next moment, I have to hold breath at the intensity with which Luna fixates on my face. The unusual beauty of the perfect blue stare has me curious, drawing me to her.
Damn! What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t have these thoughts.
“I think it’s time you took another pill.” I get up abruptly, embarrassed, and hurry to my closet where I pull out a jacket.
“All right …” she complies, sounding hesitant and equally affected by the moment.
Facing away from her, I put on the leather jacket. “I left my phone number on the table. Call me if you need me.” I give her one last glance before leaving the space that suddenly seems smaller.
On my motorcycle, I speed, hoping the wind wi
ll blow away my inappropriate thoughts.
Hell, what was that? She’s just a kid, man. Get that shit out of your head.
Dominic
The busy night doesn’t help take my thoughts off Luna. Anxiety rules my body; I’m afraid she’ll run away. And what will I do if she does? Will I look for her again? Will I live up to the threat of taking her to a hospital? Honestly, I don’t know. The only certainty I have is this feeling of wanting to keep her safe.
“Rough night?” Pastor Simon’s peaceful voice pulls me into the present.
I look at the big guy standing next to me with his hands resting in his pockets while he looks down seriously.
I’ve known Simon since childhood. He also lived on the streets and, like me and my brothers, tried to stay under the radar. When I returned to the neighborhood, I wasn’t surprised to learn that he is now the pastor at a local church. Simon is a good man and well respected, a great influence in the community. His support was important for the opening of the center.
“How are you, Pastor?” Anchored against the wall, I look in the same direction.
“Well, thanks be to God. And you?”
I nod. Despite his seeming tranquility, I realize that something is worrying Simon.
“What happened?” I cut to the chase.
His serious brown eyes turn to me. “Dirty is back.”
I feel my muscles tauten.
Dirty, the fucking drug trafficker who bullies kids and teens to sell drugs for him, was in jail until recently. Dammit, his freedom only means one thing: problems. There are many other people like him, but Dirty is the only one who doesn’t respect the basic element of community in this neighborhood.
When we established the community center here, we had to make a deal with some of the crime lords in the area. Simply, we don’t engage in their business, and they don’t engage in ours. The problem is that corrupting children wasn’t in the agreement.
