16

I’M WALKING DOWN THE STREET wondering how long it’ll be before someone either pulls over and offers me a fiver for a BJ or shoots me in the back.

Apparently, not long.

A car slows down next to me and I squeak with fright, jumping off the sidewalk and into the weeds. A man’s voice comes at me as I kick at the soggy cardboard boxes that are tangling themselves around my feet.

“Hey, sexy. Need a ride?”

I spin around, grabbing my purse to keep it close and ready to let loose a string of nasty cuss words, when I recognize the car. It’s a bright red mustang, one I’ve seen parked at Rebel’s place before. Mick is in the driver’s seat.

“Go away,” I say, getting my breath back and stepping onto the sidewalk.

I walk as fast as I can in my heels.

He drives along slowly next to me, his arm hanging out of the window and hugging the side of the car. “Come on, Quinlan, don’t make me beg.” He’s laughing at me, I can tell by the tone of his voice.

“I don’t see what’s so funny. And stop calling me Quinl