Want You Read online

  Want You

  Jen Frederick

  To Claire,

  we’re on this path together

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part II

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  #GetSacked

  About the Author

  Also by Jen Frederick

  Summary

  Bitsy

  I might be only nineteen, but I know what I want. It’s Leka Moore. I don’t care that he took me in when he was barely more than a kid himself. I don’t care that he raised me. I don’t care everyone thinks being with him is wrong. I know we belong together, and the only person I need to convince is him.

  Leka

  I found her in the corner of a dark alley. If I hadn’t taken her with me, she would’ve died that night—or maybe worse. Before I knew it, she became the light in my dark life, the haven from the madness. I watched her grow up. I tried to teach her right from wrong. Now that she’s an adult, I’m feeling things that no good man should ever feel. But then…I’ve never been a good man. I have a chance at redemption by saving her from the greatest danger of all—me.

  Part I

  1

  Leka

  Scritch.

  Scratch.

  A rat, I think. I glance to my left to make sure. My job depends on silence and swiftness.

  Instead of a small animal, I see a small human crouched in the corner, just beyond the doorway of a crumbling brick apartment building I’m using as cover. Behind her, a big wooden fence blocking off the end of the alley looms upward. Her big eyes glisten with fear.

  She draws her feet closer to her, making that scratching noise. Her dirty, threadbare tennis shoes are rubbing gravel against pavement.

  We both hold our breath and stare at each for a long moment. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I finger the blade in my sock. Could I? I run my thumb around the hilt, imagine lifting it to the girl’s chest. My hand falls away.

  No.

  I don’t have the balls to do it.

  Instead, I press a finger to my mouth. Shhhh, I warn silently.

  I need her to be quiet. She covers her mouth with a grimy hand and nods. It’s risky to trust her. She could ruin this for me unintentionally. Or she could scream and out me on purpose. I give her one last hard look before peering around the corner again.

  Officer Dumbfuck has his back to me. He’s feeling up a prostie. From my position, I can’t tell if she’s willing or just suffering through it. Most of the beat cops that work this section of the city dip their dicks in the community wells without paying. They tell the girls that payment is not getting dragged down to booking.

  I feel sorry for the working girls. They get it from both ends—the pimps and the cops. And if the pimps find out that their stable is giving it away for free to the boys in blue, there’s hell to pay. For those on the street, the whores have it the worst.

  Nah. Strike that. Rent boys are somewhere below the girls. It’s the worst sort of contest. With Stinky Steve’s gang, you either serve a purpose on your feet or on your back and the only way out is a bullet in the head. I flip the silver disc between my fingers. Good thing I’ve got some skills, or my callouses would be on my knees, not my hands.

  A clink of metal against metal provides me the signal. It’s go time. Officer DF loosens his duty belt and pushes down his pants. They sag under his white, hairy ass. His fat fingers fumble with the hem of the girl’s skirt. I dart forward, clinging to the shadows. He’s inside of her when I reach him. Or, at least, he’s busy thrusting into something and doesn’t notice the loss of the police radio from his belt.

  The prostie doesn’t notice either. Her eyes are closed. Probably focusing on something pretty to get her through this bad fuck.

  Because I practiced, it takes me less than thirty seconds to bust open the radio, insert the bug and then return the radio to its holster. Another thirty seconds has me back into my hiding place behind a dumpster. Good thing, too, because Officer DF is a three-pump chump. His loud groan of satisfaction fills the alleyway.

  I check on the girl, whose face is filled with confusion. She mouths something to me. I can’t read her lips, so I back up until my body brushes hers. I dip my head low and point to my ear.

  She bends forward, whispering so lightly that I can’t even feel her breath on my skin. “Is man hurt?”

  I shake my head no. She slumps backward, her small brow bunched together.

  There’s the sound of a hand slapping flesh. I poke my head out to see that it’s just him tapping the whore’s ass and not her face.

  “Dammit, Patty, you made me come too fast,” he complains as he hauls his pants upright. “Next time you’re gonna be on your knees, sucking me good. You hear me?”

  Patty replies, but her voice is too quiet for me to make out the words. It must be a yes, or something close to it, because Officer DF slaps her ass again before zipping up.

  “Good girl. Now, we’re going to have a probie working next week. Don’t come on to him until I give you the okay. Got it?”

  This time she nods.

  “We don’t know if he’s into this or not. If he’s not, he’s probably a fucking twinkie, but your guy sells boys, too, right?”

  Patty shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I work for myself,” she says.

  Officer DF pinches her chin. “You lie to me and it won’t be good for you.”

  Patty twists her head out of his grip—which I think is a bad idea. She’s thin and small. A bundle of toothpicks held together by stretchy fabric. The cop agrees. He punches her in the gut. She folds in half, her cry of pain filling the alleyway. My fist clenches at my side, and my gut churns at my own helplessness, but I’m no hero. If I go out and help Patty, I’m gonna get nailed.

  There’s a tug on the back of my T-shirt. I turn to see the little girl twisting the cloth into her fist. She’s trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. I peel her fingers away and give her a rough shake of my head. I can’t have her hanging on me or distracting me. She retreats into the shadows, a tiny ball of misery.

  I’d feel bad, but I don’t have the luxury of pity—haven’t had it. Ever.

  I direct my attention back to the cop. He’s our biggest danger. The cop hauls Patty upright by her hair. Black streaks down from her eyes, and the red on her lips she used to attract the cop’s attention is smeared, clown-like, around her mouth.

  “You going to treat my probie right next week?” he asks.

  Patty nods obediently.

  “Good.” He yanks hard on her hair once more before releasing her. She stumbles but manages to right herself. “And brush your
goddamned teeth next time. You taste like a fucking ashtray.”

  He wipes his hand across his mouth. Creep had his dick in Patty’s pussy and he’s mad about the taste of her mouth. That shit is stupid and wrong. He adjusts his gear belt, gives her a brief nod and walks off. His boot heels make a crunching noise as he stomps out of the alley.

  Patty waits until he’s cleared the opening of the alley before scurrying out.

  I give her a minute head start before creeping forward. A squeak of anxiety escapes the little girl behind me.

  “I’m checking to make sure it’s all clear. I’ll be back. Promise.”

  Her big dark eyes have tears in them. Whatever her age is, she knows one important thing. Most promises aren’t worth shit.

  I reach under the hem of my jeans and tug the wad of money out of my sock. I hand it to her. “This is all the cash I got in the world. If you don’t believe I’ll come back for you, believe I’ll come back for that.”

  She doesn’t make a move to take it, so I stuff it into her lap, my hand brushing against her bony ribcage. My own stomach clenches sympathetically. I haven’t had a crumb today either.

  “After I check out Officer Dickhead, we’ll eat. Keep my loot safe. ’Kay?”

  That earns me a tiny nod. Good enough.

  I spring to my feet and hug the shadows as I make my way to the sidewalk. Patty is a block down, getting shoulder pats from the other girls in the stable. The cop is in his patrol car, head down, doing fuck knows what. I flip my hood up and continue in the opposite direction until I reach a black, ten-year-old El Camino. The window rolls down just far enough so I can see a fist and a thumb pointing upward.

  I don’t stop or nod or give a hand signal in return. I just keep walking. The listening device has been planted, and from the sign of approval, it’s working. From what I gathered this morning, the bug I planted allows my boss to listen in to a private police channel on the radio. He thinks the cops he bought might be working against him—either with a rival gang or a plant from the feds.

  I walk two more blocks down, in case the eyes in the El Camino are watching me. Then I hang a right. Hunching low, sticking to the dark spaces, I make my way through backyards and alleys until I reach the wooden fence. I run up the brick wall and use the angle to propel myself high enough to grab the top of the fence. Effortlessly, the momentum carries me over. I drop to the ground, tucking myself into a ball and rolling to a stop not far from the girl, who hasn’t moved an inch.

  I find the wad of money tucked exactly where I left it.

  “You hungry?” I ask, dusting myself off.

  She nods.

  “Come on, then.” I jerk my head toward the side door of the apartment building. It opens after a sharp kick.

  She follows behind me, moving lightly and quietly. Her tennies don’t make any noise. Quick learning, I think. I lead her up the stairs, looking for the right apartment. The third one down, left side with small tennis shoes on the mat next to a larger pair of work boots, fits the bill. Slipping my knife out of my sock, I make quick work with the lock.

  The apartment is dark. I position the girl by the front door and motion for her to stay. Silently, I move down the hall. The living room is empty. There are two bedroom doors, one is slightly ajar. The junk inside tells me it’s the mom’s room.

  I twist the knob of the other room. Jackpot. There’s a doll on the floor and a stuffed animal on the bed. Inside a small dresser, I find what I need. I jam the stuff under my own shirt and then leave two twenties on the dresser. I take the girl to the stairwell.

  I hand her everything. “Can you dress yourself?”

  She stares at the pile of stuff in her arms and then at me. Sighing, I take the clothes and drop them on the floor. Holding up the jeans, I say, “Legs in.”

  She places a tiny thin hand on my shoulder for balance and steps into the clothes. They’re way too big for her, but shit, too big is better than the ripped, dirty thing she’s got on. I motion for her to pull the nightgown up over her head and then turn around. I can hear her struggling but keep my eyes down. At the small tap in the middle of my back, I twist around to see her dressed, with the sweatshirt on backwards. It’s good enough.

  I roll up the sleeves three times before the tips of her fingers peek out. The socks, which I think are ankle ones, go up to her shins.

  Resting on my haunches, I take a look at her. She’s a drowned rat in this stuff. I pull the last piece off the floor. It’s a knit cap. I fit it over her head, tucking her long hair up until there’s not a strand hanging down.

  “I’m hungry,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “Let’s eat.”

  She follows me down the three flights of stairs. We exit out the back of the building—away from the cop, Patty, and the El Camino. I’m a fast learner, too. You have to be to survive on the streets. Information is key. The more you know about a person, the more you can control them.

  So I keep all my shit locked down tight. Not that I have a lot of shit right now. Other than the cash that’s back in my sock and a few other pieces I’ve managed to squirrel away, I don’t own anything. But I will. Someday.

  2

  Leka

  Right now, I’m living in a solid two-bedroom off the blue line train in Midtown. Most of Stinky Steve’s gang lives in a house on the north end of Jackson Heights, shoved together like sardines in a can. They call it the Pie House because that’s where they do all their fucking. It smells like rancid spunk and shit-streaked underwear.

  I spent two nights there dodging piss buckets the older guys balance on the top of doors in hopes that the victim gets a yellow shower. Maybe I would’ve taken that, but when they started trying to shove crap up my ass so I could prove to them I was a man, I lit out. I’d rather sleep on the street.

  I did that for a couple months until I stumbled onto this particular setup. Two years ago, I was trailing a realtor, Mike, who was dating the boss’s sister. Stinky Steve runs a crew of about a dozen who deal mostly in stolen electronics. He rose to power after pulling off a robbery of a thousand iPhones. Sure, that was eight years ago and it was a single job, but that’s all it takes in our world. Plus, Stinky Steve’s got good instincts.

  He knows things about people, like how the delivery employee in charge of all those phones would be easy to flip with the promise of new wheels, or how tying his boat to the Big Boss would protect him from the Tong gang that is cutting into everyone’s profits, or how cutting off the thumb of his second-in-command for leaving a partial fingerprint at a scene would make everyone in the crew fall in line forever

  Stinky Steve thought the mark was cheating on his sister. He was right. The realtor fucked a lot of his clients, usually in the condos and town homes that he was listing. These places had lockboxes, a little metal box that hung on the door handle. Inside the metal box was a key. Sometimes the metal boxes had a key code, but other times, Mike, the realtor, would just use this magical thing called a master key.

  One day while he was busy fucking a client in somebody’s bedroom, I copied the master key. Since then, I’ve surfed from one nice apartment to another. In a city this big, there’s always an apartment for sale.

  My current digs have been empty for months. I heard it’s because someone died here and whoever owns it doesn’t want to come off the “fucking ridiculously high” asking price, as Mike had screamed into the phone the other day. I hope it never sells. It’s the perfect place for me—close to the subway with a street side entrance that’s supposed to be for staff and deliveries. There’s a drugstore and grocery a block away. There’s even a library that’s big enough to hide in. In this place, I can pretend I’m not a twelve-year-old thug who’d rather keep all his fingers than interfere with a prostie getting beaten by a cop.

  This is where I take the girl. I don’t know why I’m making all these risky decisions. Jerkoff Jon, the head of the Pie House, would’ve snuffed her out, but not before violating her. He’s that sick of a dude. One day I wouldn’t mind
sticking a railroad pike through his forehead.

  “You need to use the bathroom?” I ask the girl, closing the door behind us.

  She’s stunned silent as she takes in the tall ceilings and white walls. It’s the cleanest place she’s probably ever seen.

  “Bathroom?” I ask again.

  She nods slowly.

  “You think this is the shit, you should see some of the other places Mike has for sale. There’s this place uptown that has three bedrooms and a view of the park. You been to the park?” That place is amazing—a green island in the middle of this grimy, sick city. There are places, deep in the heart, where you can’t hear anything but your own quiet breath.

  She doesn’t answer. Other than asking me if the prostie was hurt, the only sounds I’ve ever heard her make were squeaks. It don’t matter much to me one way or another. I like the quiet.

  I flip on the lights to the bathroom. “Here. I’ve got one towel, but that’s it. I hope you don’t mind.” I pause. “Do you know how to wash yourself?”

  She stares at me and then the shower and then back at me.

  I crouch down to her level. “How old are you?”