Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Liam

A little past midnight on a Friday night in November, I’m the last of my buddies to leave our weekly get-together at our favorite downtown Chicago bar, Tanks. When I step outside, I’m hit by a gust of chilly autumn air. I wave to my friends as they head for their vehicles. I’m parked two blocks away from the bar, so I start off on foot.

Just as I pass by the alley that runs behind the bar, a sound catches my attention—the shuffling of shoes on the pavement, a faint gasp followed by a sharp cry of pain. Female. Immediately, my internal alarm bell rings. I stop to listen.

When I hear an angry male voice followed by a strained female response and another cry of pain, I head straight into the alley.

My brothers always say that I’d run straight into a burning building if I thought someone needed help. I guess they’re right. It’s in my nature. I can’t help it. I especially can’t abide violence against women. I have three sisters, and the idea of any one of them getting hurt is repugnant.

I move deeper into the alley, passing huge metal trash containers, piles of discarded newspapers, and empty shipping crates sitting outside the businesses’ rear doors. It’s dark back here, but there’s an occasional lamp to light my way, enough that I don’t trip over the garbage at my feet.

I spot the man first, before I catch sight of the woman he’s got pinned against a brick wall. He’s got a hand wrapped around her throat, and I suspect he’s cutting off her air because she’s no longer making any sounds. She clutches his wrist tightly as she struggles in vain to dislodge his grip on her throat. It’s not surprising that he’s not budging because the assailant is a big guy, solid muscle, and he outweighs her by a hundred pounds easily.

Light from a low-watt bulb glints off the knife in his other hand as he raises it to the woman’s face.

“I’m gonna cut you, bitch,” he growls. “You damn whore, piece of garbage, filthy cock tease! Since when is a skank like you too good for someone like me? Let’s see how much money you make when your pretty face is carved up.”

I’m behind him a second later, grabbing his knife hand and twisting his wrist hard enough to snap the tendons. The guy cries out, immediately releasing the girl. She sinks to the ground, gasping for air, her hands going to her throat.

The asshole tries to pivot to face me, but I undercut his footing and he goes down on his ass. When I pin his wrist back a solid ninety degrees he screams as one of the bones snaps.

“You motherfucker!” he shouts, saliva spraying from his mouth. “You broke my fucking wrist!”

“You should have thought about that before you assaulted this girl.” I twist his arm and wrench it behind him, almost to the point of dislocating his shoulder.

I glance down at the girl, who’s still on the ground. There are streaks of blood on her face and in her hair. She’s gazing up at me, her big dark eyes dazed.

When I release the guy’s arm, he scrambles to his feet. Cradling his broken wrist in his other hand, he turns and runs deeper into the alley, quickly out of sight.

“You okay?” I ask the girl as I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. “I’ll call 911.”

“No, don’t!” She attempts to stand, but stumbles and falls back onto the pavement. “Don’t call anyone,” she gasps, her voice thin and raspy. “Please.”

I crouch down in front of her to get a better look. “Why not?”

“Just don’t.” With a shaky hand, she pushes her long, curly dark hair back from her face, revealing newly forming bruises. She has the beginnings of a black eye, and there are abrasions on her forehead, left cheek, and chin. There’s a trickle of blood running down her left temple. It looks like he cracked her head on something hard, probably the wall.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Still struggling to catch her breath, she nods. “Just… need… a minute.”

“I think you need more than a minute. Let me take you to the emergency room.”

“No!” She manages to get to her feet. “No hospital.”

She’s far younger than I realized, maybe nineteen or twenty at the most. Even with the injuries, it’s clear she’s stunning. She’s mixed race, her skin a light brown, dark hair falling in corkscrew curls. Her eyes are so dark, they appear black in this lighting. Her lips are full and lush, painted pink and glossy.

I stand just as she finally straightens. She’s tall for a girl. Probably five-ten, just a few inches shorter than my six-one. But then I notice she’s wearing high heels, and that’s probably giving her a few of those inches. Her black mini skirt barely covers her ass, her black fishnet stockings are shredded, and a shiny silver top has cleavage so low it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She’s got on heavy make-up and lots of gold jewelry.

She’s tottering on her feet, and at first I think she might be drunk until I glance down and notice that the heel of one of her stilettos is missing. She’s not going to get far in those shoes. She stares at me with wide, wary eyes, as if she’s wondering if I’m as much of a threat as the other guy.

“I’m Liam McIntyre,” I say, hoping to put her at ease. “What’s your name?”

She studies me a moment and finally says, “Jasmine.”

“Have you got a last name, Jasmine?”

She shakes her head. “Just Jasmine.”

“All right, Just Jasmine. What now?”

She narrows her dark eyes on me. “What do you mean?”

I gesture to her. “You’re injured, your shoe is broken, and it looks like you hit your head pretty hard, I’m guessing on the brick wall. You need medical treatment.”

“No way.” She shakes her head adamantly, then cries out and puts her hand to her temple.

“See? You might have a concussion.”

The girl shakes her head more carefully this time. “No doctors or hospitals. I’ll be fine. I just need to catch my breath.” She winces when she stares down at her ruined clothing. “Shit.”

“The guy who assaulted you—do you know him?”

She meets my gaze but doesn’t answer.

“It sounded like he knew you.”

The girl shrugs as darkness clouds her eyes. “He’s a pervert. I’m glad you broke his wrist. He deserves a lot worse.”

“I won’t disagree with that. So, like I said, what now?”

She attempts to take a step forward but stumbles thanks to her busted shoe.

I catch her before she hits the pavement. “Careful.”

She jerks away as if burned. “Don’t touch me.”

I raise my hands. “Sorry. I was just trying to keep you from face-planting.”

Clearly exhausted and hurting, she leans back against the wall, and I take the opportunity to look her over. “Are you, uh, working?” That’s the best euphemism I can come up with. I figure it’s better than coming right out and asking her if she’s a prostitute.

Frowning, she nods.

“Look, your shoe is busted, and you’re injured. You can’t go back out on the street in your condition. Those abrasions need to be cleaned and disinfected at the very least. The cut on your head needs to be looked at. You might even need stitches.”

Her shoulders slump, and she looks like she’s a minute away from collapsing.

“I’ve got a buddy who’s a paramedic,” I say. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll ask him to take a look at your injuries.”

She glances left and right, as if she’s expecting someone to pop up any second. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m working.”

A cynical laugh escapes me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re in any shape to work tonight.”

She glares at me, clearly irritated. “Do you think I have a choice? I’d rather get beat up again than go back empty-handed.”

“How much do you usually make in a night?”

She shrugs. “Around five hundred, give or take.”

“How much more do you need?”

“Four.”

“All right. I’ll take the rest of your night.”

She looks at me like I’m out of my mind. “A guy that looks like you doesn’t have to pay for sex.”

“I don’t want sex. I’ll take you to get medical treatment and fix your shoe. And I’ll feed you in the process. How about it?”

“And you’re gonna give me four hundred bucks?”

“Yes.”

She studies me. “How do I know you’re not some psycho serial killer?”

I laugh. “Like that guy?” I nod in the direction her assailant ran. “How often do you get in a car with a stranger?”

She studies me thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Okay, fine.”

I nod toward the street. “This way. I’m parked two blocks from here. Do you think you can walk?”

She leans down and slips off both her shoes, holding them by the skinny silver straps. “Yeah, I can walk.”

When she shivers visibly, I take off my black leather jacket and hold it out to her. “Here, take this. It’s cold tonight.”

She hesitates a moment, watching me closely. I think she’s going to decline my offer, but in the end she takes it from me and slips it on.

“Let’s go.” I walk slowly so she can keep up with me. I’m sure the rough pavement is going to tear up her stockings even more, but I think that’s the least of her worries right now. I pull out my phone and place a call.

Jason answers. “Hey, Liam. What’s up?” It sounds like he’s driving. He and Layla are probably still on their way home from the bar tonight.

I was with the two of them this evening, along with the rest of my usual group. “Jason, I’m sorry, but I need to ask a favor.”

“Sure,” he says without hesitation. “Whatever you need.”

“I know it’s late, but can you look someone over for me tonight? She’s got some bruises and abrasions on her face. She has a bloody cut on her temple that may or may not need stitches.”

“She? Who?”

“Just someone I ran into tonight.”

“Why don’t you take her to the—”

“The hospital’s not an option.”

“I see.”

I hear the hesitation in my friend’s voice, and I don’t blame him. He doesn’t want to bring a complete stranger around his girlfriend, Layla. Layla seemed a bit fragile tonight.

“How about if you meet us at my place?” I suggest. Jason and Layla live in the apartment directly across the hall from mine. “You can examine her there.”

“Sure, okay. Let me know when you’re home.”

“Thanks, buddy. I owe you.” I pocket my phone as we reach the sidewalk. “This way,” I tell Jasmine, nodding to the right.

She walks along the pavement beside me, obviously limping. I glance down and notice her right knee is bloody. She must have landed on her knee when she fell. Everyone we pass stares at her battered face with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. A few disgusted looks come my way, too, as if they assume I’m the one responsible for her condition. I’ll be lucky if no one calls the cops on me.

In spite of how banged up she is, how disheveled, it’s obvious she’s an attractive young woman. Actually, the word attractive doesn’t begin to do her justice. She’s not quite what I’d expect of a prostitute.

When we reach my black Jeep Wrangler, I open the front passenger door for her and attempt to help her up into the seat.

She flinches and pulls away. “I said don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

Standing back to give her plenty of space, I watch as she hauls herself into the front passenger seat.

Once she’s seated, I tell her, “Buckle up,” and shut her door. I walk around to the driver’s side and slide in behind the wheel and start the engine.

“Who’s this friend of yours?” she asks as I pull into traffic. She stares straight ahead. “The paramedic?”

“His name’s Jason. We work for the same company. He’s a close friend, and he lives in my apartment building. I figure he’s our best option since you won’t go to a hospital.”

Jasmine shrugs. “All right.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“I’m legal, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just curious.”

“Twenty-one. How old are you?”

I don’t know whether to believe her or not. She sure looks younger. “I’m twenty-five.”

I drive to my apartment building in the Gold Coast. As we pull into the parking lot, Jasmine peers out the windshield at the towering glass and steel building. “You live here?” She sounds skeptical.

“Yeah.”

She whistles. “What do you do that you can afford to live in a place like this?”

“I work for a security company.”

I proceed down into the underground garage and park in my designated spot. After I get out, I jog around to the passenger side, intending to help her down, but she beats me to it. When she steps on the smooth cement, she gasps.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. The ground’s cold.”

I’d offer to carry her to the elevator, but she’s already made it clear she doesn’t want to be touched.

She follows me to the garage elevator, and I push the button for my floor. The elevator stops in the lobby and several residents get on. All of them do a double-take when they see Jasmine. She ignores them, staring straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone.

The other residents get off the elevator before we do, so we ride the last few floors up alone.

“Sorry about that,” I say. They were openly staring at her, probably curious about what happened to her.

She shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

The elevator stops at my floor, and the doors open. As we step out, I point to the left. “My apartment is this way, at the end of the hall. Last door on the right.”

She follows me down the hallway, checking out the artwork hanging on the walls. “Nice.”

I nod. “It’s not bad.”

When we reach the end of the corridor, I knock quietly on Jason’s door. It’s late, and I don’t want to disturb any of the neighbors.

A moment later, the door opens, and Jason stands there with his medical bag in hand. He’s dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. I don’t see Layla.

“This is my friend Jason,” I tell Jasmine. “Jason, this is Jasmine. As you can see, she got a bit banged up tonight. Would you mind checking her over?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jason says.

When we hear a quiet sound coming from within Jason’s apartment, we all look. Layla’s standing there in the shadows, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jason says in a gentle voice. “Why don’t you go to bed? I won’t be long.”

The two girls eye each other curiously.

“All right,” Layla says. Then, to Jasmine, she says, “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

Jasmine gives Layla a faint smile. “Thanks.”

Jason follows us out into the hall and locks his apartment door. Then he follows us across the hall to my apartment.

I unlock my door and flip on a few lights in the living room. I nod to the kitchen. “Let’s have you set up at the table. There’s better lighting in there.”

The three of us pass through the living room to the kitchen.

Jason sets his medical kit on the table and opens it up. “Have a seat, Jasmine.”

She does as he asked, looking far from comfortable. She wraps her arms around her torso.

“Would you like to take off the jacket?” Jason asks. “So I can examine your arms?”

She shakes her head. “No need. It’s just my face and my knee.”

“Okay.” Jason gives me a look and shrugs.

“Can I get you something?” I ask her. “Water or coffee? Anything?”

“Water, if you don’t mind,” she says.

While Jason is getting his equipment out, I grab the filtered pitcher from the fridge and pour her a glass of water. When I hand it to her, she practically downs half of it before taking a breath. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll make her something to eat. She’s probably starving.

I stand back, leaning against the kitchen wall, while Jason examines her injuries, working quickly and efficiently. He doesn’t ask her any questions about what happened or how she got hurt. I imagine he knows that conversation could get awkward real quick.

After he takes her vitals—pulse, blood pressure, checks her pupils—he cleans the wounds on her face and knee with a disinfectant and applies an antiseptic. The worst of the cuts get small bandages.

Very gently, he pulls her hair back to reveal the source of the blood trickling down her left temple. Jasmine winces when he dabs at the cut with a cotton ball soaked in a disinfectant cleaner.

“Does that need stitches?” I ask. I’m hoping he says no, since she refuses to go to a hospital. I imagine Jason could do it here if he had to.

“I don’t think so,” Jason says as he examines her temple and finishes wiping the blood from her face. “It’s not deep. A butterfly bandage will do fine.” He applies one to the inch-long gash at her temple, then moves back and eyes his work. He looks the rest of her over, at least what he can see. “Does anything else hurt?” he asks.

Jasmine shakes her head. Then she reaches for her glass and finishes the rest of the water. I can’t help but notice how her hand shakes as she sets down the empty glass.

“Would you like more?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”

After Jason’s finished, I thank him and walk him to the door. He refrains from asking any questions, although I’m sure he’s dying to know what’s going on.

After he’s gone, I return to the kitchen to find Jasmine right where I left her. She looks exhausted. “Are you hungry?”

It’s impossible to miss the widening of her dark eyes. For a minute, I think she’s going to turn down my offer, but finally she says, “Yeah, sure. I could eat.”

“It’s kind of late for delivery. How about I make you something?”