Page 69 of The Escort

“Get me a beer,” a man barks.

Sliding back against the wall, I wait. Someone walks into the kitchen with a small frame, five feet or so. The refrigerator door opens, and the light shines on a girl.

Fuck! She can’t be more than fourteen. What the fuck is going on here? I hope I’m at the right place. Spotting the bruises on her arm, I’m sure I’m where I belong, whether the call brought me here or not.

The girl could be the woman who called the domestic center’s daughter. I hope so. If this girl made the call, that means…I shift forward, and her eyes meet mine and widen. I set my finger over my lips.

She glances at the doorway to the other room and then back at me.

“It’s okay,” I say at the lowest volume my voice will go. “Is it just you and him?”

She nods. My insides twist, imagining what the fucker was doing to the young girl.

“Hey, where the fuck is my beer?” the fucker calls out from the other room.

The girl jumps.

I hold my hand out. “I’ll give it to him.” She looks down at the beer in her shaking hand. “I won’t let him hurt you.” I nod. “It’s okay.”

She slowly hands me the beer.

“Stay here.” I point at the ground. “Yeah?”

She nods.

I walk into the room. A guy in his late twenties dressed in a T-shirt and jeans sits in a recliner.

“It’s about fucking time—” His eyes meet mine.

“Here ya go.” I throw the beer at him. Reflex shoots his hands out to catch it.

“Who the fuck are you?” He jumps up from the chair.

“I’m more concerned about what you’re doing with that girl.”

“That’s not your business.” His hands come out.

“I’m making it my business.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

Like a graham cracker’s perforated edges, I snap. What he said, the way he said it, something inside breaks.

An image mars my vision.

A memory flashes before my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s a memory, but whatever it is, I sense it’s true. It’s real. It happened.

And I just remembered it.

I grab my gun from the back of my pants, swing it around, and aim it at the fucker.

Trembling from my toes to the fingers that hold my gun, I focus on the man in front of me, but all I see is…

Chapter 27

I tap my hand on the steering wheel to one of my favorite songs blaring on the radio.

My contact was a no-show. I waited for an hour. It’s okay. I have until the first of the month to complete the article—today’s Thursday. I have four more days. I’ll get it done.