Page 97 of A Foster Fling

A stuttering Mr. Henry stumbled away from me. “I don’t want any trouble, man.” The baker raised his palms in the air.

“Get gone,” the stranger barked.

Mr. Henry ran back into his shop like the pussy he was, broom and all.

The man approached me, and I hid my bread behind my back. He squatted beside me “What’s your name, kid? How old are you?”

I shot him my meanest snarl. “Ten. But I’m not selling myself for less than 1,000 a night. You hear?”

The stranger’s surprise etched onto his face. “I’m not here for that.” Disgust riddled his tone.

“Then what do you want?” I looked him up and down with a disbelieving sneer. No way a guy like this wasn’t some kind of kiddie fucker.

“A simple exchange. Do you want to live a better life?”

I looked around the alley, confused. Rats scurried about the muck covered ground. The stench of vomit, piss, and beer wafted into my nostrils on a soft wind. There was something better than this? Because anything better I got usually came with more pain and heartache than I wanted to endure for it. I’d take freedom in a dirty alley over the abusive prison I was currently stuck in.

I looked back at the stranger. The fact that he had a gun told me he was dangerous. But he also came to my rescue when Mr. Henry was going to beat my ass with a broom. Plus, he seemed sincerely disgusted by the thought of fucking me, so he obviously wasn’t a pedophile.

Couldn’t be worse than the foster fucker I was stuck with, right? He seemed okay. That’s what my gut told me. If there was anything the streets taught me, it was to always trust my gut.

He held out his hand and I flinched, waiting for it to connect. When it didn’t, I stared at it like it was infected. He didn’t say anything. Just held his hand stretched, unshaking, out to me. He seemed so strong. Constant. Larger than life.

I had to take a leap of faith. The system wasn’t giving me abreak, sowhat was the worst that could happen with this guy? He couldn’t be worse than my foster father.

When I held out my hand, the stranger slipped his in mine. It was the first time in a long time since I’d been touched by someone not out of anger or lust, but care. Like I was a person, not a wet hole or money for alcohol.

We walked side-by-side out of the stench-filled alley. He helped me into his Rolls Royce and away we went.

In less than a week, I was adopted with a new last name and a new family.

Everything was amazing. I was loved by both my new father and mother since they tried so hard to have a child. I felt like I belonged. Like I had a place just for me. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Until her.

Chapter One

Salma

“What about Salma?” My papa´’s voice rose from behind his office door.

I was eavesdropping. I knew it was wrong, but I pressed my ear closer. If I didn’t hang out around my father’s office with my ear pressed against the door like a nosey servant, I wouldn’t know anything about what was happening around here.

I mean, I was a curious mafia princess. My family ran everything. From money to people. Papa´ was king, we were street royalty, and those not in the organization's aristocracy were mere peasants waiting on us hand and foot. The city of brotherly love never saw him coming. No matter that the peasants were the reason he had a kingdom. No matter that he relied on them by funneling tax money into his business.

I listened closer, trying to glean more about my upcoming nuptials. I wasn’t shocked that my father was looking to arrange my marriage already. I was seventeen, turning eighteen in a couple days. It was to be expected. It came with the position of being the daughter of a street don.

They were discussing a corrupt politician now. I smirked inwardly. What a fucking cliche´. The worst part? My father was the nicest chapo´ in the history of mafia leaders. He had this sort of Santa Claus jolliness to him. But if fucked over, ooh he was the devil. He never let any slights slip. Princess or not, I personally chose to stay on his good side.

“Salma will make me a good wife. That’s all there is to it,” a gratty Spanish accent responded to my papa´.

“I won’t have it,” a familiar husky tenor spat.

My brows crinkled. That wasn’t–

“What objections do you have to their union, Rau´l?” my papa asked.

My older brother was back from his mission?Before I could stop the impulse, I opened my father’s office door and ran inside.

“Rau´l!” I cried and ran into his arms.