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I bite into my lip and look down before nodding meekly. “Yes.”
“Miss,” he drawls lazily. “Why would you trust a bunch of kids you have never met?”
Why wouldn’t I?
Do I need to look at everyone with suspicion? Is that the mentality I need to adopt for life in the city?
“T-they seemed like nice kids,” I offer weakly.
In hindsight, I can see how much of a mistake that was, but in my town, something like this would never happen. The teenage boys would have gladly helped me carry my luggage with a charming smile before running off.
Everything is different here.
The people here frown when you smile at them, and the cops look at you with annoyance when you walk into their station. Hell, no one even stops to ask what’s wrong when they see you distressed.
You wanted this, my conscience admonishes again. To be another faceless body in the crowd.
“This is what will happen, Miss Tyler,” the officer says with a sigh, one of many he’s let out since I walked in. “We are going to investigate and let you know if we come up with something, but in cases like this, it’s pretty hard to recover anything.”
“I can buy new clothes and shoes; I already called to cancel my cards. I don’t care about those things, but my personal records, school forms, letter of admission, and ID are all in my backpack. I need them to register for my classes.”
“Like I said, we’ll look into that and get back to you,” he says. “Write down your contact information and an address where we can reach you.”
I grab the pen he hands me and gnaw at my lip as I try to think of what to do. I don’t exactly have an address to note down. I was going to stay at a hotel for the night and report to college tomorrow where I would get a dorm assignment, but now, without any documentation or means to pay for a room, that’s not going to happen.
“What’s the matter?”
I lift my eyes to the officer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have an address to note down. I’ll have one tomorrow when I can get moved into my dorm, but I was planning to stay at a hotel tonight.”
The cop studies me for a long time before grabbing a notebook and scribbling something down. He tears the paper off the notebook and passes it over to me.
“This is the address to a women’s shelter,” he tells me. “Just tell them that Officer Rowling sent you, and they will take you in for a few nights. I’ll let you know if we find your things.”
“Thank you,” I say, getting up to leave, but the cop stops me, his eyes flashing with something dangerous, but it’s gone so fast I almost think I’ve imagined it.
“A pretty girl such as yourself should not be walking around this dangerous city. You’ll be safest at the shelter.”
I grow a little self-conscious when he runs his eyes over my body, so I thank him and quickly exit the station before he or anyone else can see the tears in my eyes. Tear droplets fall on the screen of my phone as I search for the address to the women’s shelter, and want to cry when I see it’s a thirty-minute walk. At night. I don’t have the means to pay for an Uber or taxi. For the first time since coming to the city, I entertain the thought that perhaps I have been chasing a pipe dream.
The city is nothing like I imagined. When Nana told me to go out into the world, she didn’t prepare me for how miserable the world would leave me feeling.
And just how lonely.
Chapter Two
Priest
There have been few occasions in my life when I have felt the will to live start to slip right through my fingers, but the need has never been as intense as it is right now.
Fucking hell!
My fingers are practically itching to grab my gun from the holster and shoot my brains out if only to escape this torture.
“I’m telling you, man, nothing beats the roar of a Harley with a straight-pipe exhaust. It’s all about that deep, thunderous sound that turns heads everywhere you go. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise,” Knight, my best friend and also the vice president of our motorcycle club, says, smacking the kid sitting beside him on the back of his head.
The prospect, who is in his early twenties, shakes his head. “Dude, I hear you, but I gotta disagree. It’s not about the noise and the power; it’s all about the looks. Adding chrome accents and custom paint jobs can take a Harley to a whole new level.” The kid turns to his flashy bike with a fond smile. “What’s the point of turning heads with all the noise without giving them something to look at?”
I close my eyes and beg for patience to survive the night. These two have been going at it all night long, and I am just about ready to start my Harley and ride off the edge of the nearest cliff so I can put an end to it.
