Psycho Inside Me (8 page)

Tears wanted out, but I’d had enough sadness. Anger would be welcomed at any moment.
Or adrenaline.

I tied up my hoody strings. Clouds threatened rain and the breeze picked up to something more ominous.
Sliding out of my window, I placed a stick on the sill before lowering it closed. A wet room when I got home would be hard to explain.

Quietly, I closed the gate behind me and lifted my hands to start my running and stumbled.
Deegan stood across the street, waiting for me. I caught myself with my hands, gravel biting into my palms. I hissed at the sting. Rubbing my hands together, I checked for blood, desperate for time to collect myself. I didn’t know how to react to his presence. Ignoring him didn’t help the pain or the anger at his absence in my life. Yelling would draw attention at such a late hour – attention I didn’t want or need. And talking like nothing had happened let his ass off the hook, and that just wasn’t going to happen.

Centering my energy and
focus on my core, I lifted my knees and pushed off with my feet. I didn’t say a word to him or even nod his direction.

Somehow, h
e’d known I would go. Known I couldn’t help it. Known that today of all days would be the day I would need to break out most.

I broke int
o my familiar rhythm, the comforting weight of my knife tucked into the waistband of my jogging shorts. The skimpier the better, I figured. The goal was to get a damn john to try to buy me, not watch as they picked up all the other hookers on the road.

Deegan’s gaze roved the length of me. I knew the picture I presented. I’d created it. A young girl dressed in extremely short shorts topped with a halter
under a sports bra. When I got to the block I would stand on, I’d slip off the bra and tuck it into the crease of my shoe between the tongue and laces. No one ever noticed people’s shoes, especially when they wanted to screw other parts that didn’t include feet.

He fell into step beside me, keeping pace and without talking. At least for a little while. Finally, after we’d run a good mile side by side, he spoke, barely winded by our pace. “Cassie, I’m so sorry.”

I stopped, bending at the waist and putting my hands on my knees. He’d gone there. I couldn’t let him. My tenuous control might slip at any minute. I needed it to stay strung up until after I completed my task. “Forget it.” I stood again and picked up where I left off, ignoring him at my side.

“No, I really am sorry.” He matched me, step for step, and it irritated the crap out of me.

Stopping again, I faced him, my features tight, voice hard.
“For what? My mom dying or the way you’ve treated me the last year?”

He flinched, pulling his collar away from his neck. “All of it? Everything? I just know you have to be in pain. I get that.”

“Go away, Deegan.” I puffed out. He wouldn’t make me acknowledge anything. It was too early. I needed the release of a kill before I could accept what had happened to my mom. To Deegan and I.

“No. I won’t.” He looked up and down the street, hands on his hips. “I take it you’re going out for an anniversary celebration…”

“Is it that obvious?” Pissed off had replaced the anger and frustration. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Yes, I’m going and by myself. Run home and let your dad know I’ll be on Sprague killing someone who hurts women and buys sex. We good here? I need to get going.” Finding my pace with all the stopping and starting would be near impossible, if I didn’t remember this was my speed, my jog. I refused to let him push me, strain me. I had a job to do that night. Feeling alive, powerful, strong, and real were the only things that would get me through the next few hours. I needed to feel like I could do something good, even if initially it was something bad. I needed…

I needed my mom.

Chapter 9

Deegan didn’t speak again, falling back to run behind me, like he was watching over me. But I didn’t care. He could do whatever he wanted. I didn’t need him. And I was going to prove it. Together, my ass.

The miles flew by. Before I could face my mom’s death, we reached
the corner I’d been studying, had carefully chosen. The other girls were out in full force. From what I’d gathered Nancy with her buck teeth and dreadlocks, Sis with no teeth and an extra hundred pounds I’ll never understand how she kept it, Lacey who was in fact a cross-dresser but very popular with the johns, and Jesse the tallest red head I’d ever seen had taken their nightly posts.

They waved to me in between cat calls and provocative hand gestures at the cars driving by.
I waved back. Recognizing me wasn’t always a bad thing. The girls knew I ran almost every night.

Deegan grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the shadows of the building. His lips didn’t seem to move in the darkness when he spoke. “What the hell, Cassie?”

“What?” I slipped my bra off, daring him with my slow movements to look, stare. He didn’t answer as he watched me pull the rubber band from my hair. I split my thick dark hair down the middle all the way to my neck and quickly braided each chunk before tying them off. The side braids took another year off my appearance, making me particularly appealing to the pedophiles.

That night, I wanted one that really deserved it.

He cleared his throat. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m hooking, Deegan. Problem?” I lifted my chin, thrusting a hand on my hip.
Say no. Say that you don’t want me to do it. You don’t want me hurt. Say something, anything, that will make the pain of the last year dissolve, the burn from my mother’s death dim to just a dull ache. Say something, Deegan, please.

He twisted the end of a braid between his thumb and forefinger. “We said together. That’s why I’m here. I knew you’d go again. When my mom told me about your mom, well…” He shrugged. “I had a feeling you’d go tonight instead of waiting until the actual anniversary, you know?
” He tugged on my braid, pulling me forward. His other hand caught my face in his palm, his thumb dusting over my chin, the tip teasing my lower lip.

I inhaled sharply, biting down on the urge to run home with him, see if he’d hold me. But he hadn’t wanted to see me or speak to me all year. What had changed? Maybe the fact that I was heading into a life or death situation made me hotter to him? He only seemed to want anything to do with me when it had to do with the killings.

“Tell me the plan, Cassie, so I can help.” He’d mesmerized me with his touch and a slow heat in the pit of my stomach melted parts of me I hadn’t realized could be so sensitive.

I wanted him to touch me forever, but folded my fingers in toward my palms. I pushed my fists on his chest and pushed away without any real speed, just enough force to get me at least arm’s length away. “There isn’t a plan.”

“Bull shit. I’ve been watching you run this way for months. You’re not going to tell me you have no idea of what it is you’re doing. Try again.” His voice lowered, the command clear.

Skin tightened along the back of my arms and I straightened my back. Finger stiff, I poked him in his chest with every other word. Every T had a hard bite to it. “You don’t tell me what to do or treat me like your little bitch, got it? I have a job
to do. You’re not needed. Now get out of here.” I turned away, adjusting the strap on my halter.

But he spun me around, his hands on my waist. Even in the dark, the red of his face had a presence all its own. “You don’t go into one of these alone and act like it’s a game. You don’t know what you’re messing with, Cassie. Pick some
where else. Anywhere else.” His voice turned to pleading, his hands slid up and massaged the muscles corded at the back of my arms.

Had he come at me with a different demeanor, or even a different phrasing, I might have considered it. I was afraid enough to back out at that moment, but my determination and hard-headedness won out and I jerked from his grasp. “Here’s the thing, Deegan. I’m doing this. If you want in, great, I could use you. But if you just want
to get in my way, then go home.”

I didn’t wait for his answer. I left him there in the shadows, sidestepping any possible attempts he might make at my departing form. He didn’t need the details. I’d planned so long and hard on the details surrounding my annual kill, he wasn’t going to ruin anything by adding his less-than-two-cents-worth.

Deegan didn’t follow me.
Good.
My mood didn’t need any help getting to pissed off and angry. There was plenty of time for that.

Swinging my braids behind my shoulders, I walked without any swaying of the hips or other attempt at provocation. One of the girls had told me
when I’d passed her on a run that she’d give anything to look my age again – then she’d make real money. Because men would pay anything to be the first for a young girl, or even think they were the first. One glance in any mirror would confirm my age appearance to be about twelve. So I’d studied how to walk “younger”. I walked with my arms crossed to accentuate my slim chest and clenched my buttocks to hold in the natural sway of a woman’s hips.

If what she said was true, my young actions would result in multiple johns stopping. But
I didn’t want a lot. I wanted one. I only needed one. I just didn’t know which one.

My stroll spread between the pawn shop and the donut shop, no more than thirty feet. Once I reached the end of the barred, red door of the bakery, I turned and paced back. I’d learned
on my first run through the district to respect the boundaries belonging to the other women and the pimps as they set them. My black eye had lasted for four days after the first run in and I’d had to blame it on boxing.

I had studied the way the girls treated territories after that.

Ten minutes passed. Nancy whistled down the road, her call carrying easily on the quiet night. “Long night, ladies.” She pointed way down my way. “Welcome, Steps.” My nickname for all the running I did.

I groaned. Long nights were
supposed to be the worst. Nancy only called them out if she’d had less than three johns in as many hours. Meant they were all in for a long night of walking just to make a quota imposed on them by someone else. It might take me all night and then some to find the guy.

L
eaning against a street pole, I considered my options. I could always come back. If I wanted to return. I wasn’t bound by anything.

Nothing exce
pt the call to deliver justice.

I banked on the fact that everyone dismissed me because of my size.
Little girl. I wasn’t a little girl. I harrumphed, missing the hum of tires and the soft growl of the sedan that pulled up in front of me. The window whirred as it lowered. I jumped.

“Hey there,
sweetheart.” Clean-shaven, the nice-looking man flashed his teeth and glanced in the rear-view mirror. “What are you doing out so late?”

Twisting my lips into a semblance of a smile, I remarked how I’d imagined the girls would.
I had to get into his car if I wanted to make him pay. “I’m looking to make some money. What about you?”

He winked, the movement almost lost in the dim green lighting from his dash. “I’m looking to spend some. Maybe you should climb in here and we can discuss how we can help each other out?”
So quickly he gave me my “in”, as if a harmless girl like me couldn’t possibly hurt him. He wanted to hurt me in ways I couldn’t imagine, but I looked helpless and to him, that’s what he wanted.

I bopped into the front seat,
hopefully, my expression came off as grinning as I closed the door, because I had a serious urge to bite off every single one of my fingernails and then rip out my hair. “What should I call you?” My heart rate picked up with a slow ascension.

Out the window, in the dark, somewhere, Deegan stood by – I hoped. My anger with him
dissipated with each passing second as I grew more and more vulnerable. In someone’s car. Unfortunately, that was one bridge I didn’t want to burn.

“Why don’t you call me Daddy?” The smooth rumble of his words almost made his request sound nice, the way you’d like someone to ask you to call them that.
He pulled away from the curb. “How old are you anyway?”

I laughed, trying to hide my discomfort.
No, don’t drive away. I’d seen somewhere that if a person was going to kill you, they’d do it at a different location than the one they found you.

Most of the johns always pulled away, driving down to the parking lot of an abandoned store halfway down the street.

I didn’t want to answer his question. My nerves heightened, tightening. My gut didn’t like the situations I put myself in, clanging and choking in on itself. To direct the attention off myself, I watched the scenery and asked, “What are you? A cop?”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t say anything. For the first time, I took in the dark interior of the car, the radio
mouth piece clipped to the dash, clipboard tucked between the driver’s seat and the center console, his gun holster and gun protruding from under his dark colored jacket on his left side. I don’t know why that mattered, which hand he preferred, but my instinct told me to note it.

“Oh, hell, you
are
a cop. Look, I haven’t done anything wrong…” Did he know that I’d killed those men? That I’d killed Bobby and Sheldon? He’d take me in and I’d die in prison, most likely raped over and over by the guards – I got that bit from Law and Order. Too much TV. I clenched my knees together to hide the shaking and jostling my legs wanted to do.

“I told you to call me Daddy.”
Too silky, his voice held a hint of warning, like the soft unsuspecting rattle of a Diamond-Back Rattlesnake just before striking. He turned the car into the parking lot. At least the place had one in and out. I’d run by it countless times so the landscape had a familiar taste.

“Okay,
Daddy
. Am I in trouble?” I pressed myself into the car seat, unsure how the hell I was going to get out of there. I slid my hand along the armrest attached to the door, searching for the handle.
Get out!
If my stomach could speak, it’d be screaming.

Click. The doors locked. My breath caught in my throat.

He parked the car. Turned to me.

I’d never wished so hard for jeans and a long sleeve sweatshirt than I did in that moment.

“You realize how much trouble you’re in, right? Prostitution has a high bail rate. You could go to jail. Do you know what they’d do to a girl like you in prison?” He eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering on the pale skin of my upper thighs.

I didn’t let on that I knew I wouldn’t go to prison. According to the crime shows I watched, girls didn’t go to prison for prostitution. But I couldn’t know that, if I was as young as I was trying to pass off. Or even if I wanted to play the weak, vulnerable card he obviously thought he had in his hand.

Doubt crept under my thin clothing to nestle in the bottom of my lungs, making it hard to breathe right.

Ruffling his jacket away from his gun, he tilted his head to indicate its location, just in case I’d missed it. He met my gaze, I didn’t have to try hard to give a fearful look. His hand found my bare knee, his skin hot and clammy. His fingers bit into the soft skin
, tightening with each word.

His fingers dug down, compressing until he hit bone.
I tried, I really did, not to flinch, wince, and then cry out. Writhing in pain, I screamed. “Stop. What do you want? I don’t have anything.”

Dark eyes
pierced through me. “You have exactly what I want.” He softened his grip enough I could think. “How about we make a little trade?”

I froze. His hand rose higher. A dirty cop. I’d asked for someone who deserved it and
a different someone had been listening.

His fingers crept like spider legs up my skin. Goosebumps covered my arms. I couldn’t move. Even if I hadn’t been waiting for the right moment, hadn’t been filled with fear that I was going to mess up – he was a friggin’ cop! – I’d ha
d no idea how to proceed with a gun so close to me. The metal piece filled my torso with shards of ice.

“What did you have in mind?” Somehow I’d make it out of there, virginity intact. Or we’d both die trying.

“I think you know.” He licked his lips, the flicker of the reflection of his eyes when he did giving me an idea.

My shorts had ridden higher, exposing more skin
. I wiggled, as if uncomfortable with his continued touch which wasn’t a complete act. Shimmying upwards, my halter slid up the side of my left breast, the cool late night breeze puckering my skin. I grit my teeth when his eyes followed the movement, the peep show.

If I didn’t get him, he’d get me. Plain and simple.
I twisted toward him, still pretending to be overly bothered. But I’d left that irritation behind. All I wanted in that exact moment was to get into position, take him down.

Cop killers were sought after much harder than someone pulling down a pervert. If I succeeded in killing “Daddy”, I’d become the most wanted person in the area pretty quick. But if I didn’t, then who knew how many more innocent people the power-wielding cop would try to bargain with.