by Natalie Dean
“You know nothing outside of being rich and having everything handed to you. You don’t benefit society, you feed off it like a parasite. So, I don’t think you’re in the proper position to comment on anything I do being destructive to society.”
…what?
Solomon stared at her a moment, taken aback. It was the longest thing that she had said to him, and for once wasn’t coated in thick sarcasm or wit. It was her honest, unfiltered opinion.
And apparently, her unfiltered opinion was that she hated him.
That was uncomfortable.
“I get it, you hate the rich and blame your problems on them.”
“No, you clearly don’t get it.” She took a drink, seeming to settle into her mood. “There’s nothing wrong with working hard and getting rich. That’s awesome. What’s wrong is exploiting other people to get that way. You need to pay livable wages, give appropriate benefits and health insurance. Treat your workers like the valuable members that they are, not just cogs in a machine. If you’re not doing that, if you’re nickel and diming them solely for the sake of profit, then yeah, you’re a parasite. Your whole corporation is.”
Solomon didn’t know what to say to that. They paid their workers well above the industry standard. Where did she come off assuming things about him and his family?
But on the other hand, wasn’t he actively working on changing their workers’ benefits to save more money. And plenty of them had already complained about their two-thousand-dollar deductible—which he didn’t get, two thousand dollars was hardly anything. And hadn’t he just had that conversation with his brother about his housekeeper’s daughter not being able to afford college?
But that wasn’t his family’s responsibility…right?
“You certainly have opinions,” he said finally. He hadn’t been prepared for a societal debate. If he was his father, he would have gotten up and dismissed everything the girl said as some sort of bleeding-heart communist.
“Yeah, why is that surprising to you? What, homeless folks can’t think about anything outside of food and booze?”
There it was. The confirmation that he had been dreading. He had been struggling with trying to think of how to bring it up without sounding intrusive or insulting her if she wasn’t, but she had gone and confirmed it herself.
“I never said that.”
“I know, but it was implied.” She looked to the waitress and waved her hand. The woman came right over, and Frenchie sweetly asked for several to-go containers. “If you don’t mind, I probably should get going. I don’t like wandering around after dark.”
He nodded, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “At least let me drive you home. You’ve got a lot to carry.”
And then she laughed outright at that. “Look, I loved the food, but I’m not looking to be murdered.”
Yet again, he was taken aback. Not because he was hurt or took it personally, but it was something about the matter-of-factness in how she said it. Like it was a sort of threat she had to face every single day. Just part of the background tapestry of her life that wasn’t worth much comment.
And that just wasn’t right.
Apparently, that sent some strange signals to his brain, because he was reaching into his pocket to pull out one of his family’s business cards.
“Here,” he said, for all the world trying not to look like he was somehow trying to be slick. Turning it over, he scrawled out his personal cell phone number on the back before handing it to her. “Call me if you ever need anything. Things can be tough out here.”
She looked down at the card then back at him, her thick eyebrow raising. “I told you, I’m not a hooker or selling myself in any way.”
He knew that, and he would be lying if he wasn’t getting frustrated that she thought he didn’t. “Is that the only reason a person would ever want to give you their number?”
“No.” She finally stopped packing up her food and gave him a serious look again. “But it’s the only reason men like you would give it to a girl like me.”
“A girl like you?”
She resumed her packing and stacked the food in her backpack. It was nearly full, and he found the back of his mind was weirdly prideful with the thought that she would have enough to eat for at least another day and a half.
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said with finality before standing up. She gave him a curt nod. “Thanks for all the sustenance,” she said before heading right out of the door, not even allowing him a chance to stand.
He looked after her until she was around the corner then pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. But as he went through the motions, he couldn’t help but think about her words.
Because she’d certainly said a lot.
9
Frenchie
For once, life was looking up.
Her food had managed to last her for three whole days, and that was without even trying to really scrimp. It was way easier to keep perishable stuff good during the winter, thank goodness, probably the one upside of it being increasingly cold.
And that wasn’t all. It wasn’t until she had settled down in her shelter, all warm and cozy in her lined hoody, when she’d reached into the pocket of her jacket and realized there was money folded up there.
Her eyes had gone wide as she’d pulled it out, realizing that the strange man had put three hundred dollars in her clothing. There was no way it hadn’t been deliberate, but she’d had no idea what to do at first.
Because holy freakin’ guacamole, three hundred dollars was a lot of money. She remembered staring at it, wide-eyed, wondering if she was hallucinating from all the good food she had stuffed herself to bursting with.
She felt like she should probably say thank you, but she didn’t have a phone to contact him, and some part of her was worried that it was some sort of bizarre, backhanded leverage to get her into a situation that she didn’t want to be in. Even though he had been plenty decent at the diner, there was no telling if he was playing some sort of long con.
Once upon a time, she might have taken him for his word, but she’d long since learned not to do that.
So, she had decided to just thank him in her heart and make as much use of the money as she could.
First things first, she had bought herself a gym membership for the entire winter at a twenty-four-hour place. She could go to the sauna and shower whenever she wanted, especially if there was a particularly egregious snowstorm. Freezing to death in her sleep was suddenly much less of a threat, and it took a huge weight off her shoulders.
Then she’d bought plenty of non-perishable food and buried it in a box under her shelter. A few of the versed street veterans might spot her little hiding space, but even if she was chased out, she could probably return a couple months later and dig it back up. And if something happened to her… well, maybe they would become a lucky day for some poor soul.
Yeah, her life had practically turned around in a week, and it was pretty darn wonderful.
At the rate she was going, she was pretty sure that she could swing being hired as a seasonal worker. She had enough to buy a track phone that would work for getting the interview and then landing the job, and she could pick up two whole work outfits for maybe twenty in total at the local box store.
It was amazing how much that strange guy had changed her life, and he probably didn’t even know. It was clear that three hundred dollars was absolutely nothing to him, and she wondered if he knew how many people’s lives he could revolutionize so easily.
Probably not. She was aware that she didn’t know him that well, but she got the feeling that he wasn’t a heartless cad. He would probably want to help people if he knew how the world really was.
But she supposed that never would matter, because she was probably never going to see him again. It was clear that he had returned her hoody and had a meal with her for one of two reasons, the first being that he felt guilty for giving her the fright of her life, or he had been hoping to fulfill some fan
tasy about a helpless young girl but didn’t have the guts to follow through with it.
She was leaning toward the former more than the latter, which was probably why her mind had turned back to tagging places. And why she was hanging out at one of the local spots for poor and homeless creators. It was an abandoned building by the church that she had been interrupted in the middle of tagging, but she wasn’t worried about being found out.
It was just after noon, so she was alone for the most part. Most of the others were either out scrounging for food or opportunities, she assumed. And everyone would be out for rush hour, when panhandling at the side of the road had the most success. Perhaps Frenchie should have gone out there too, but she didn’t want to steal from her friends when she still had a hundred dollars hidden in various parts of her clothing.
So instead she drew a dragon just for the fun of it, enjoying her music and the quiet as the back of her brain thought of where to tag next and what she wanted to say.
She was so involved with her process that she didn’t notice someone coming in until whoever it was tripped over one of the old, broken chairs that dotted the room. Pulling her earbuds out, Frenchie realized it was her young friend, Tawny.
“Oh hey, did you have a good—” She cut herself off, realizing that the young woman’s face was a mass of bruises, her hand pressed to her nose, which was clearly bleeding heavily. “Tawny! What happened?!?! Are you all right?”
What a stupid question. Of course, she wasn’t all right. But Frenchie could see the relief on Tawny’s face as she stumbled forward and collapsed into Frenchie’s arms.
“Right. Stupid question. This is bad, Tawny. Real bad. I’m gonna get you some help.”
Slowly she stood, hauling Tawny up with her, but when she tried to take a step, they both sank back to her knees. She was too weak.
She remembered when she was younger, how she was such a jock. She’d been strong and layered with plenty of muscle, her frame being naturally athletic. But she’d been too long on too little food and a diet that always hastily swung from stuffing as much into her face as possible to not having nearly enough.
“Hey, I’m gonna go get help, I promise, okay? Like really promise.” She was loath to leave the girl alone, especially since it seemed like she couldn’t even talk. “You’ll be okay. I’ll be gone only a minute.”
Her friend nodded at her vaguely, both of her eyes so swollen that Frenchie could hardly see either of them. Gently, she set the young woman down on the floor then booked it out.
But once she was out on the street, she didn’t know quite what to do. Her first instinct was to run to the nearest building and call an ambulance, but ambulances didn’t like to come to their area and a lot of the EMTs treated her and her friends like junkies and prostitutes. And even if they were junkies and prostitutes, it still didn’t really excuse the way a lot of them were treated.
Especially since they would treat Tawny like she was an idiot who got beat up by her own pimp, and that very thought made Frenchie’s blood boil. Not to mention the cost. And there was a high chance of being turfed once she finally did make it to the ER.
No, she needed someone who would drive them to the one clinic that all of them knew that was actually kind to the ne’er-do-wells of the city. Someone who wouldn’t ask questions or charge them a ridiculous amount of money.
And most importantly, someone who wouldn’t try to take advantage of them with Tawny being in her weakened state.
As impossible as it was, an idea came to her instantly. For the briefest of moments, her whole body rejected it, but that quickly faded when she realized that she didn’t have much of a choice.
Spotting a gas station, she bolted toward it to call Solomon.
10
Solomon
“So yeah, there will be some intense renovations, and we’ll have to tear down the old silos we have, but in the end, the efficiency boost we get from this will make up for the cost within the first—”
His phone buzzed with a call and he looked to it automatically. It was rare that he ever got a telemarketer, which meant calls to his personal phone were usually either business, family, or someone he actually wanted to hear from.
So naturally, he was surprised when he saw it was an unrecognized number. Despite his better sense of judgment, he held up a finger to the twins and answered it. But never, in probably a hundred years, would he have expected to hear Frenchie on the other line, sounding terrified.
“Solomon, I need your help.”
He didn’t know what had made him hand his number to her. He’d never expected her to use it. Yet at her plea, he was on in his feet in an instant.
“I have to take this,” he said to the twins. “We’ll catch up on this later.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” Silas said casually. “I have some things I need to get to as well.”
Solomon nodded then rushed out, returning his attention back to the phone. “I’m on my way to the city. Where are you?”
“One second. Let me ask the gas station the address.”
“Just send me your location from your phone.”
She was quiet for a beat. “Solomon, I don’t have a phone. I’m calling you from a landline at the gas station where I’m standing.”
“Oh. Right.”
He felt a bit sheepish but let that go. It wasn’t weird of him to assume that she had a phone. Everyone had a phone. But then she was back on the line and hurriedly telling him the address, which he hastily typed into the phone while putting her on speaker.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I… just get here, okay? I’ll tell you when you’re here.”
“I’m about an hour out. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“All right. Thank you. And…” she seemed to hesitate, and he heard the warble in her voice as she spoke. “Please don’t make me regret this.”
Before he could even respond to that, the line went dead. It made sense that she probably had to rush off the phone, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was another strange non-sequitur.
Shrugging it off, he dashed to his truck and drove off. It wasn’t until he was nearly off their property before he realized he was rushing to the city to help a miscreant for reasons that he didn’t know. He hadn’t even questioned her; he’d just hopped to it.
What was going on with him?
He didn’t know, and he didn’t really have an answer for it, so he just kept driving.
He also might have sped a little. Or a lot. It didn’t matter though, if he got pulled over; he would just pay the ticket. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be as expensive as Sal’s three-hundred-dollar ticket he had managed to snag when he was just seventeen and joyriding in their father’s summer convertible.
He made it to the city in record time, only slowing down once he started to be around more people. He wanted to get to Frenchie quickly, but he wasn’t going to if he lost control of his truck and crashed into another innocent human. He was surprised to pass the megachurch where everything had started, but he didn’t stop to think about it. In fact, he didn’t stop until he saw her standing on the street, wearing the hoody that he had returned to her.
He pulled up and, to his great surprise, she went straight to his door and flopped right in. “We’re going to a building around the corner. It’s an old abandoned building that’s boarded up. Used to be some sort of community center or church.”
He nodded and did as she said, spotting the building she was talking about. It took them less than a minute to get there, and he pulled up as close as he could. Frenchie jumped out, before turning and looking back to him.
“I need you to come in.”
Her particular choice of words made something jump within him, and he quickly did so, following her in.
The place was… not great. The ceiling was partially caved in on one side, there were dips in the floor and broken boards everywhere. Strangely, there was plenty of light, but it was coming in through
breaks in the wall and ceilings around them rather than any of the windows, which were completely blocked off.
And off to the left of it, there was a girl lying on the floor.
“Frenchie! Who is this? Is she all right?”
Solomon moved faster than he thought he could, and suddenly he was beside the girl. She looked even younger than Frenchie, with big, brown curls and tanned skin. That was about the only physical traits that he could pick up, however, because someone had clearly beaten the absolute snot out of her.
Frenchie said, “I need you to help me carry her out, then drive us to a clinic I know.”
He looked down in absolute horror at the girl. She was dressed in even less than Frenchie was, and every visible bit of her body was covered in some sort of injury. It was awful, it was dreadful, and most of all, Solomon had a difficult time believing it was real.
And yet it was. Even as he shoved down his feelings so that he could help Frenchie carry her out, every moment confirmed just how real it was. He felt how hot her skin was the closer he was to her, burning with the effort of trying to heal herself. When his hands went under her to help haul her up, he felt how frail she was, and just how much parts of her arm were swollen.
As he and Frenchie took a couple of steps, he heard the low, pained groans from her split lips. He could smell blood on her and see tear tracks through the dirt and blood on her cheeks.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said, coming to a halt.
“What do you mean?”
“Let me carry her on my own. You just get the doors.”
She heaved a sigh of relief as if she had expected something much worse and then nodded. Carefully, she let go of her friend, which allowed Solomon to haul her fully up in a bridal carry.
He concentrated on just walking as smoothly as he could, trying not to think about what was going on. Trying not to let the horror and rage that was rising up inside of him affect anything. Frenchie had called him because she needed him, and what she needed was for him to take care of her friend. If there was one thing Solomon was good at, it was putting his own needs aside to help others.