by Natalie Dean
She let out another wretched sob. “I’m so stupid, but I was just so hungry, so I went in with him. It seemed all right; he let me pick out whatever I wanted from the shelves. But then I tried to reach up for this jar of pickles that was up on a shelf and he was all pressed up against me.”
It took all of Frenchie’s willpower not to tighten her fists against the girl. That was the last thing that she needed.
“I pushed him off, and then he told me I was real pretty. He… he tried to solicit me, but I told him no. I pushed him away, but he didn’t like that. So, he hit me, and then I fell, and then he wouldn’t stop hitting me. I kicked him in the crotch to get away, and I barely made it.”
She was crying again and Frenchie was reminded of just how young the girl was. “I’m so, so, sorry, Frenchie. I know you taught me better. But they really did have nice food. And I figured it was a church. Churches are supposed to be safe. Where is safe if that’s not?”
“Hey girl, it’s all right. It’s not your fault you were tricked. He’s the one who lied to you, who did something wrong. You’re never in the wrong for believing in the good of humanity,” Frenchie said.
Frenchie held her, rocking her back and forth, stroking her back. Her heart was aching, and her teeth were set against each other. She thought that she had learned not to waste her energy hating people she wouldn’t see or crying about the injustice in the world, but she very much wanted to find the man and show him what it was like to be beaten to a pulp.
She was so wrapped up with Tawny and making sure she stayed tethered to the earth, that she completely forgot Solomon was there. Her eyes flicked to him, and the man looked like he was in utter shock.
Oh right, his family funded that megachurch.
“That… that can’t be true,” he practically whispered.
“I’m not lying!” Tawny cried, her tears kicking up again.
“Oh, no, no, I’m not saying you are!” He held up both of his hands, his eyes shuttling back and forth. “I believe you. I believe you. I just… I just don’t know what to say. I never imagined…”
Frenchie knew that he wasn’t arguing with them, but her temper spiked up a little anyway. “Like I said, you live in a different world from us. It’s fine if you want to visit ours, you’re nice enough, but you have to get used to the fact that this is how things are for us. Most of us can’t go to the cops, so we’re prime targets for being taken advantage of.”
“I…I need to get some fresh air.”
Suddenly he was standing then striding toward the door. Frenchie felt her heart ache as it closed behind him and his footsteps faded as he walked away.
Oh well. She had known that he couldn’t last in her reality, where his privileges were shoved into his face on the regular. But still… he had been nice.
She was going to miss him.
15
Solomon
His mind was so full that it felt like it was going to burst, just explode into a million pieces and leave little shards of his thoughts all over the road as he raced home.
He hadn’t meant to leave, hadn’t meant to get into his truck, but it was like his body had taken over when his mind was utterly at a loss of what to do. When he came back to himself, he was already on the highway and headed towards home, knowing he needed to do something or he would explode before the night was over.
Not for the first time, he really pushed the speed limit as he went home. If he hurried, he would get there before nine thirty, which was when Dad usually started to wind down for bed. And once Solomon’s father started his nightly ritual, there was no interrupting it unless there was a flood or tornado warning, and sometimes not even then.
And what was going on couldn’t wait until morning. No, Solomon would lose it long before then. A girl had been beaten to nearly an inch of her life in the church that his family sponsored. The same church where he had attended the honorary dinner. The same church where he’d chased down Frenchie.
Out of nowhere, her interrupted art made more sense than ever. These kids were starving, scrounging around dumpsters for clothes, and ducking the cops to stay away from abusive homes, but they couldn’t even go to a food pantry without risking being asked to pay for it in ways that they never should have.
It made him burn to think about it, and yet he felt like he could see it so clearly. Tawny was small and young. She must have been so terrified, trapped in some building, her food scattered across the floor as she tried to fight off some man that was twice her size. Had Solomon seen him at the dinner? Shaken his hand?!
He punched his steering wheel, resulting in a loud honk. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry. He was known for his even keel and business sense, his poise and charm, but at the moment he felt like he was about to dive headfirst into the churning magma of his fury.
But he couldn’t do that. Because that would be unproductive. No, he needed to get to Dad and explain the whole situation before another soul got hurt.
He pressed his foot harder to the gas. What if it happened again that night? Or the next day? Solomon had never given much thought to homeless people beyond the discomfort of them begging at exits to the highway, but that was before he had met a handful of them.
It was like he had been living in a world with blinders on and they had abruptly been yanked off, leaving him blinking at the light that he had been shielded from for so long. It just wasn’t right, what was happening. It wasn’t right at all.
He pulled his truck right up to their stupidly fancy drive at the front of the house, rushing in and tossing his keys on the counter. Either one of his brothers or the house staff would put it back in the garage where it belonged. That wasn’t even close to important at the moment.
He had ten minutes or less to catch his father, and he sprinted towards the main wing of the house, which was where his parents usually spent their spare time. He wasn’t sure where Dad would be, but guessing by the time, he was probably reading in his study.
He burst into the modest room to see that Dad was indeed there, nestled in his oversized recliner, a book in his lap and his special reading lamp behind him. His head jerked up at the intrusion, but other than that Dad was completely unphased.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He wasn’t pleased.
Normally that was enough to make Solomon shore up and put himself into damage control mode, but he pushed through that instinct and walked right up to his father.
“I’ve found out some very troubling news about the church we sponsored the rebuilding of,” he said all in one breath, trying to hold himself straight and tall. His father had taught him a million times over how posture could make or break a presentation, and as shallow as it sounded, he was certainly giving his father a presentation at the moment.
“Oh? Is this why you’ve been so distracted this past week or so?”
“Distracted? What, no. I mean, perhaps there’s a correlation, but that doesn’t matter at the moment.”
Dad gave him a long, long look then shut the novel he had open, setting it to the side. Solomon noticed it was a biography of a fairly famous politician. If he recalled correctly, the man on the cover was related to the gentleman that Dad was hoping to get elected.
“And what is the matter at the moment?”
“The church runs a food pantry, one of the things we helped fund, but I’ve found out that a man there is using the food as a means to barter for sexual favors from the people who come there seeking help. And if they refuse him, he turns violent.”
“I see.” Dad’s response was measured. Calm. It reminded Solomon of how he had been at first, the facts taking minutes to sink into his brain because they were so unfathomable. “And how did you find this out?”
“I spoke to a victim. And I know I can find more. I’m just worried about that taking too much time since these homeless young folks are scattered all around, and this man could hurt someone else while—”
Dad held up a hand, cutting Solo
mon off. “So, you’ve only talked to a single person, and I assume she was some homeless girl?”
Solomon didn’t like how his father described Tawny. “I saw her injuries myself,” he said. The conversation was not going as he expected.
“I’m sure you did. But unless you saw them happening, you don’t really know why or how they happened.” The older man yawned and stood. “The reality is, no one with any sense will believe a few homeless druggies who cry foul, so you should be able to make it quietly go away. The last thing we need is making a big to-do about it so the media can get all rabid with one of their witch-hunts.”
Solomon just stared at the man, realizing that his father was telling him how to fix the situation to protect his own family and not the kids who were being hurt.
“What do you mean, make it go away quietly?”
He shrugged. “I’ve taught you well enough on how to handle the business side of things. Pay them off, have them sign NDAs, move the man to somewhere he will do less damage. Be smart; we paid enough for that college degree you didn’t really need.”
No.
No, that wasn’t right.
Dad didn’t want to help Tawny or Frenchie or any of them. He just wanted to do what was best for business.
“Dad, do you really think that our business goals are more important than protecting vulnerable people?”
“Vulnerable people?” Dad scoffed, already heading towards the door. “These folks put themselves into the situations they’re in. Look at me, I started from nothing and because of hard work, we’ve got all of this.”
“Dad,” Solomon heard himself hiss. “Your parents were rich and gave you all the money you needed to start this business. And their parents were rich before then. And their parents too. You’re only here because you lucked out being born into a situation where you were safe, happy, and had all the money you could ask for.”
Dad gave him a look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who have you been talking to lately, boy? You’re starting to sound like one of those far-left whackos.”
Solomon could only stand there, torn between his shock and his anger. How dare he!? Dad didn’t understand a single thing that these people went through. He didn’t understand how lucky the entire Miller family was. That the things in their life were blessings, not something that they could boastingly take credit for.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Solomon said with uncharacteristic boldness.
That stopped the man in the middle of his exit and he finally turned to fully face Solomon.
“What’s going on? You’re not turning into one of them snowflakes that demands everything be handed to them and sings kumbaya on some hippie commune, are you?” Dad said.
Solomon didn’t even dignify that with a response. Finally, he understood why Frenchie said the things that she said about the rich, why she didn’t trust anyone. He stormed past his father and went right back to his car.
No one had even had a chance to move it. Grabbing his keys, he found himself getting right back on the road. It took him a couple of minutes to even realize where he was going. He hadn’t had a plan, yet he recognized that he was driving right back to the city.
To the hotel.
He was practically shaking with anger by the time he arrived, knocking on the door with a bit more force than he had intended. He should have known better; too aggressive of a knock would sound far too much like the cops for a room that was full of people who weren’t exactly on the best terms with law enforcement.
But surprisingly, Frenchie did open the door. He saw that two of the three young ones were gone, but Alabama was sitting by Tawny’s bed, gently wiping her tear-stained face with a cool cloth. There was an air of sadness but also of anger in the room, and he couldn’t help but feel the same.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Frenchie murmured, eyeing him warily.
“I’m sorry.” The words were out of his mouth so fast that he almost interrupted her. “For everything. Every moment of everything. For chasing you, for not understanding all of this. For living thirty-three years of my life without doing a darn thing that would really fix any of this. I’m… I’m just so, so, so sorry.”
“I…” She looked to him with wide, hazel eyes that quickly began to water. “I don’t know what to say. It’s not like you personally did this to me. It’s just how the world is.”
“But it shouldn’t be. And I don’t want it to be.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking so helpless. Solomon felt that same compulsion to touch her, to comfort her that he had been ignoring for weeks, but it was beginning to be too much.
“Can I hug you?” he asked, voice thick.
She didn’t speak, but she nodded emphatically. Then Solomon was striding forward with sure steps, wrapping his arms around her and applying what he hoped was enough pressure to be comforting but not uncomfortable.
And he just held her. Because if she was in his arms, then for at least a moment, she wasn’t being hurt. She wasn’t at risk. She was safe and sheltered, and he could keep all the bad things in the world at bay.
It felt far too right to have her in his gentle but firm hold, pressed up against him. He could feel her heart thundering against his middle, their height difference putting her head even with his shoulders. He wondered if she could hear his heart too, because it certainly seemed like it was racing off at its own behest.
They stood there for a while, probably too long, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to push her away. So instead he kept holding her, living in the moment and only that moment, until she gently let her own arms fall to her side.
That was a clear a signal as any to let her go, so he did, taking a step away. “I know you all have so much on your plate, but do you all want to help me try to make our world at least a little bit better?”
16
Frenchie
Her heart was pounding, her hands were sweating, and she swore that every hair on the back of her neck was standing up along the goosebumps that pimpled her flesh.
She was nervous. Wait, no, scratch that, she was terrified as she approached the food pantry of the megachurch. It had taken a couple of days to get all the information they needed from Tawny, the poor girl had been so shaken up by the incident, and then another couple days to get everything they needed and also make sure that that man was working the night shift again. Apparently, volunteers were supposed to always leave by eight at the latest, but he was the only one who ended up staying until nine or ten, claiming that there was always “cleaning” or “sorting” to be done.
When Solomon had talked about helping, about making the world a better place, she thought that he might haul them off to the police or some other foolish but honorable goal. But something must have happened because suddenly he was thinking like someone who lived in the real world.
He said that there was a chance that they wouldn’t be believed, and that the evidence of one girl wasn’t going to stand up in court. Not with his Dad and the other elite of the city closing in to protect one of their own. So, he suggested that they set up a bit of a trap.
Unfortunately, that meant Frenchie was the bait.
He hadn’t liked that idea. Frenchie didn’t like it either. But considering what they were doing, she wasn’t going to put any of the young ones at risk. Besides, she knew how to hold down her own if worst came to worst.
…she just hoped it didn’t.
Her feet felt like they weighed a million pounds each as she strode to the door. It was late, and she was there a half-hour after it was supposed to be closed. What was supposed to be a warm, inviting place was actually dark and looming, threatening her with several of her worst fears.
She pressed the button that looked like a doorbell and waited. She didn’t hear anything, but Solomon told them that it was a lighted signal rather than a sound one.
She didn’t know what she would do without Solomon being on the inside for them.
He was the only one able to visit the church, which he did twice to learn little details that would help them with their plan. He was also the one who had supplied them with their equipment and a lot of the technical details they needed to succeed.
The door opened like she was in some sort of horror movie, and it was a tall, muscular man who answered. He was clean-cut, classic all-American, and he smiled brightly when he saw her.
“Hi, are you still open?” She forced her voice to be sweet and soft, an undercurrent of uncertainty layered in-between. “I’m sorry I was r-running late, I missed my bus and—”
The man waved his hand, all smiles and charm. “It’s fine. Come right on in.” He stepped to the side, allowing her to step past him, but as she did, his hand went to the small of her back to guide her.
If it were any other situation, Frenchie would have whipped around and slugged him in the face. But she couldn’t. She could only smile at him nervously and let him lead her back around to the food.
And boy, Tawny hadn’t been exaggerating just how much food there was. The room was at least as large as the suite, filled with shelves and shelves of nonperishable items. It was dazzling, and it actually would have been a very exciting moment if she wasn’t full of so much dread.
“W-what can I take?” she asked, hoping the warble in her voice was believable.
“Whatever you want. Do you have access to a fridge and stove? We do have a few coolers.”
“Yeah, I have a place I can go to cook once in a while.”
“All right. Why don’t you fill up that backpack you have?”
“Really? The whole backpack?” She had to hand it to the man, he was so sweet, so welcoming that she never would have guessed that he was capable of hurting someone like he hurt Tawny. But then again, she had known plenty of wolves in sheep’s clothing during her twenty-three years. It was always the prettiest ones, the ones with the most honey in their voices and the most sparkles to their smile that were the most dangerous.