by Azure Boone
© 2012 by Kenra Daniels.
All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Azure Boone and Kenra Daniels or their legal representative.
Author's Notes:
This book contains explicit scenes of sexual activity between two different couples, both committed to exclusive, monogamous relationships.
Dedications
From Azure:
Kenra is my sister in Kentucky that I’ve never actually met. And yet I know her better than my real sisters. We have gone through it all together, hardly just the writing trials. All I can say is, we’re two hard headed bitches. LOL. And it’s a darn good thing too, or we would not be where we are this day, nor where we will be tomorrow. Thank you my lovely friend for all that you do. I love sharing this amazing endeavor with you.
I’ve been married to my husband for 22 years, and I am pregnant with my ninth child as we write this first book in an amazing series. To answer the question I’m sure you’re asking right at this point of “how in the world do you find time to write” well, thankfully, my husband insisted we train the kids to be helpful, and so, if it weren’t for all these amazing children, I would certainly never have time to write! On top of this, I have a husband who has developed the skill of dealing with his new driven writer wife. God bless him! Actually, it’s one of the reasons I set out to write, to help ease his financial burdens and give him a break, hopefully let him retire and enjoy life and his children, he deserves that after working so long for us and being dedicated.
From Kenra:
Azure and I are real life best friends brought together by our love of writing. Similar backgrounds, religious and political views, and other situations bound us into a relationship beyond mere friendship, and stronger than sisterhood. It's a good thing we're such hard-headed bitches, LOL. Even if it is long distance, we hold each other's hand, cry on each other's shoulder, then hug and get back to work, so we can celebrate together. Along with that amazing relationship, we have worked together so closely and for so long, coauthoring was a natural progression. Without her, none of my writing would be possible.
Hubby and I have been married almost 27 years at this writing. We've weathered many storms in our relationship and have come out stronger than ever. Through it all, he has supported me in any professional undertaking I chose, including writing. Now that we're raising our three very young grandsons, finding time to write is a challenge, and Hubby always helps out to be sure I can. Without his patience and good nature, this book and all my others would still be just an idea on a hard drive.
Acknowledgments
From Azure:
I’d like to acknowledge my husband and children for all they put up with in my efforts to become a successful writer. I’d also like to acknowledge the entire Azurite Street team for all they do and will do for the success of these books.
From Kenra:
I'd like to acknowledge and thank my husband for all his help, and for putting up with my preoccupation and neglect of him as I work toward my lifelong goal of becoming a successful author. Both he and our daughter are great sounding boards for ideas and they can always talk me through serious plot dilemmas. They're both also endless fonts of insane ideas.
Before all they've done and put up with, my parents instilled a great love of reading in me from a very early age. They encouraged my interest in writing, while reminding me realistically that very few people could make a living at it.
The Street Team Angels are an amazing bunch of ladies, and they will pay a huge part in making this series successful.
Chapter One
Devyn Karnes, or DeVyne, as she was known at work, scrubbed the half inch of gaudy makeup off her face. The shit looked like it had been applied with a putty knife, especially at the end of the night. It nearly took one to get it off.
She winced when the washcloth passed over her lower right jaw. The bastard left a bruise when he tried to strong-arm her into his lap. Of course, security had wasted no time showing him to the door, but that wouldn't stop it from happening again. The only thing that could prevent the patrons from trying to manhandle the dancers would be to keep the girls off the floor, and no one wanted that. Except maybe Devyn.
With the makeup gone, she brushed the glitter and spray out of her hair and pulled it back into its customary ponytail. One last check to ensure the lock closed securely on her locker, and she was ready to get the hell out of Lucky's Sand Castle.
Dead tired, she shoved out through the emergency door that led from the changing room into the alley behind the Castle. The smell of piss, puke and other things best not thought about greeted her, but it was better than going out the front and fending off drunks.
Even in her comfy sneakers, Devyn's feet hurt. The block and a half to the bus stop seemed like ten miles from just starting out. Dancing and six inch stilettos were not meant for each other. Too bad for Devyn that her floor manager didn't agree. The bitch insisted that, as the new headliner, Devyn had to set an example for the other girls. Like breaking her ankles or neck would do that.
Occupied with her thoughts, Devyn nearly walked head-long into the small crowd gathered on the sidewalk at the end of the alley.
What the hell? Standing on tiptoe, she managed to peer over the shoulder of a man, most likely one who'd recently tucked bills into her G-String, to see what was going on.
In the middle of the knot of people, a clean-cut young man stood, trying to convince one of her co-workers to take his flyer. Krystal refused in her harsh, loud voice and shouldered her way back through the spectators.
Some drunk-ass shoved past Devyn and nearly toppled her over. A strong hand caught her upper arm and steadied her.
A quick glance up put her nearly face to face with none other than the clean cut guy, a concerned frown marring his handsome brow. Earnest, warm hazel eyes gazed at her until heat flooded her cheeks. "Thanks."
Before she could hurry off, he grabbed her arm again. "Wait! Do you work here?" The smooth voice sounded as clean-cut as the man looked.
"What do you care?" Did this guy think he had the right to ask where she worked just because he'd kept her from a face-plant?
"Um… Well, I'd like you to take this." He pressed his flyer into her hand. "I'm starting a mission for exploited women-"
"What do you mean 'exploited'?" Figures, she'd run into some goody-two-shoes who thought she needed saving. She did, but not that kind.
"Well… See, women who are being taken advantage of." He swallowed hard, Adams apple rising and falling in his strong neck. "I mean, um… forced into a life… into doing things-"
"Whores?" Cruel, maybe, but the guy's discomfort refused to be let alone. "You're trying to say whores?"
"Well, that is one word some-" His high cheekbones flushed dark with shame.
"Look, Sugar, go back to your Sunday School class. You don't belong down here, and you're not going to save anyone." She started to turn away, then looked back. "The only thing you might accomplish is getting one of the girls beat to death if a pimp thinks she's considering leaving."
Ignoring the guilty horror on the handsome face, Devyn turned and headed down and across the street, angling for her shortcut to the bus stop. Damn, where did that guy get off? Coming down to the bad part of town like some knight in shining armor to save damsels in distress was one of the stupidest things she'd ever heard of. What a fucktard!
Wary of the loose bits of pavement and gravel, she almost jogged through the alley. If she didn't hurry, she'd miss the bus and have to wait two hours for the next one.
****
Troy watched the woman hurry off down the street, his chest heavy with the need to drive sense into a perfect stranger. Lord, keep her safe. Let your angels protect her. Lead her back to me if it's Your will and time.
She disappeared around the building. That could've been my mother right there. Maybe if somebody had made an effort to reach out to her, his own life would've turned out much different. Not that he didn't love his adopted parents, he did. They gave him the life his mother couldn't. Well…couldn't because of her dire circumstances, no doubt. Just like that woman's. The familiar litany played through his head, as it always did when he encountered a woman enslaved to the streets.
He shoved the remaining flyers into his back pocket, eyeing the alley she'd turned down. He resisted a sudden pull to follow her, then shook his head. Time he learned how to take no for an answer.
The pull turned into a spike of terror slashing through his gut and Troy ran after the woman. He might get his ass kicked, but a sixth sense insisted she needed help and he couldn't turn away. He entered the alley as the echo of a stifled scream somewhere ahead died away.
Eyes finally adjusted to the darker shadows, he bolted into a sprint. Troy skidded to a stop by two bodies writhing on the ground against the back of a loading platform. Shock froze him in place as he recognized the poor woman from the strip club struggling beneath an ox of a man.
Rage blinded Troy, and his Jui-Jitsu training kicked in. With a growl, he grabbed a handful of T-shirt and yanked. The large guy flew several feet and landed hard on his front. Incapacitate the disgusting bastard. The thought launched him onto the fallen man's back, and Troy locked the creep's head in his arms until the raspy grunting and flailing gave in to his crushing choke hold. The guy went limp and Troy gave one last squeeze and growl for extra measure before climbing off the still body. He stared at it for several seconds in amazement. He'd never done that. Trained for it, but hadn't needed to use it.
At first he didn't recognize the new sound. Turning, he realized the woman was sobbing--huddled in the corner against the building, arms covering her head.
He hurried to her and crouched down, not sure what to say or do. "You've suffered a trauma." God, he sounded like Robocop. He reached a hand out to reassure her, but she flailed blindly at him, eyes squeezed tight. He'd studied the signs to be expected in someone who'd been beaten or abused, and even though he'd never seen them in real life, she displayed severe ones. Someone had damaged this woman terribly.
The rage from earlier returned and Troy glanced back at the guy on the ground, fighting the urge to kill him. One less piece of filth to hurt innocent people. His breathing accelerated with the thought of what that creep had planned for her. I could do it. Easily. I could kill that man. The realization stunned him.
He turned back to the woman, shocked to find her standing. He stood too, examining her face for marks. There didn't seem to be any obvious injuries, but it was dark.
"Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Troy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. He turned and eyed the guy while he spoke to the dispatcher. The man lay unmoving, exactly as Troy had left him. Had he killed the bastard after all? He finished the call and turned.
She was gone. He searched the empty alley.
Dammit.
****
Troy flipped on the bathroom light, ready to wash the smell of that nasty man off of him. He peeled off his shirt, aware for the first time of the huge scrape on his elbow. Thank God he knew how to defend himself or it could've been a lot worse. Thank God for her sake. He emptied his back pockets and something red fell to the floor.
What in the world? He stooped down and picked up the odd piece of material. "Oh shit!" He threw the fabric in the sink like it'd burned him. Thong panties?
The odd feeling of another presence hit him and he peered out the bathroom door. He released a shaky breath and regarded the red thing in the sink. Where the hell did it come from? Who would've shoved underwear in his back pocket while he was on the corner? Could it have been the woman?
Not possible. He would've felt something like that, surely. The man in the alley? He stood there, thinking, nothing making sense. He finally opened the medicine cabinet and got his razor then used it to pick up the sorry excuse of feminine clothing. His upper lip crawled up as he made his way to the kitchen trash and tossed them in. As far as he was concerned, that scrap of material was the epitome of that woman's sad life.
He stared at them in the trash for a few seconds and was hit with the disgusting urge to smell them! He slammed the lid down and stepped back. Get behind me Satan.
He spun to the sink and pounded on the soap pump. One, two, three. He speed-washed his hands the standard three times; in the name of the Father, in the name of the Son, and one last time in the name of the Holy Spirit.
Fully prepared to do the habitual cleansing of his entire body, he headed to the shower, snatching his toothpaste from the medicine cabinet as he turned the water to a purifying temperature. He got under the scorching spray and began cleansing his spirit space with the first hymn he could think of, loudly singing around the lather of toothpaste and toothbrush in his mouth. "Will the circle...be unbroken...by and by Lord, by and by."
Thirty minutes later, he climbed in bed, ashamed that he'd fallen back into the compulsive cleansing habit he'd worked so hard to kick. Well, not entirely ashamed. If ever there was a logical reason for the OCD behavior, it was those red panties.
He got his Bible out and let it open where it would. The woman weighed on his heart so heavily. Lead me, Father. Show me your will. What should I do?
His gaze zeroed in on the passage of the woman caught in adultery. He read through it and paused at the end, repeating the words, feeling something stirring inside him.
Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
"No one, sir," she said.
"Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus said. "Go now and leave your life of sin."
He shut his eyes and his Bible. Exhaustion hit him and he put the beloved worn Book on the bedside table. An hour later, he finally slept. And dreamt.
But the things he dreamt were like a sweet, tormenting, nightmare. He dreamt of her. Of doing things with her. Sexual things. Things he had never known how to do, or even imagined were possible. But he knew in that dream. Like a sixth sense, he knew every pleasure the body could experience and performed them with an exquisite rhythm. Her ecstasy was the most arousing thing he'd ever known. The sound of her voice, the way she moved under his touch, the way she moaned his name, all combined into the most powerful intoxicant.
He woke in a sweat, his entire body literally aching with need from the vivid dream. He groaned, clenching his eyes, wanting so badly to touch his erection, relieve it.
What was wrong with him? How could he have such a blasphemous dream? That by itself was damning enough, but for it to be about a poor destitute woman in need of salvation?
Troy growled through the agony as he turned on his side and gazed at the empty pillow next to him.
He bolted upright and stared down. The air around him became supercharged with a strange energy until his head felt light.
"Jesus," he breathed, backing out of the bed and away. Away from red panties lying neatly on the pillow.
What in the hell was happening?
Chapter Two
The low light at the rear of the bus made keeping an eye on all the other passengers nearly impossible, but Devyn gave it a good effort. Maybe the job would've been easier if her body didn't keep threatening to shake itself to bits. Every time the wracking tremors submitted a little to her control, someone would move in her peripheral vision, and start it all over
again. If she wasn't careful, she'd spray an innocent person right in their goddamn eyes with the pepper spray she held in a death grip. She didn't care who saw it or what they thought, she just cared that people stayed the fuck away from her.
At some point, all the passengers wore the face of that son-of-a-bitch from the alley, at least in her imagination. The bus moaned through its familiar gear-down, hopping and skipping over a pattern of potholes, alerting Devyn to the stop she normally welcomed. For the first time ever, she almost wished the cross-town bus took longer. Once off, half a block separated her from the safety of her apartment. Of course, every inch would feel like a mile.
The need to run all the way to the six-story building that had seen better days in the 1970s nearly overwhelmed her. In that neighborhood, a running woman flipped the predator switch for some men, especially in the middle of the night. She'd already had her fill of being viewed as prey for one night. Pepper spray ready to blind the first threat, she forced herself to walk with confidence.
All the trying in the world didn't keep her from taking the last level of stairs leading to the fourth floor two at a time, though. Inside, with the door's locks securely engaged, her knees collapsed, dropping her to the floor in a quivering heap. Earth-shattering sobs wracked her body, echoing through the small, sparsely furnished apartment.
Three full sobs later, Devyn swallowed it. Cold. To give full vent to so much fear and horror would risk revisiting the nightmare that came so close to ending her life four years earlier. Forcing the emotions into a bag and tossing it, she dragged herself to her feet.
Deeper in the apartment, the shower shut off, signaling Devyn to head to the kitchenette. By the time her best friend/roommate, Karly, padded into the room wearing her rolled down boys' boxers and cut off wife beater, Devyn had the bread and packaged lunch meat on the spindly little table. Turning away, she poured the iced sweet tea into their mismatched glasses while Karly scavenged further in the nearly bare fridge.