“You look tense.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his throat, twined her arms around his neck. “I don’t bite.” Her lips curved up. “Unless you want me to.”
He slid his hands down her body. Christ she was tiny. Usually hookers that thin were druggies, forgoing food in favor of their next fix. He cupped her jaw, tilting her head back and his thumb slid through a layer of makeup, revealing a bruise on her soft, plump cheek. Too soft.
“How old are you?”
Her eyes widened, flicked to the ceiling at the corner of the room, then back. “Twenty-one.”
Naiya was twenty-two, and this girl looked much, much younger than her. He flicked on the light and stared at the smooth lines of her face, the rounded cheeks, the small perfectly white teeth nibbling at her lip. Then he looked up at the corner, spotted the camera. Her pimp was watching, protecting his girl.
Just like he should be protecting Naiya.
What the hell had he been thinking leaving her alone? The Jacks were in the area and Viper would stop at nothing to find her. A woman as beautiful as Naiya wouldn’t be able to hide for long. But more than that, he ached for her. Needed her. Maybe it was some kind of psychological shit since she’d helped him escape. Maybe he’d imprinted like a fucking baby chick because she treated his wounds, and looked after him. Or maybe she was the first woman he’d met who needed him—really needed him—although she couldn’t admit it. Broken. But still strong. Just like Tank had been when they first met. And just like Tank, she understood him in a way no one else did.
Unlike this girl in front of him.
Holt pulled the weapon tucked under his shirt behind his back. Before the girl could even gasp, he shot out the camera. When she shrieked, he slapped his free hand over her mouth to muffle her scream.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, streaking the makeup on her face. Christ. Now she looked her age. Like a kid playing dress-up.
“Any more cameras?”
She shook her head and Holt took his hand away. “You choose this life, sugar? Or were you forced into it?”
“You can’t interfere,” she whispered. “Davy will find me. He says I owe him for taking me off the streets. Last time I tried to run, he beat me so bad I almost died.”
“If you could get out, would you?”
Her eyes dropped and she nodded. “It was a big mistake. Huge. I ran away from home ’cause there was all sorts of bad shit going on, but I ran out of money, and I couldn’t find a job. Davy found me. He was so nice at first. I thought he loved me. And then he locked me in a room and…” Her voice broke. “This.”
“Where is he?”
Her eyes widened. “Two doors down.”
“Wait here.” He yanked open the door and strode down the hall. At the second door, he didn’t bother testing the handle. He just kicked it in.
A tall, bald dude with an ear full of rings jumped up from behind a table full of screens, pulling one hand out of his sweats while he aimed a high performance .357 at Holt with the other. Fucking pimp got off watching the girls. He was also making a lot of money off them considering the size of the duffle bag of cash on the table beside him. Holt didn’t waste any time. He shot the bastard in the chest, and blew out all the monitors.
Not one to waste an opportunity, Holt made a quick search of the apartment. Dude had some nice clothes, and they were about the right size. He’d left too much evidence at the lake and it was time for a change.
Holt stripped off his Bolton Beaver shirt and threw on a plain black T-shirt before stuffing a handful of clothes into the duffle bag, along with the cash, a box of ammo, and the pimp’s weapon. He kicked off his shoes and squeezed his feet into a pair of the pimp’s cowboy boots—fucking pointy toes. Christ. If Tank ever saw him, he’d never laugh it down.
He wiped down his weapon and rolled it in the dead pimp’s hand before dropping it beside him. One last check of the apartment turned up a worn leather jacket. If the cops ever traced the gun or any fibers from Holt’s clothes or shoes like Naiya said they’d could, they’d find Leo’s killer here—stone-cold dead.
He found the girl huddled in the corner of the hallway and pulled her up. “He won’t hurt you now, but we gotta go. You got a name?”
“Skyler.”
She followed him down the stairs, breathing hard as she tried to keep up. They had to move fast in case someone called the cops, although he doubted anyone living in a building like this would be ratting out anyone else. “Guys like that don’t work alone,” he said when they reached the street. “I’m gonna put you in a cab and pay your fare to Conundrum. When you get there, you call the Deputy Sheriff. His name is Benson. You tell him you met a Sinner and he called in a favor. He’ll look after you.”