For a whole hell of a lot of reasons.
Unblinking stare glued to Little One’s sleeping form in the corner, she refused to look down at me as I knelt before her, my knees pressing against the dirt-streaked concrete beneath me.
Small body trembling from what I knew was a toxic mixture of shame and embarrassment, her beautiful face was paler than I had yet to see.
Needing to get her mind on something else before it overwhelmed her, causing her to push me away, I cleared my throat, forcing my touch to remain tender. “Tell me about them.”
Standing stock-still, knees locked, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “About who?”
Sweat beading on my spine, I swiped an alcohol wipe across a fresh track mark on the bend of her arm. The sight of it tore me up inside. I didn’t know her story, though I was going to fight like hell to learn every detail, but I still knew she didn’t deserve the shit deal she’d been handed.
“Your girls.”
It was the right thing to say.
Lips turning up at the corners, her shiny eyes slid closed. “They’re beautiful,” she replied proudly. “Smart too.”
I had no doubt they were.
I’d never met the one she referred to as Chiquita, but after spending thirty minutes instructing Carmen on how to clean Little One’s various wounds, I’d quickly learned how sweet and well-spoken the younger woman was.
It only pissed me off further.
I didn’t know how old she was, but if I had to guess, I’d say only eighteen. At her age, she should’ve been in high school, maybe even starting college. Instead, she was walking the streets, doing things she had no business doing.
But none of it was her fault.
Just as the marks marring my pixie’s arm weren’t hers.
I was all about taking responsibility for one’s actions, it was why I helped Gladys with the parenting class, but there was something about Carmen’s situation that didn’t sit right with me.
It was a bold as hell statement to make considering I didn’t know a lot about her, but after learning from Faye that she was under the control of a pimp, and then seeing firsthand how much she cared for and loved Little One, it was apparent something wasn’t right.
Call me a headcase all you want, but my mind screamed that she wasn’t a willing participant in the fucked-up mess that surrounded her.
I’d been raised by a sociopath, encountered more degenerates than I could count, and had spent an enormous chunk of my life as an alcohol-addicted, child-abusing gambler.
I could spot an evil soul a mile away.
And Carmen? She didn’t possess one.
Not even close.
If I was wrong, then I’d eat my words, but with my life, as worthless as it may have been to some, I would’ve bet I wasn’t.
The only way for me to find out if I was right or not was to learn all of her truths. It wouldn’t be an easy feat, but one I planned to fight to accomplish.
I just had to be careful about how I did it.
Maybe even move slower than molasses.
If I did or said the wrong thing, she’d shut down and push me away—neither of which I could let happen. Not when I only wanted to save her the way I should’ve saved my son and mother.
My hand shook the slightest bit as my demons stirred, fueled by guilt and remorse.
Don’t think about any of it.
Swallow down the pain and torment.
Push every demon back.
“My chicas deserve better,” Carmen said, pulling me from the black fog that had descended. “And I’m going to make sure they get it. Don’t know how, but I swear to all that is holy that I will find a way.”
For the first time since Little One had fallen asleep, she looked down at me. Face twisted with heartbreak, our gazes collided, the pain we both felt crackling between us like a live wire.
“I haven’t always been like this,” she whispered, her words laced with vulnerability, something I hadn’t seen from her before. It put me on edge, more so than I already was. “I was supposed to be a nurse, was supposed to help my family.” My right hand, the one still cleaning her small wounds, froze. “But then they stole my dreams, and now it’s too late.”
My muscles tensed, cording beneath my clothing. “Who?”
Tears filled her enthralling eyes. A cross between cinnamon and amber, I’d never seen anything like them.
I was obsessed.
“All of them,” she answered, her words more of a blow than an unexpected donkey kick to the balls. “First Carlos, then the rest. They each had a hand in destroying me.”
Carlos.
It was a name I’d never forget.
And one I’d hate till the day I fucking died.
Back teeth clenched, I tossed the soiled towelette into a small bag I was using for trash. “You’re not destroyed, sweetheart. If you were, you’d have ceased to exist long ago, but you’re still here, still breathing, still fighting.”
Her chin wobbled.
I had no clue how large or soul-crushing the can of worms I’d just opened was, but a second later, I found out.
“The night I took your wallet.” She paused as a fresh wave of anguish washed over her. At the sight of it, I wanted to pull her into my arms and soothe her pain away. But I couldn’t do that. Not yet. “I’d tried to commit suicidio a couple of hours before.”
Lungs constricting, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Not the least damned bit.
“But Little One and Chiquita saved me,” she continued as the room spiraled around me. “If it hadn’t been for them, my lungs would rise no more, and my fight, like the beat of my heart, would be extinguished.”
My control snapped.
Jumping to my feet, I reacted without thinking and cupped her gorgeous face. “Don’t you ever,” I said, voice harsher than I intended, “do something like that again.” She flinched, yet didn’t pull away, surprising the hell
