“That’s him. He really doesn’t like you.”
My throat bobs, because for the first time since I was a kid, I’m a little intimidated. His sheer brute size is enough to make any man second guess himself. Add in the fact he’s actually killed—was trained to kill—and that doesn’t bode well for me.
“Vince saved him, brought him here, and Angela—another one of Vince’s saves—raised Amani after that. Vince has always favored him, because Amani was so scary to everyone else since they viewed him as a killer. Vince lik
ed his fire, but he told everyone Amani wasn’t a killer. He was just a boy who had done what he had to in order to survive. Amani proved him right. Well, so far. You might change his stance on right and wrong.”
Without meaning to, I take a step back, and Carmen laughs quietly while stepping closer.
“What the hell did I do to him?” I ask her, turning back to face her while trying to ignore that eerie feeling on the back of my neck.
“I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll tell you later.”
When I look back, Amani is gone, and Carmen’s words hang in the air like a bad omen, even though it was said so casually.
Clearing my throat—and trying not to feel like chicken shit—I face her again. “You said Bo saved you?”
Her smile blooms across her face. “I was her first,” she says again, but this time there’s no dirty image dancing in my mind. “Bo was eighteen and fresh out of high school. She was in New York with a friend of hers… A girl named Ruby. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
Her smile falters and her eyes lose their life as though someone has just sucked her soul out all of the sudden.
“I was in a shitty place in my life. Probably lower than you can imagine. I thought I met Prince Charming when I moved to the city. Turns out, he was a pimp that baited sweet, pretty, naïve girls like me into the lion’s den. Within two weeks, he had me hooked on his personal brand of heroin. It’s how he operated: lure us in, get us hooked on something he could supply, and then have us work the streets to pay for it.”
She wipes a tear from her eye, and I fidget awkwardly. I’m not used to someone just opening up their closet to bare the skeletons hidden there.
What do you say to something like that?
“Sorry,” I tell her lamely. “You don’t have to tell me.”
She laughs humorlessly while shrugging. “My past shaped me, Jax. It could have destroyed me, but it didn’t. Because of Bo, it’s a bad memory instead of the end of my story. I never get to tell anyone what she did for me outside of houses like this one, because they keep this private and silent. So yes, I want to tell you. I want anyone who can know the real Bo, to truly know the real Bo.”
The real Bo… Therein lies the crux of this entire situation.
She takes a breath, then laughs all of the sudden, surprising me as she shakes her head, lost in her own thoughts. “I thought she was just some crazy rich girl who was going to get herself killed. She showed up in an alley when some dickhead thought he could have it free if he just took it. Bo pulled out her pepper spray, and I was sooo thankful she had good aim. Her friend Ruby took over and beat the guy over the head with a metal trashcan lid until he was out cold.”
She snorts while trying to suppress her laughter, and her eyes flick to Bo. She stares at her as she sighs and continues. “I thanked them and started to walk away from the dark alley, but Bo caught my hand. She didn’t let go until she told me she could change my life if I wanted something better. Something more…
“At first I was defensive, and I told her that spoiled, rich brats like her didn’t know what it took to survive. Ruby got pissed and tried to drag Bo away. She rightfully said I was ungrateful. But Bo wouldn’t go. She locked eye contact with me before saying, ‘You’re right; I can’t change your life. I can only help you do it if you want to. What do you want?’ I’ll never forget that. My parents had died my senior year of school, and I quit school when child services threatened to put me in foster care until I was eighteen. We were so poor, so there was nothing left in that town after they died. I ran away with the dream to become a model in New York, then landed in the devil’s playground by accident.”
She scratches her arm at the inside of her elbow as though it itches, but I’ve seen that motion before. She’s remembering the addiction. Working with some of the rich clients I’ve had… Not all of them have spent money wisely.
“Insane or not, I wanted away from the drug that ruled me. I wanted to feel free from its hold, and I sure as hell wanted away from the Anti Prince Charming who took what he wanted when he wanted it. I was nineteen at the time. Bo was a year younger and had so many years of wisdom on me that it wasn’t even fair.
“She and Ruby walked me to a limo—a freaking limo—and I got in, still wondering if they were playing some cruel joke on the stupid, dirty hooker. Ruby had to be somewhere, so we dropped her off, but Bo stayed with me, talking to me like I was just as good as her, never once mentioning what I did to make a living. Then… we ended up at a downtown rehab center only the rich and famous attended.”
She smiles fondly again, still staring at Bo who waves in our direction. I awkwardly wave back, and Carmen just smiles bigger.
“She took me inside, talked to some woman for a minute, and then came back to tell me they would keep me there as long as I would let them. I was in no way going to be forced to stay. She promised they’d get me clean if I let them, and that she was paying for everything.”
She laughs while wiping away another few tears, and she looks back to meet my eyes.
“At first I thought I was dreaming, but detoxing was one hell of a pinch to let me know I was awake—I’ll spare you the ugly details. Long story short, I stayed for two months before feeling confident I was clean, but I had nowhere to go when I walked out the doors. To my surprise, there was Bo. She had come for me. That damn limo was waiting again, and we took it to a private freaking jet that flew us here to this home. I felt like a Princess—still do. Bo gave me clothes, introduced me to the people living here at the time, and they took me in with open, loving arms. They were all like me, but had their own stories to tell. It was our own private support group, and we’d all been saved.”
She gestures around us, motioning to all the people who are laughing and talking with each other as though they’re all as close as can be.
“Vince and Bo employ all of us—if we want a good paying job. They always employ people who are grateful for work, not people who feel entitled to a job. He owns his own record label and has numerous workers like us. His band is still in business, and the ones who help with setup and everything are people like us. Some of the bands on his label are people like us who had the talent to go big. And he has numerous website positions filled by people like us. Bo’s company is a haven for those who would be turned down by any other business because of our past or lack of experience.”
Pretty sure my heart is trying to slide down to my stomach, because it’s slippery as fuck inside my chest right now.