Page 69 of Tainted Princess
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Francesca
The door clanged shut behind me, and I took a cleansing breath, finally free of the stench of must and old polyester that seemed to permeate the entire Pawn Shop. Even my skin felt dirty, like the place had coated me in its filth, and I wanted nothing more than to race back to the apartment and take another shower, but I had things to accomplish today, so that was going to have to wait.
Placing one hand on my forehead, I closed my eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over me, the headache that had simmered on a dull throb in the dim shop was now threatening to boil over again in the harsh sunlight.
“Francesca?”
“I’m good, Vinnie,” I said, smiling softly as I straightened, breathing slowly to regain my composure. “Just needed a minute.”
“Are you sure I can’t take you home?”
“Not yet. We have to meet Lexi first.”
Vinnie groaned. “That girl is a troublemaker.”
“I know,” I said, chuckling as we started toward the parking lot at the side of the building. “But she’s a kind of trouble I’m not used to getting into, so for now, I’m having fun. Let me live a little, Vin.” I elbowed the big guy lightly. “You might try it yourself sometime.” Vinnie only grunted, but as we rounded the corner of the squat brick building, his arm was suddenly across my chest, holding me back as he peered around the brick wall.
“Wait,” he said quietly, and I strained against his hold, trying to see what the issue was, but couldn’t see a thing past Vinnie’s broad shoulders. He hesitated, then released a low growl. “Fuckin’ punk.”
Moving quietly, Vinnie kept heading toward where we had parked, keeping me behind him the whole way, and as we got closer, I could finally see what the issue was. Standing next to my shiny new SUV was a skinny teenager with a wire coat hanger, doing his very best to break into my shit.
Fuck that, child.
Tapping Vinnie on his arm, I motioned that he should go around the other way. He nodded, and we split up, each of us taking one side of the vehicle. Once I was close enough, I stepped into sight and hollered, “Hey!”
The kid jerked like I had electrocuted him, jumping back from the truck and leaving the hanger right where it was, jammed in next to the pane of window glass. Eyes wide, he looked at me, then immediately turned and sprinted the other way, only to be clotheslined by Vinnie who looked like he was playing defensive tackle for the NY Giants.
“Damn, Vinnie,” I said. “That’s two people you’ve KO’d in parking lots today.” Vinnie scowled, obviously disliking that the other person had been me.
Stepping up to the groaning kid, I looked down, shaking my head.
“Seriously?” I asked, yanking the coat hanger out of the window. I stared at it in disgust before tossing it to the dirt. “What is this? Amateur hour? You didn’t even have a Slim Jim? Coat hangers are no good anymore. God, don’t they teach kids anything these days?” I tsked, watching as the gangly kid sat up and frowned at me in confusion.
“You wanna tell me what you thought you were doing?” I asked, watching as he drew himself to sit with his back against the chain link fence next to the truck, head hanging down so his hair, which was greasy and seriously in need of a cut, hung in his face.
“Nicest car I seen around here in months,” he said, like that excused him trying to take my shit. “Figured I’d give it a shot. Better than the shitty Oldsmobile’s I usually come across. Even if I couldn’t have gotten in,” he went on, eyeing the vehicle like it was a swimsuit model, “at least I got to touch it.” He licked his dry lips, his hands resting on his knees as he sat on the cracked pavement, completely resigned to his fate.
I watched him, seeing in this kid what I had seen in hundreds of others in New York: hopelessness. This was a kid who knew there was no way out for him. He was going to be scratching in the dirt for his whole life, and he was prepared to continue to accept the shit that life kept handing him. Running my gaze over him, I noted his threadbare shirt, jeans with holes that were not so fashionable, and dirty sneakers, worn through in so many places I could see his socks. Staring at the dirt between his feet, the kid tapped his fingers nervously against his pants—fingers that were stained with paint in what appeared to be several colors.
Little punk was into graffiti.
“You gonna go to the cops,” he asked, absently playing with the hole in his knee. “Or do you want to talk directly to my social worker? Not like she can fit you in with the three hundred other delinquents she has to deal with today, but I’m sure if you leave her a voicemail, she’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” he finished sarcastically.
I paused, sharing a look with Vinnie, who seemed to read my mind and gave me a small nod.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Sway.”
“Really?” I asked with a chuckle.
“I mean, it’s what I’ll answer to, so...”
“Alright, Sway,” I said, gesturing for him to stand. He ambled to his feet, making me have to crane my neck to look up at him.
My sore head did not like that position.
