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Inside my tote bag, I have a switchblade. I don’t carry guns. Not because I don’t like them, which I don’t, but because I don’t have the skills for them to be useful. But with ten thousand dollars bound by a rubber band sitting at the bottom of my tote, I long for a pistol to hold.

I follow Reid’s lead. He goes on and on as we walk about how I don’t know what I’m doing.

It’s better if the guy never meets me. He’s the kind of guy who will come after me for money whether I owe it or not.

I only half-listen, as I watch every person we pass with suspicion, my hand clenched around the strap of my tote as if I’m hanging off a cliff and it’s my lifeline.

I don’t need Reid’s explanation. He got arrested with a small amount on him.

Which means he probably hid a larger amount somewhere and the rightful owner wants repayment.

Only Reid doesn't have it to give because someone, a bad cop, another junkie—the who doesn’t matter—nabbed it after the arrest. Reid’s fresh out of rehab, and these fuckers know it and they heard he has a job.

Doesn’t matter if a dishwasher makes shit.

They want their cut. Same shit, different street corner.

We pass a homeless man kneeling on the sidewalk.

I look directly into his eyes. I always do that, because I want them to know I see them.

I didn’t spend ages on the street, but I spent long enough that I know it sucks to become invisible.

I dig into my jeans pocket and hand him a five.

His hand shakes as he takes it, and I hope he spends it on food.

Reid pauses outside a Subway sandwich shop. “This is a bad idea.”

I reach past him and push the door open.

This location is a shithole. Two uniformed guys behind the counter look up at us when we enter.

There’s a row of booths on one side with green topped tables.

Sitting in one of the booths is a nondescript guy.

White male, dark hair, buzz cut, in a button-down oxford and a lot of rings on his fingers.

He’s muscular and fit, nowhere near as skinny as Reid.

Which tells me he’s not doing drugs. He’s smarter than that.

The guys behind the counter head into the back.

Reid gives me one last shake of his head that tells me he is full-on against this.

He’s trying to protect me, and for that, I love him a little bit more.

I slide into the booth beside Reid and face this guy who, upon closer inspection, looks more like a kid than a man.

It wouldn’t shock me to learn he’s under twenty-one.

He looks me over and spreads one arm out along the booth.

A toothpick extends from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re the chick who helps the kids.”

I search his face for anything familiar. But I get nothing. I’m pretty positive he hasn’t entered our center. “And what do you do?”

The toothpick shifts up and down. Then a smile spreads and the guy looks even younger. “I help ’em, too.”

“That’s rich,” I say. I don’t take my eyes off him because if his hands go under the table, I’m moving.

“Man’s gotta eat.” He shrugs. “Man’s gotta party.”

I reach into my tote, and he practically leaps up out of the booth. His hand goes to his back pocket.

“Just getting the money,” I say as Reid waves his palms in the air.

I only see him out of my peripheral vision, but I assume he’s doing some hand signal for calm the fuck down .

I toss the stack of money onto the table and slide out of the booth.

The guy’s ass is now sitting on the edge of the booth and his feet are on the seat.

I can’t help but think this guy isn’t nearly as scary as Reid made him out to be. But looking again at those muscles and the rings on his fist, I have to acknowledge he could beat me up. And it would hurt.

“Are we all good now?” I ask.

“You paying for him?”

“I am. And I need you to leave him alone.” He picks up the stack of bills and thumbs through it.

“So, am I going to see you next month?”

“What do you mean?” My stomach sinks. What the fuck, Reid ?

“He’s on a payment plan.”

“How much does he owe?”

Reid lurks in the corner, eyes cast down.

“Another $40K. But we cut him a deal. Payment plan.”

“You think he can cough up ten a month as a dishwasher?”

The guy grins wide, and that’s when I notice how jacked the guy's teeth are. They twist every which way. “He’s got options.”

Fuck. I hate this world. He’s probably been asked to do deliveries. Sales are pretty much done online these days, but deliveries are dangerous. Always a risk it’s a sting. Reid’s ideal personnel. Theoretically off the stuff and street smart.

My head spins, and I turn and charge out of the place. Reid calls out behind me. “Wait.”

Fisher blocks my path. Reid slams into my back. My gaze falls to Fisher’s holstered handgun.

“Let’s go,” he says, arm stretched, indicating he wants me to lead the way while he follows.

“What are you doing here?”

“Protecting Sophia. Before I let you back in that house, I need to know everything.”