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  HIDDEN DESIRE

  Book Six of the Hidden Saga

  Amy Patrick

  Dedication

  For my Hidden Honeys—the incredible readers who love my books and give me so much encouragement every day! You keep me going, page after page.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  AFTERWORD

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Little Red Riding Hood

  What a hellhole.

  This neighborhood is my least favorite district of L.A., and believe me, for a city with a reputation for beaches and sunshine and glittering movie premiers, it has plenty of areas you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in. Actually—if you were caught in one of them and didn’t belong there, you’d likely end up dead.

  I walk past a seedy apartment building, a loud TV blaring from one of its screenless windows guarded by security bars. Behind a chain-link fence across the street a couple of pit bulls bark and snarl at me as if they’d love to have me for an afternoon snack and leave no leftovers.

  I have no fears for my own security. For one thing, I don’t give a shit. For another, they want me here. I bring the only thing the lowlifes in this part of town still care about. Whatever good people are left here are no doubt cowering inside, hoping the “Scourge” will pass them by.

  At least the streets don’t reek as much as they used to—fewer drunks puking up their paychecks into the gutters. S has nearly taken the place of booze, cocaine, heroin, and every other recreational drug in this city—it’s cheaper than any of them and far more addictive.

  I arrive at the pre-determined street corner and check my phone—I’m early. Great. I lean against the side of an auto repair shop that’s closed for the day and check my messages, scrolling through the list of texts, opening none of them. I already know what they want, and it’s a guarantee all of them want something from me. Everyone does.

  Something moves near my feet, startling me and making me jump to the side. At first I think it’s a rat, then I realize it’s a gray cat—a small one—a kitten actually. It’s filthy and so bony it hardly resembles a domestic animal at all.

  When it realizes I’ve noticed it, the scrawny thing mewls at me.

  “Go away,” I bark at it, and the pitiful thing skitters back, then it takes a few cautious steps toward my shoes again.

  I lift one foot and kick the air. “Get! I’ve got nothing for you. Go find a mouse or something.” It makes another noise, louder this time. “Listen here—you want some advice? Don’t count on anyone to give you anything in this life—the sooner you learn that one, the better.”

  The kitten is apparently smarter than most human beings—it runs away from me. I snort a laugh at my own expense. Wouldn’t Ava be so proud?

  I can’t stop myself from thinking of our last conversation four months ago. You’ll never be happy until you let your guard down and open your heart and let someone see the real you, she said. What a laugh. The real me is right here, passing on cynical life lessons to a flea bitten stray. And I’ll never be happy. That possibility died the minute she told me she was in love with that human farm boy.

  As far as my heart—I’m not sure I even have one. I’ve never felt the kind of emotion she seems to have for that silly dimpled bloke, the kind of attachment the Light King Lad and his bride seem to have for each other. And I don’t want to. They’re all destined for disappointment—they’re just too dumb to know it.

  The afternoon sun is in my eyes, so I back into a doorway for shade. I’d really rather not think of Ava at all. With that glamour of hers, the least she could have done was erase her bothersome self from my memory—would have been the kind thing to do. But then “kindness” has never been my fate. Indifference and lack of interference is about the best I can hope for.

  Down the street, the kitten shows itself again, making a beeline for its next panhandling target—the critter is persistent, I’ll give it that. Seeing its determination, I develop a grudging sense of admiration for the scrappy little beggar. Clearly it’s fending for itself on these mean streets—its mum was probably killed by a car, or maybe she abandoned it. I know the feeling.

  Good luck, Dogbait.

  The kitten cautiously approaches a girl on the sidewalk. She’s walking my way, dragging the fingertips of one hand along the side of the building next to her.

  She’s not the usual sort I see in this neighborhood. Quite the opposite actually. She’s wearing a red sundress—and not one of those short, clingy kinds the girls wear to the clubs or for attracting customers. It’s more of the go-on-a-picnic-to-the-park kind of dress. I can almost see her flying a kite in it or picking wildflowers or some nonsense like that.

  She’s got long, straight, sandy-brown hair—very clean looking—with a red headband holding it back from her face like freakin’ Alice in Wonderland or something. She looks... proper. No, that’s the wrong word. Innocent—that’s it—almost like a primary schooler, but she’s at least fifteen. Anyway, she stands out. Not a good thing around here.

  I shrug. It’s your funeral, babe.

  I look down at my phone, but within a minute I find myself glancing up again. The girl has stopped walking. She’s just standing there, turning in a slow circle with her head lifted. What the hell is she doing? And then it hits me. She’s probably on S. That’s what she’s doing here—trying to score another hit. She’s not the first dreamer from a small town to get off the bus in this city and get hooked on S right away.

  The kitten reaches her and does a circle eight around her ankles. Immediately she stoops and picks it up, hugging it to her chest and smiling. I can’t hear her, but she’s obviously talking to the nasty little beast in her arms.

  I shake my head and go back to my phone. Stupid girl. She and that mangy cat deserve one another. They can waste away together. She certainly won’t be spending her money on cat food if she’s hooked on S. There are suburban moms who don’t feed their own children because they’ve blown the grocery money on the drug.

  I blow out an aggravated breath. Five minutes until our meeting, and the guy hasn’t shown yet. He’d better be here if he knows what’s good for him. I’m not exactly thrilled about making a trip to this dump for no reason—especially since my “duties” usually take me to much more posh places, places where the drug addicts are much cleaner and more attractive. But I’m the least of this low level dealer’s worries. My annoyance is nothing compared to Audun’s wrath. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes in his operation.

  “Hey! Check this out.”

  I lift my head to see the owner of the very loud, very amused voice. It belongs to a heavyset, heavily tattooed man wearing a dirty white tank shirt and long, wide-legged shorts that expose all but the very bottom of his underwear. He’
s accompanied by two similarly dressed gentlemen. Unlike the foolish girl in the red dress, they definitely fit this neighborhood.

  The three men are laughing, striding down the center of the street directly toward her. “Little Red Riding Hood came to bring us some goodies, I think,” one of them says in a lewd tone.

  The third one joins in. “Wonder what she’s got in that basket?” The laughter grows louder and more raucous.

  My pulse kicks up a notch as I watch them pass my location in the doorway and approach the girl. She doesn’t seem to notice, still too wrapped up in that pitiful cat or her S high, or maybe both.

  A text tone draws my attention back to my phone. It’s from my father. Great.

  -Meeting location has changed. New location two blocks south. A bar called Moco’s. Your contact is there now.

  Naturally. The one day I’m early for a delivery and my contact changes locations on me. I push forward out of the doorway and start down the street to where my car is parked. I’m ready to get this thing over with and get out of here before the locals decide to start helping themselves to some high end automotive parts. I’ve got more deliveries to make and in far more pleasant locales than this one.

  “Hey, hey little girl. You lost or something?”

  “Grandma’s house is that way. Better watch out for the wolf.”

  Don’t look. It doesn’t matter. It’s not your concern. Humans preying on other humans—happens all day every day all over the globe.

  I will my eyes forward but they veer off to the left without my consent. The street thugs have reached Alice, as I’ve dubbed her. She’s standing with her back to the wall now, the stupid cat cradled in her arms. The guys move in close to her, forming a human triangle around her. One of them tugs at her dress, and she spins to face him. She doesn’t look particularly afraid, but she’s not looking directly at any of them.

  And you shouldn’t be either, moron. You’ve got a job to do. Keep walking.

  I stop walking.

  Blowing out a long breath of resignation, I turn toward the scene on the sidewalk. As if possessed by a mind of their own, my feet move in that direction. My hands clench at my sides, tightening by increments the closer I get.

  I’m not sure exactly what I plan to do when I get there. A couple of the guys are shorter than me, so I’d have the reach on them in a fistfight, but all three are considerably heavier. And in this neighborhood, probably armed. And did I mention there are three of them?

  In spite of these very valid reasons to walk the other way, I don’t. Instead, when I reach the sidewalk, I step right up to the group and through the stinking, tattooed human chain surrounding the girl.

  She’s older than I thought—maybe about eighteen. Prettier, too. Now that I get a good look at her, I can tell she’s not high. She is frightened though. She’s staring right at the sweat stain on the t-shirt of one of the guys, not making eye contact with any of them or with me. Her chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths. She’s probably catatonic with fear by this point.

  Reaching for the ugly gray kitten, I say, “There you are, naughty kitty. Thank you, love, for finding her. I’ve been looking for Cupcake everywhere.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the tallest of the guys demands.

  “Well now I’ve just said that, haven’t I? I’m the owner of Cupcake here.”

  “That cat’s a dude, man. And he’s running wild around here every day, begging for scraps.”

  “Even more reason I’m thrilled to have him back. Now I must be going. And I’ll need the young lady to come with me. You see I filed a police report on my missing cat, and she’ll need to come in and give a statement that she returned him to me and did not, in fact, steal Cupcake. Someone might have witnessed her holding him and reported her already.”

  One of the shorter guys laughs. “That’s bullshit man. The cops around here don’t care about no missing cats.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I say and slide an arm around the girl’s back, steering her toward the street. She’s trembling and so is the kitten. “We’re going to my car,” I mutter to the girl. “Just come along and I’ll drop you somewhere safe.”

  Her feet stop moving. “I don’t want to leave.”

  What? How stupid is this girl? Or are people really that naïve where she’s from? “Don’t argue,” I urge under my breath. “Believe me—you want to leave—unless you particularly relish the prospect of gang rape and human trafficking.”

  “Oh,” she says and starts moving again.

  “Hey—English dude.”

  Great. “Keep walking toward the Ferrari,” I say to the girl, tucking the cat under her arm again. I turn to face the delayed reaction of the neighborhood gang, who’ve finally realized I’m whisking their new toy away. “Yes?”

  “We didn’t say she could leave. We were just getting to know Little Red there.”

  “Yes well, I believe the young lady may be lost, and the last thing guys with your records need is a lost tourist disappearing on your turf—especially one who looks like this one. Now there’s something the cops will care about. All of you ready to have your houses and cars thoroughly searched?”

  The three men exchange glances. The answer visible on all of their faces is a definitive “No.” My guess about their prison records was apparently spot on. Still, the leader of the group doesn’t like that I’ve defied him in front of his underlings.

  He sticks his barrel chest out and curls his lips into a nasty smile. “Wonder if they’d care about a smart-mouth English guy with his ass beat in?”

  I release a weary breath. “I’m from Australia, actually, and this conversation is getting tedious.” Eager to get the girl out of there and get to my meeting, I put a heavy dose of Sway into my next words. “Now you’re gonna turn around, walk back over to your men, and order them to follow you. Then the three of you will walk to the farthest edge of your ‘territory’ and pick a fight with someone closer to your own size—preferably a member of a rival gang. This city could use a few less hoodlums. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”

  The guy stares at me a second, then turns and shows me his back, gesturing to his men. “Come on. We outta here,” he says.

  Turning back toward the girl, I pick up my pace to catch up with her. Though I instructed her to keep walking, she’s not far from where I left her. I grab her upper arm and move quickly, pulling her along by my side.

  “Let’s go before any of the Three Amigos’ friends get a look at you and start coming out of the woodwork. The sun will be setting soon—and you think this place is bad during the daytime, you do not want to see it at night.”

  She nods and silently stumbles along beside me, clutching the kitten, clearly still in shock from her near miss. We reach my car, I pop the door locks, and open hers. She puts a hand on the door and lowers herself inside. I close the door and go around to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the car, not even waiting for the engine to warm before putting it in gear and driving straight past Moco’s and out of the neighborhood. South L.A. can live without its S fix for one night.

  When we make it to the 110 onramp and merge into traffic I finally breathe normally. And then I let her have it.

  “What were you thinking going there? Are you stupid? Are you blind? Anyone can see that’s no place for someone like you.”

  Her little chin juts out as she stares straight ahead through the windshield, holding the kitten to her chest where it’s attempting to burrow into her. “I paid a lot of money for a taxi ride to take me there.”

  My jaw drops. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was there searching for a fix after all. But why go there? She could score S in almost any nightclub in the city. I glance over at her curled up in my passenger seat. She doesn’t look like the typical S addict. Her skin is smooth and clear, her hair shines. She has all her teeth—white and strong. Her hands aren’t shaking and her eyes, though still a bit dazed looking, aren’t bloodshot or rimmed with dark shadows. In fact, they�
�re a beautiful clear brown with spokes of greenish-gold.

  She’s not a junkie. Maybe she really is that naïve. “As you may have noticed from your encounter with the hood welcoming committee back there, that was not a good neighborhood. And when you saw those guys coming... you should have run.”

  The chin tilts higher. “If it’s such a bad neighborhood, what were you doing there? Maybe you’re a bad guy. Maybe I should have run from you.”

  Her sassy attitude is a surprise. I chuckle. “Without a doubt. I am a very bad guy indeed. But I’m also the guy who got your silly little arse out of danger, so I believe a thank you is in order.”

  “Thank you,” she says. And that’s all she says.

  “Well, now that we’ve established your undying gratitude for my saving your life,” I drawl, “tell me where you live—I’ll take you home.”

  “You don’t have to do that—you can drop me off anywhere. I’ll catch a bus.”

  “Don’t be daft. Look—I was sort of joking about that being a bad guy thing. Tell me where your apartment is. I promise not to stalk you. I won’t even try to walk you to the door—I’ll just slow down and you can jump out,” I joke.

  There’s a long pause before she answers. “I don’t have an apartment.”

  “Your hotel then, friend’s house—whatever.”

  “I don’t have one of those either. I was planning to look for a place near the clinic. That’s why I went to South Los Angeles.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I pull the car off at the next exit simply so I can get a look at her face and see if she’s joking. Also, my hands have begun to shake. After steering the car into a convenience store lot and putting it in park, I turn in my seat to face her. The expression she wears is entirely serious. She’s not kidding. Which means she’s insane.

  “You can’t mean the S clinic. The one next door to the drug den. Why in God’s name would you look for an apartment there? You’re not using are you?”

  “No.” She laughs. “No, I’m going to work there—as a volunteer. I spoke to the director on the phone before coming out to Los Angeles. I don’t drive, so I need a place that’s nearby. I can’t afford to keep taking taxis.”