Foster homes. Separate ones.
The room, the sounds, her body…they all started to feel a bit distant.
“This is our home,” Maggie said softly. “We’re fine here.”
“State doesn’t think so,” one of the cops said, his sandy mustache yellow against his pasty skin. “Two little girls living alone in this building?” The man walked over to the kitchen and began opening cabinets.
Selina’s heart pounded with every groan and thud of the wood. And her hands began to shake as he stooped, opening the sink cabinets, and peered in. A rip of tape, and he chuckled as he stood, cashbox in his hands.
Flipping open the lid, he smiled at the money inside. Lifted the wad of bills and fanned them. His partner let out a low whistle of approval. “Been working on the side?” he asked Selina.
The way his eyes raked over her, she knew what kind of work he thought she did. “No” was all she said.
He’d known exactly where that box might be hidden. Perhaps he’d anticipated drugs instead. She should have been better at hiding it, figured out a smarter place for that money—
The social worker said, “You have a record.”
“It was from three years ago.” Selina’s voice came out surprisingly even.
“You have two strikes,” the social worker continued. “No judge will let you stay here.” She gestured to their bedroom. “Go pack your bags. Bring enough stuff for a week or two.”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m not going.”
Selina watched as the mustached cop smiled at her and slid that grand into his pocket. Her stomach dropped to her feet, her pulse pounding through every battered inch of her.
Two corrupt cops were in her apartment. And an unsympathetic social worker. Not good. Not safe.
“Maggie,” she murmured to her sister, “go pack your bags.”
Her sister refused to move.
Selina turned to the woman, who had now crossed her slender arms. “My sister has a serious medical condition. A group home in some filthy house is not what she needs.”
“Every foster home in our system is constantly inspected for cleanliness and safety. Any home she goes to will meet her needs.”
Bullshit. She’d heard from girls in the Leopards that those homes were roach palaces at best.
“And as for Maggie’s special needs,” the woman said, patience running thin as her words turned clipped, “living with a sister who has a criminal record does not seem so safe, either.”
Maggie snapped, “You don’t know anything.”
Selina shot her sister a warning look. “Go pack your bags.”
Maggie shook her head, brown curls bouncing. “I’m not going.”
“It’s nearly one in the morning,” the social worker coaxed. “Let’s get you settled somewhere safe.”
“I’m safe here,” Maggie said, voice hitching.
At the sound of it, the way Maggie’s voice broke with fear, Selina’s blood started roaring.
Stay calm. Stay focused. Selina tried again. “If it’s so late, then why don’t we sleep here? You can pick us up in the morning.”
“And come back to find you’ve skipped town?” asked the dark-haired cop who hadn’t pocketed her money. “Not a chance. Get your stuff. Now.”
No options. No choices. No way to figure this out.
Selina put a hand on Maggie’s too-skinny arm. Medications. Maggie would need to bring all her medications with her—
The touch seemed to snap some leash in her sister.
Maggie bolted.
Not for the bedroom but for the apartment door.
For a moment, the world slowed and bent.
All Selina saw was her sister, so frail and small, sprinting past those cops, hair flying behind her. All she saw was the closest cop, the mustached one with their money in his pocket, lunging for Maggie, his enormous hand reaching for her delicate arm.
And as that hand closed around Maggie’s arm, as her rasping inhale of breath, of pain at the tightness of that grip, filled the apartment, the world…
Selina exploded.
The dark-haired cop went down first. Uppercut to get his head up, then elbow to the nose to put him on the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the carpet.
The social worker screeched, but Selina was already on the mustached cop, now whirling toward her, that meaty hand still on Maggie’s arm.
Selina barreled into him. He dropped Maggie immediately, both of his hands grappling to shove Selina off as they slammed into the wall, cracking plaster.
“You little—” His spat words were cut short as Selina ducked out of his grasp, dodged the fumble he made to grab her again, and her fist connected with his face.
Her body sang in agony, wounds ripping open, bruises bleating.
“Run,” she managed to say to Maggie.
But her sister remained frozen. Gaping, terror draining the color from her face.
Slim white hands wrapped around Maggie’s arm again. The social worker. “She’s not going anywhere.”
And those hands, those hands and that cold, hateful face—
Selina shoved the woman. Hard.
Hard enough that the social worker went careening into the table, chairs scattering.
Maggie screamed, and Selina whirled, fists up, knees bending.
Too slow. The mustached cop had risen to his feet. She didn’t have time to try to dodge before volts of pain tore through her. Before his leering, bloody face smiled as he dug a Taser right into her neck.
Agony barreled in—then the world tilted.
Then nothing.
* * *
—
The humming of the fluorescent lights was what awoke her.
Her tongue was a dry, thick weight in her mouth, her head a pounding mess, her body…
Sitting in a chair. Handcuffed to the metal table before her.
Precinct room.
Selina groaned quietly, surveying the space. Tiny. No one-way mirror. No speakers or cameras or anything.
She tugged on the cuffs linked to the table to see if they were secured.
They were.
Maggie—
The metal door hissed open, and Selina braced herself.
It wasn’t the blond social worker in her cheap suit. Or the cop who looked at her a little too long.