Sinners' Playground (The Harlequin Crew #1) - Caroline Peckham Page 0,79

any other choice if she wanted to buy food and shit, you know? But she could find a way out of it if she wanted to bad enough. If I'm honest, I just don't think she cares about herself enough to try and save herself."

I frowned sympathetically at the idea of that and gave Lyla's fingers a squeeze. It wasn't like Bella's story was all that unusual around here, or anywhere that I'd been over the last ten years, but it didn’t make it suck any less. Sometimes I felt like the world had forgotten about people like us. The big fish just swam on by while the sharks circled the tank and the little fish like us had to fight every day not to end up eaten.

"So, err, Joe McCreevy is a decent enough landlord," Lyla said as we started up a hill towards the only actual building I could see around here. It was a wooden beach house with a wide porch and faded white paintwork. Nothing too fancy, but nice enough. "But he's a bit...I don't wanna say creepy-"

"But he's creepy?" I put in and she laughed.

"I mean, there’s a reason people ‘round here call him Joe McCreepy. Let's just say, if you ever can't make the rent, he's more than happy to take payment in flesh. To be honest, I think he prefers that half the time. Some girls just fuck him regularly instead of ever paying and that's cool if it's what they prefer, but it's just worth knowing that he'll be thinking along those lines when we show up. So if you don't want that-"

"I prefer to keep financial transactions out of my sex life," I agreed with a laugh. "But don't worry. I'm good for the money so he'll have no complaints."

"Okay, cool." Lyla moved up the steps and rapped her knuckles against the door as I came to stand beside her.

There was some loud cursing from inside and some thumping and banging before the door was finally tugged wide and I found myself face to face with a big guy who was probably in his fifties with slicked back black hair and the kind of stubble that said he was just too lazy to shave it often. He was wearing a white wifebeater with a ketchup stain on the belly and a pair of ill-fitting cargo pants above a pair of well worn sandals...and socks. Shudder.

"Hey, Joe, this is Rogue. She needs a place to stay and I was telling her about the trailer you've got available," Lyla said with a smile way too bright for this particular specimen to have earned.

"That so?" Joe asked, his gaze sliding over me like butter rolling over a bagel - slow and kinda greasy. "You got the money for the deposit, or..." He rolled the toothpick which was stuck between his teeth back and forth with his tongue, making it clack against his canines as he gave me an appraising look.

"I've got the money," I said firmly, sticking my hand into my bag and grabbing a couple of hundreds out for him.

Joe reached out and took the cash, his fingers sliding over the back of my hand and making me snatch my fingers away fast. Yup, he’d definitely earned the name McCreepy and I’d only just met him.

"How much for an hour of your time then, sugar tits?" he asked me, his gaze raking over said less than sugary tits and making me want to cover them up to stop him looking.

"Err, I'm not actually in the trade, sorry," I said, trying not to sound as grossed out as I clearly was. I mean, I was a big girl who’d had her fair share of questionable conquests in my twenty six years, but I really wasn't much of a fan of being leered over. Especially after what had happened with my neighbour Axel when I was sixteen.

"Well, alright then. You'll find I'm a very amenable landlord," Joe said, turning back to his house and leaning in through the door, seeming to accept my refusal as easy as that and I really hoped that he had. "I don't like to play hard ball, and if you ever have trouble coming up with the rent then I prefer to come up with alternatives rather than kicking folk out. Rent is due every Saturday – a hundred a week, I like cash and you can either push it through my hole in an envelope with your trailer number