Saving Sins (Forbidden Erotic Romance) Read Free

and filing papers. No getting up in
stranger's faces. No giving furtive handjobs for a fix. No puking in alleyways.
    No shooting up.
    Tara rubbed a hand over her face and concentrated on the
buildings passing them by. The atmosphere inside the van was thick, but not
uncomfortable, and she held her hands out and let the hot air of the heater
flow over her stiff fingers and up the thick sleeves of her coat.
"Anyway," she said, because she realized neither of them had spoken
for several minutes, "I really love it. I'm thinking of going into social
work, so... here I am."
    "That's a tough line of work," Father Michael said
neutrally.
    "You do it," she said.
    "I am called."
    "Well, I think I should."
    "Oh?" She stole a peek at him, but his face was
neutral.
    "Yeah. I mean... I got out. I should be able to help
other people, right? You can't pull the ladder up behind you. That's not
fair."
    "It's less that and more that the work... it's
crushing." His voice sounded strangled in the small space of the van.
"So many people, and you can only help a little bit. It's very rare to be
able to save someone from that life."
    Tara swallowed. "You saved me," she said quietly.
    Father Michael was silent for a long moment.
"Perhaps," he said. "Here, Carrollton Ridge. I have a pretty
good rapport with the girls here. It'll ease us into tonight's work."
    Nodding, Tara stared at the dashboard and tried to steady
her heart. Her hands felt weak and useless at the ends of her arms. She was
back.
     
    *
     
    Carrollton Ridge. You cold pick up a streetwalker here any
time of day, any day of the week. It and Pigtown were ground zero for sex work.
Blocks of run-down rowhouses glared down at cracked, potholed streets, and
people got shot with regularity. It was just the way life was here. When she'd
run away from home, she'd ended up here. It was dirty and disgusting, but
honestly? It had been better on the streets and in the flophouses than back at
home.
    Her first night squatting in an abandoned house, she knew
would never have to go back home again. She could always crash on a mattress
somewhere. If she had to, she could always turn a trick.
    No. No, you don't have to. Not any more. You don't
have to live like that no more.
    Tara swallowed around a lump in her throat. She'd been
through years of therapy, but it was a lot different, talking things out with a
headshrinker, than coming back to your old stomping grounds, hoping to drag
another girl kicking and screaming out of the underworld.
    All that was long ago. You're a different person now.
    And it was true. Mostly.
    Next to her, Father Michael popped his door open, and together
they slid out of the van and into the frigid night air.
    Opening the back doors of the van, Michael reached in and
grabbed a heavy brass bell. Tara smiled.
    Hefting the heavy weight over his head, he began to ring it.
"Food!" he yelled. "Blankets! Tea! It's Father Michael!"
    A gaggle of girls a block down began to move toward them,
and Tara held her breath. When he'd come through her section of town the very
first time, he'd picked her up in his car. The second time she'd seen him, he
had the van setup, but the bell was new.
     
    She hung back, just around the corner, against the
cracked brick of an abandoned rowhouse. The do-gooder priest was back, handing
out shit to any girl who wanted something.
    He was an idiot. Half these girls could afford that shit on
the money they made in a night. They didn't necessarily spend that money on
blankets and shit, but who cared about that? Dope kept you warm, and so did
clients. Whiskey did it, too. She had her own bottle stowed away in the
flophouse, hidden under some junk. She was pretty sure no one was going to
steal it. Besides, who needed blankets in August?
    Dumbass , she thought.
    "God keep you," she heard him say to Kairi, one
of the girls Tara had started to get to know. Kairi was sweet, but only when
she wasn't high. When she was chasing her fix, or strung out, she was a