Sins of a Siren Read Free

move. Having already spent an unbearable six months in a Philadelphia jail for a parole violation, she had no desire to spend the next twenty-five-years-to-life in the Gray Bar Motel.
    She shoved the table out of the way and sprinted to her room.
Where are my goddamned sweats?
She tore off her robe and dug through her dresser drawers. Failing to find a pair of sweats, she removed the damp jeans and sweatshirt she’d worn earlier from the hamper and pulled them over her naked body, before slipping her bare feet back into her soggy black boots.
    No matter how fast Trenda tried to move, it felt as if she was running out of time. She snatched open her closet door and grabbed her “Travelin’ Bag”—a black-and-white Reebok gym bag, whichheld two sets of sweats, socks, underwear, tennis shoes, two sets of fake driver’s licenses and one thousand dollars in cash. Her hustling lifestyle taught her to be ready to run at anytime, from anywhere.
    She sensed the sand in her mental hourglass running out. “Think, don’t panic,
think!
” Trenda said as she grabbed her cell phone charger and tossed it in her bag. Next, she picked up her New York Yankees cap and Reebok bag and ran out of the room. “Keys! Where are my fuckin’ car keys?”
    Trenda spotted them on the floor next to the coffee table that Piper had kicked askew. She slapped the cap on her head and scooped up her keys. Before fleeing the apartment, she went to the kitchen and checked on Piper.
It looks like she moved
. Trenda cautiously got on one knee and examined her.
    She then placed her hand by Piper’s nose and mouth and felt a weak, warm breath escaping.
At least her crazy-ass ain’t dead, but she looks kinda fucked up.
The small flow of blood from Piper’s ear was a bit disconcerting.
    Trenda got to her feet and went to the wall-mounted yellow telephone.
I don’t need a murder on my head
. She picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. After hearing the dispatcher answer, she let the phone receiver fall to the floor, knowing they would send a patrol car out to investigate.
Time to get the hell out!
Grabbing her bag, keys and purse she fled the apartment.

Four
    â€œC ’mon now, Griff! I know you can give me more than two grand. My car ain’t but a year old,” Trenda said to the heavy, dark, thick-glasses-wearing man in front of her. He ran a junkyard in Chestertown where—for the right price—he could make unwanted vehicles disappear, no questions asked.
    â€œHow you get that cut on ya pretty face?”
    She touched her wound and in the light cast by his dim yard lights, found blood on her fingertip. “I ran into Freddy Krueger. Look, I ain’t got time to socialize. How much you gonna give me for it?” A dull throbbing pain reminded her of her shoulder injury.
    He ran his hand over the hood. “You gotta remember, there ain’t a big demand for Isuzu parts around here.” He looked from the cut, into her green eyes. “Now, if it was somethin’ like a Benz, I could break you off a little mo’ change.”
    She checked her watch as they stood in the light rain, in front of the trailer Griff lived in, which sat in the back of his messy junkyard. Her instincts told her she had to get going. She then focused on him. “I been bringin’ you customers for years. Two grand is the best you can do?”
    He grinned and stared at her large breasts. “Well, maybe if you spend the night, we can figure out a way for you to earn a few mo’ ends.”
    I wouldn’t fuck you wit’ somebody else’s pussy
. She snatched the wad of cash out of his dirty hands and stuffed it in her pocket. “Fuck it, but you gotta drop me off on North Charles Street.”
    He grinned. “I’ll have my man Julio take this piece of shit out back and gut it. I’ll put what’s left in the car crusher.” He pulled a half-smoked cigar out of the