Hope was a dangerous thing.

I was pissed at Damon for making me feel — if only for a second — that I had a chance with him helping me.

Damon was just like everyone else in this town, bowing and scraping for Davonte’s approval, willing to suck a dick just to get out of this fucking hell-hole.

The bitter wind ate into my bones as I walked the back streets, wondering where the hell I was going to go, where I could be safe from Davonte.

Who was I kidding? Unless I walked my happy ass out of Detroit, there was nowhere safe from that sociopath.

I cursed Tommy’s decision to get tangled up in The Underground, even though just thinking of my little brother made me tear up. I was pissed at him but I missed him, too.

We’d been close because our parents were fuck-ups.

All we’d had was each other.

Our father was a weak-assed individual with the moral strength of a wet cardboard box.

Hell, the only saving grace I’d ever had was that he hadn’t been interested in fucking me, so I guess I could count that as a blessing.

Not all my friends had been so lucky.

The state took my best friend, Alondra, away from her dad when we were in the sixth grade.

One day at lunch Alondra let slip that her daddy had been fingering her since she was five.

By the time she’d hit twelve, he’d figured it was time to go for the real deal.

I hadn’t seen Alondra since that day social services came.

All I could do was hope that wherever she’d landed, it was better than where she’d started.

But Alondra’s story wasn’t unique. Hell, more than half the girls I knew had some kind of fucked up story to tell.

Creepy uncles, handsy boyfriends of desperate single moms, perverted stepbrothers…actual brothers…

I shuddered.

So, I guess I was fortunate in that respect that my dad hadn’t been a pervert but being willing to sell out your kids to the dirtiest kingpin in Detroit was a form of prostitution, too.

I walked against the wind, gritting my teeth as the chill ate through my thin jacket.

I hated Detroit.

I wanted to go somewhere sunny and warm. Like Florida or California.

Somewhere that didn’t freeze your lungs with a single breath and the poverty level wasn’t hovering somewhere along the medieval peasant level.

But how the hell was I going to get out of this place? I had no real money, no car, no place to stay and nowhere to go — and a narcissistic sociopath wanted me in his bed.

I nearly choked on the toxic mix of fear and desperation bubbling up in my throat.

One thing I did know, I had to get out of the open and off the street.

I couldn’t go home, couldn’t involve my friends, and I certainly couldn’t return to Damon’s place.

Where did that leave me?

Fucking screwed.

I thought of Damon again.

If only he’d been a good guy. He could’ve been the answer to my problems.

He was so fucking big. Like the Hulk without the green skin.

He was muscle on top of muscle and those crazy dark eyes were enough to scare away the devil.

But I hadn’t felt scared.

If anything, I’d felt safe.

Ha. What a joke.

I am apparently a terrible judge of character.

Another blast of wind nearly sent me to the icy sidewalk and I ducked into a corner cafe. I had enough for a cup of coffee.

At least that would warm me up some.

I made my way to the counter, ordered a black coffee, and curled my frozen fingers around the hot, cardboard cup.

I snagged a table away from the window and tried to make my coffee last as long as I could, at least long enough to thaw out so my brain could work.

Anyone that I involved would be at risk so I couldn't turn to anyone who cared about me.

But I couldn't exactly sleep on the street either. Freezing to death wasn't an option I was going to entertain.

Hard choices.

This was exactly how Davonte trapped people into turning to him for help. He took away all of their options so that he was the best and only way to survive.

I thought of the future I had to look forward to if I chose Davonte.

When he was pleased, he was relatively generous.

That’d been my dad’s argument.

“He treats his girls real good,” Frankie had whined, casting me a perplexed look. “Fancy clothes, parties, some of them even get cars.”

“Yeah, a real humanitarian,” I’d quipped darkly, shaking my head at how gross my dad was. “Those women are just walking vaginas. That’s all he wants from them. There’s no equality between them. The man makes me sick. And you want me to sign on for that? Fuck that and fuck you.”

“You ain’t so smart, little girl,” he’d sneered. “You could play your cards right and do something useful for your family for once in your life. Get yourself set up like that one woman he put up in her own swanky apartment on the good side of town, not to mention what Davonte could do for your brother. Time to start thinking of someone besides yourself.”

That was rich coming from him.

I’d ignored his threat. When had my father ever said anything of value? Never. And I didn’t see a reason why he’d start now.

And that swanky apartment? Just because it had a dishwasher and a bell man, didn’t make it uptown.

I’d rather hand wash all my dishes for the rest of my life than live with the knowledge that I’d paid for my conveniences on my back (or knees).

I don't know where it came from but my sense of right and wrong was too firmly ingrained in my personality to allow myself to sink to Davonte’s level.

If all things had been equal, I would've went to college. I tried to talk Tommy into leaving with me.

But he wouldn't and I knew I couldn't leave him behind. All the good my sacrifice had done…Davonte had ended up killing Tommy in the ring anyway.

Don't think of Tommy. I didn't have the luxury of breaking down.

Six months ago my brother was alive.

Some days it felt like a lifetime.

In spite of my best efforts, a tear snaked down my cheek and I wiped it away quickly.

One of the baristas looked at me with concern. I turned away, discouraging her from coming over to comfort me.

It wasn't that I couldn't have used a little human kindness it was that I was afraid of involving anyone in my mess.

The barista got the message and went about her business. I scrubbed my hands over my face, desperately hoping for a miracle.

When nothing happened, my guardian angel seemed to be on permanent lunch break, I knew I couldn't stay in that café much longer.

In the end, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't sleep on the streets and I couldn't involve anyone else.

Even though it was probably a suicide mission, I had to make it back to my own place.

I wasn't stupid, my house would be the first place they would look for me.

But it was a chance I had to take. I had a little bit of cash stashed away and I needed different clothes.

The reality sucked but what choice did I have?

This was real life, not a feel-good movie. No one was coming to save me and no one was going to stand up to Davonte.

It was either submit to that disgusting pig of a man or die trying to get the fuck out of Detroit.