She bumped shoulders with the man in the suit, only to receive a glare of annoyance, which quickly morphed into a curled lip of disgust as he saw who he’d bumped into.

“Sorry!” Lauren said, though she wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

Men just like him swarmed London’s streets like robots, all with their hipster beards, and haircuts, and expensive suits, acting as though there was always somewhere else they needed to be, and fast. Self-important, believing their time was more valuable than everyone else’s, and that money was the most precious thing in the world.

Lauren Morgan slipped down a side alley and slid the wallet she’d just stolen from the man’s back pocket out of the waistband of her jeans. She pulled it open, and a grin crept across her face as she saw the nice wedge of notes folded inside. She wasn’t interested in the cards— she didn’t have time for credit card fraud—but the cash meant she’d be able to keep her room for another few nights. Living in London was expensive, and sometimes she wondered if she’d be better off leaving the city and going somewhere cheaper. But London was a big city, and she could be anonymous here. It was easy to slip into the crowds and not worry about being seen. Also, people here tended to carry more cash with them than other places. She didn’t know if all the city boys liked to dabble in some class A narcotics to keep pace with their work all day and party all night lifestyles, but they certainly carried around some serious money.

She folded up the cash and tucked it down the side of her bra. It would be safe there. Checking the coast was clear, she stepped back out of the alleyway and joined the throng of suited people, marching down the street. No one blinked an eye at her. That was the thing about London. You could be a businessman earning a thousand pounds a day, a broke student, or a beggar on the street, and no one would ever think you were out of place.

Lauren moved with the flow of people, though she kept an eye out for a familiar uniform. There were plenty of cops on the streets these days—everyone was in fear of a terrorist attack—so it didn’t take long. She spotted two of them standing on the street corner and headed over. As much as she knew it was bad of her to take the cash, she didn’t want the person’s credit cards or ID falling into the wrong hands.

Lauren approached one of them with her most innocent smile. “Excuse me, but I found this on the ground. I didn’t know where else to leave it.”

The police officer frowned, and then plastered a smile on his face. “Thank you. I’ll make sure it gets back to its owner.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She batted her lashes at him.

He gave her a nod. “Nice to meet an honest citizen.”

She shrugged as though it were nothing then spun away, vanishing once more into the crowds.

Lauren had been on the streets since the age of fifteen, when she’d finally made the decision to leave her drunk of a mother behind. For as long as she could remember, she’d been finding her mum passed out on the couch most mornings, and again when she got home from school. She’d never had anyone there to make her breakfast or welcome her home with a hug and kiss, and someone asking how her day was. When her mother was with it enough to get dressed and go out, it was usually to the bar. This was even worse for Lauren, as she knew her mother was unlikely to come home alone.

The men she brought home would normally be as drunk as her mother, and would barely pay any attention to the small girl who would scurry across the corridor and hide behind her bedroom door. She was thankful when they ignored her and she could just sit with her skinny knees pulled into her chest and her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound of them together. It was worse if the men noticed her, and, as she grew up, they noticed her more and more.

This was something her mother noticed, too. It seemed crazy that a mother could be jealous of her own daughter, but that was exactly what happened. Lauren’s skinny legs gained curves, and her narrow chest grew breasts. With her silky dark hair and big brown eyes, she was a striking teenager, and this didn’t go missed by either her mother or the men she brought home.

By the time she was fifteen, and had been forced to fight off a number of her mother’s drunken boyfriends, while her mother was passed out on the couch, she decided enough was enough. She’d stolen what money and valuables she’d been able to find, packed a bag, and got the hell out of there. She’d left the last man with a broken nose, and she wondered how he was going to explain that to her mother, if she ever woke up. She doubted her mother would even notice she was missing.

She’d hitchhiked to London that same day. It was a city big enough to get lost in, and Lauren wanted to stay lost for as long as possible. She hadn’t been prepared for the huge volume of people, or how tall the buildings were, but she’d managed to find herself a hostel in Waterloo, and secured herself a bed there, together with numerous other young people. She said she was eighteen, and had had her ID stolen, and no one seemed to press her any further. She’d found herself surrounded by people from Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, all of whom were perfectly friendly, though she always held herself back. She was frightened someone would ask too many questions and click onto the fact there was more to her back story than she let on.

She managed to find work in a Chinese restaurant where they were happy to have someone wash dishes for far less than minimum wage, as long as it was cash in hand and didn’t go through the books. But after a few weeks at the hostel, people were starting to ask too many questions, and she’d known it was time to move on. And that had been her life for the last four years. Moving between places, taking the odd job where she could, and pinching the wallets of men who had more money than they knew what to do with anyway. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it worked for her, day to day. She gave no thought to having a future.

Lauren reached the hostel where she was currently staying. On the front step sat a man in his seventies. His gray beard touched his chest, his narrow shoulders stooped and hunched over. But he smiled at her as he saw her approach, revealing a few teeth still clinging to his gums like passengers hanging off the side of a sinking boat.

“Hey, Arthur,” she said as she approached. “How are you doing today?”

“Better for seeing you, Lauren. Hope you’re staying out of trouble.”

She grinned. “When am I ever in trouble?”

The old man rolled his eyes, and she held back a laugh. “Here, I’ve got something for you.” She angled her body away and reached into the side of her bra. She pulled out the money and peeled off one of the ten pound notes before replacing the cash. She pressed the bank note into Arthur’s wrinkled hand. “For you.”

She wasn’t going to tell him to buy himself something to eat, or to not spend it on booze. At his age, and living on the streets, he should be allowed to buy whatever the hell he wanted if it helped him get by.

He looked down at the money with rheumy blue eyes. “What did I just say about you not getting in trouble, Lauren? Where did you get this?”

“You mind your own bees wax, Arthur. My business is my business.”

He didn’t argue any further, but nodded and slipped the money into his pocket. “You’re a good girl. When are you going to meet a nice fella to take you away from all this?”

She patted his shoulder. “I already found a nice fella, and I don’t need to go anyplace but right here.”

He chuckled, knowing she was just teasing him. “Oh, go on with ya!”

Lauren continued into the hostel, her encounter with Arthur leaving a smile on her face. It didn’t take much to make someone happy, and she always tried to if she could. It wasn’t always easy, especially when the very last thing she felt like doing was making someone else happy, but she’d discovered simple things like holding open a door, or helping to carry bags if someone was struggling, left her feeling a little lighter in her soul.

The place where she was currently sleeping—she could never call any of the beds an actual home—was a dorm room with bunk beds that housed another five women. The window at the rear of the room had bars on it, and led onto a back alley. Something clattered from outside, the sound of movement. The alley was where the hostel kept all their bins, and should have been blocked off from people on the street. There shouldn’t have been anyone else out there.

Frowning, she stood from her bed and made her way over to the window. She peered out, trying to see if there was anyone out there. Someone might be hurt, or more likely drunk or high. But she couldn’t ignore it. If something bad happened to them, and she’d known there was someone outside but had done nothing, she’d never forgive herself.

Lauren left her bedroom and quietly navigated the corridor to the back of the building. She had to go through the communal kitchen to access the back door that led onto the rear alleyway. The kitchen was empty at this time in the evening. No one kept to regular meal times around here, anyway. It wasn’t as though they were all dining on filet steak every night. Boiling up a packet of cheap noodles was normally the closest they came to cooking.

A key poked out of the inside lock, so she turned it and opened the door. Leaning out into the night, she wrinkled her nose at the stink of old rubbish from the bins. Another clatter came to her ears, and beneath that she heard a groan.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone out there? Do you need help?”

Her ears strained to hear anything beneath the usual chaos of London noise—the alarms, cars, people laughing or yelling. She didn’t hear anything else, yet a prickle of unease caused the hairs on her arms to stand to attention.

She spent enough years living in this environment to both take care of herself and know when to watch her own back, and she turned away, planning to pull the door shut and lock it again. Maybe she could go and find one of the other residents to check things out with her.

“Please, help ...”

Lauren twisted back around, her eyes widening. The voice had been unmistakably female.

“Hello?” She no longer felt she could leave whoever it was alone to go back inside and try to find help. What if the woman was badly hurt, or whoever had hurt her was still around? Chances were she was just drunk or high, but Lauren never wanted a woman to feel alone and defenceless. She knew how that felt, and didn’t want anyone else to feel the same way.

Even so, she hesitated before she stepped out of the doorway and into the alley.

“Hello?” she called again. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Over here,” came the tremulous voice.

Lauren took a couple of cautious steps, her neck craning to try to spot the woman. She must be lying down for Lauren not to be able to see her.

She took another step, leaving the safety of the hostel.

Movement came behind her, and all of a sudden her head was covered by a coarse material, and she could no longer see. The bottom of the material tightened around her neck, holding her in place.

Breathing hard, her heartrate rocketing in her chest, she swung her elbow back, hoping to catch whoever was behind her. But her elbow struck solid muscle, the person not even flinching, and that, more so than the bag over her head, terrified her.

Someone struck her ankles and took them right out from under her. Lauren fell backwards, falling into the arms of the person behind her, while a second set of hands caught her legs.

“Got you now,” a rough voice growled.