Between my legs, my core pulsed.

It sounded ridiculous, so ridiculous, and yet as I stepped up to the register at my local corner store, it was all I could think about.

Damn you, Asher.

The cash drawer clanged shut. “Just the bottle of wine tonight, Avery?”

When you went to the same corner store five days per week for odds and ends—for years—you tended to build up a camaraderie with the staff. “Just the wine, Pete.” Feeling my cheeks redden, I adjusted my backpack. I’d dropped everything else off at home before deciding that wine was in order because I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, pretend that Asher hadn’t flipped the script on me. “Just been a long day.”

Pete, one half of the duo who owned and operated Flambeaux, nodded and passed over my change. “Try running a twenty-four-hour convenience store, baby.” His tone was dry, but the smile on his face remained open and friendly. “You ever decide to quit with the cards, Salvatore and I could use an extra hand.”

Pete and his husband, Sal, had been trying to recruit me for years now. Back when I’d been a teenager, I’d considered it. Discounts on food, two bosses who were so damn kind it was almost unreal—and it didn’t hurt that they both knew I was a runner, and thus put up with the name changes without even a blink of the eye. But always the fear lingered that one of my stepfather’s cronies would wander in and I’d be screwed.

Or that Pete and his husband would discover my real identity.

Jackson Square lent me its shadows and tourists; Flambeaux could ruin everything with its fluorescent lights and steady stream of French Quarter residents.

“You push a hard bargain,” I murmured, dropping my wallet into my backpack and pressing the merlot bottle to my chest. “If I had any good sense . . .”

The bell over the front door chimed with a newcomer, and Pete called out a hello. To me, he said, “If you had any good sense you’d ditch the tarot gig or at least take up with one of the local fortune-reading businesses in the area. Sal and I worry about you out there. People are idiots.”

I offered the wine up in silent salute. “People are definitely idiots.”

Pete slowly shook his head, even as he let out a sigh in clear disappointment. “Stick to Bourbon on your walk home, baby girl. Text me when you get there.”

Twenty-five years old or not, I’d still be a kid in Pete’s eyes until I was wrinkled and gray. After a quick hug good-bye, I stepped outside with the wine in hand. I didn’t drink often because I hated losing control over my body, but tonight . . . I briefly squeezed my eyes shut.

Tonight, I’d discovered my first taste of lust and, honestly, I wasn’t a fan.

Once upon a time, in a far, far away land, when I’d first found myself alone and scared, I’d pictured my savior. Chalk it up to a youth spent devouring Disney films, but I’d absolutely imagined my Prince Charming as the requisite blond with the blue eyes and the tall physique—to say nothing of the fact that he’d be sweet and gentlemanly and oh-so-handsome.

If it was a test to see if he measured up to a girl’s youthful dreams, Lincoln Asher failed on every front—aside from his Haint blue eyes.

Maybe he’s the sort of man you crave now.

I wouldn’t know.

From the first time I’d awoken on my cot at the homeless shelter to find a strange man’s hand between my legs, I’d refused to entertain even the possibility of dating or fucking.

Until now. Until Lincoln Asher had given me a glimpse of what he could offer to ensure that I came screaming the way Katie had last night.

Kicking a stray glass bottle out of my way, I strolled down quiet St. Phillip Street toward Bourbon. On either side of me, nineteenth-century properties sprung up like vibrantly hued doll houses. At this time of day, their cheery vibe took a backseat for a more haunting quality. Sparse lights lined the street, and up ahead a group of teenagers formed a tight circle, their voices pitching loudly into the still night.

“Look how pretty she is,” one guy drawled, his voice a little garbled since his back was to me. “Her hair is so shiny.”

“So shiny,” his buddy echoed. He slung an arm around his friend’s shoulders, leaning forward as though to inspect something on the ground.

I waited for the bark of a dog or a mewl of a feral cat. On more than a few occasions, I’d taken strays in. While the Quarter’s stray cat population numbers in the hundreds, dogs weren’t that far behind in numbers. My apartment building allowed animals, and I’d registered Katie and myself with the local LSPCA as a foster home for animals.

Maybe it was a downfall of mine, but I couldn’t bear to see a living creature relegated to the streets. It just wasn’t in me.

My pace hastened as I approached the group, fingers tight around the wine bottle because you never really knew. But if they were messing with a stray, then there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d let them carry on and hurt the poor thing.

“Hey.”

No one turned at my greeting.

“Hey!”

The two closest whipped around, their faces cast in shadows. Now that I was close, I noted that they were college-aged. Bigger bodies, broader shoulders. Worry pierced me, and I shoved it aside recklessly.

“What the fuck do you want?” the one with brown hair snapped.

Don’t be Laurel. Don’t cower. Don’t run.

“I thought I heard y’all messing with a dog. Came to see if maybe you’d like for me to take her off your hands.”

Good, that was good.

“You hear that?” He punched his red-headed friend in the arm. “This chick wants to take the dog off our hands.”

Red hitched a laugh that reminded me of dark alleyways and lost souls. “If only we had a collar for her.”

“Right? A collar and a leash”—he looked to me, chin dipping as his gaze no doubt skimmed down my body—“so we could let you take her home.”

Were all college boys idiots? These ones had clearly wandered down here from Uptown, near the universities. Their preppy clothes screamed privilege. If the street were more lit, I had no doubt that I’d spot red eyes and haggard features. Boys like them came down to the Quarter for their latest fix, which generally came in the form of little white lines of powder.

“Don’t need a leash or a collar.” Swinging my backpack to my front, I made sure to keep my eyes on the idiots as I unzipped the bag and searched for the spare leash I always kept on hand, just in case. The wine bottle I tucked under my left armpit. “Let me take the dog and you can go back to the bars.”

Red laughed again. “What do you say, boys? Should we give her the dog?”

He stepped to the side and my stomach bottomed out.

In the center of their circle was a girl on her knees. Jeans torn, shirt ripped, hair a tangled mess down the length of her back. She hugged herself around the middle as though she’d never know kindness from another human being again, and I didn’t have to look at her face to know that the whimper of sorrow echoing in my ears belonged to her.

Mother. Fuckers.

“Step away from her.” All too familiar memories clouded my vision and I thrust them away. “Step the fuck back from her.”

Another whimper, this one so keening that she actually sounded like an abused pup.

“How about we take you, too?” Red’s grasping hands found my backpack and tugged me forward in a hard pull. Don’t cower. Don’t run. Don’t be Laurel.

I fell to my knees beside the girl, my shoulder crashing into hers.

Shoving his face close, Red’s breath wafted over my face like a harbinger of death by cigarettes and booze. “How about we take that leash out of your hands and tie you up? How about that, boys?” He glanced away at his friends, teeth shining off-white as he grinned. “You think we should walk her down Bourbon like the bitch she—”

The wine bottle shattered over his head.

Silence pervaded our circle, aside from the girl’s crying, as Red dropped to the cracked sidewalk with a heavy thump.

And then everyone shifted into motion.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Get the bitch!”

They launched toward me as my hands peeled open my backpack in frantic motions, diving for the taser I always kept hidden in the front pocket. Only problem was, the electric-prongs were a one-shot only type of deal. And while I had my gun in the bag, too, I’d lied to Sergeant Asher about something else.

I’d never fired it, not a single time.

Pete had given it to me a few years back for safety. We’d always talked about going to the range, but life had gotten busy for him. Which meant that I owned a gun I didn’t even know how to use, aside from a general knowledge to pull the trigger and hope for the best.

Fan-flipping-tastic.

Large hands went to my shoulders, dragging me away from my backpack, away from my gun, away from the girl who needed saving. Her wide eyes followed me as I let my body go lax, the backs of my legs scraping raw along the unforgiving cement.

Don’t fight. Wait.

I held onto my breath until my captor released me with the order to “get down, bitch.”

I was a great order-follower when I wanted to be.

I leaned back against the sidewalk just as he said, then wrapped my hand around the base of my taser where I’d quickly stashed it in my jacket pocket.

He didn’t see it coming.

I aimed the taser at his crotch.

Pulled the trigger.

The two electrode prongs released, zooming straight for ground zero, and I curled and rolled to the side to avoid his massive body landing on mine.

Satisfaction flared at the sight of him cupping his dick, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Asshole,” I ground out before hopping to my feet, not a little wearily. There were three more of them and only one of me, and as bad as I was at math, the odds were certainly not in my favor.

The sound of bone crunching had me whirling around to see Lincoln Asher grab Brown Hair by the shirt collar and deliver a punch straight to his face. Another crack, this time the man’s nose splintering. Blood burst like a fountain, which didn’t stop Asher. He reeled back and clocked the guy yet again, his knuckles glistening under the dim lighting.

My stomach heaved.

Don’t think about blood and Momma and death. Focus, focus, focus.

Scuffling shoes across the cement teased me back to reality, and I turned just in time to see one of the guys come at me from the side. He went for my hair, chubby fingers grasping at the long strands, ugly words crossing his lips. I jabbed my taser into his rib cage, thankful for the stun-gun feature when his brows lifted in shock and he mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

He stumbled, one foot crossing over the other like a drunken sailor, hand outreached for the stucco wall of the house beside us. His fingers barely grazed it before he went down, hard.

Thank God.

“Done this before?”

I wouldn’t have thought I’d find Asher’s raspy voice comforting, but I suppose that was before I’d been jumped by four boys who thought their dicks were the equivalent to a unicorn’s horn.

Asher had the last guy on the ground, belly flat on the sidewalk, as he handcuffed the guy’s hands behind his back.

“Not a single time,” I muttered, then turned my attention to the girl. At the sound of my shoes crunching over gravel, her shoulders visibly jerked. I knelt beside her, careful to leave space between us so she didn’t feel threatened. “Are you okay?”

Her bottom lip quivered and she ducked her head. “I-I . . .”

I understood her fear. I’d breathed it, I’d been reborn to it.

Like she was a terrified colt, I parked my butt on the cement and settled my hands on my knees so she could keep watch on where they were at all times. With a tilt of my chin, I said, “That’s Sergeant Asher. He’s with the New Orleans Police Department, and I can guarantee you’re safe with him.” Hadn’t he said that he found no thrill in pursuing those who couldn’t protect themselves? “My name is Avery.”

She swallowed and then gave a little nod. “Casey. Thank you . . . thank you for stepping in.”

It hurt to know that she’d expected me to walk on by, even when I’d thought she was a dog. It indicated that others had; they’d put down their heads and continued on with their night even as she’d been assaulted.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I held it out to her. “Take this.”

“You’ll be cold.”

I offered her a small smile. “I’ve dealt with worse. Take it.”

When she did, Asher stepped forward, his face menacing and dark and unholy—but he’d saved Casey and me both. “Ma’am, you’ll need to go to the district station over on Royal.” As if sensing the girl’s hesitation, he put up his hands, palms facing out. “I know you don’t want to. I know it’s going to be hard to explain what happened and relive it, but a statement from you will ensure these guys go to jail, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Asher gave a clipped nod. “Good. Now, you can wait until backup arrives, so they can transport these guys to lockup and I can take you—it might be a minute. Or maybe Avery wouldn’t mind walking you over to the station. Your choice.”

What? No.

In no universe was it a good idea for me to bring Casey to the Eighth District Police Station—not because I didn’t care to see her safely there. I did, really. But bringing her would be like walking into the lion’s den.

I swallowed thickly as youthful fears set in like prongs latching onto my skin.

It would be just my luck to run into someone who recognized me.

Red emitted a groan as he tried to roll onto his back and then realized his bound hands limited his mobility. “Uncuff me, man,” he groaned. “Fuck me.”

Asher shot him a look of disdain. “You’re not anyone’s type, kid. But your wish might be granted with where you’re going.”

Casey’s eyes went wide, and she shuffled behind me. “Can we go?” she whispered. “I don’t want . . .” She licked her lips, clearly nervous. “I don’t want to stay here.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her no.

I tried but the words wouldn’t come. With a sigh, I grabbed my backpack by the strap and hooked it over my right shoulder. My taser went into the front pocket of my bag, just in case.

“Thank you.” Casey wrapped her arms around her middle. “Just . . . thank you.”

Her quiet praise didn’t sit well with me. It felt too much like a spotlight, bright and without a single place to hide. I averted my gaze from the gratitude lining her bruised features. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”

I didn’t make it two steps past Asher before his large hand clamped down on my forearm, stilling my escape. He’d touched me twice tonight; the first, a simple brushing of our fingers, had stolen my breath. This time, my heart thudded in my chest with something that felt a lot like anticipation.

“Have a problem, Sergeant?” I kept my tone light, slightly wry, but I worried he could detect what I so wanted to hide. Interest, in him. It was incredibly inconvenient.

His thumb stroked my arm. “Don’t leave the station without me.”

“Is that a request or an order?”

I felt his breath by my ear, rustling the strands of my hair. “An order, Miss Washington.” His thumb continued its up and down strokes, sending sparks of something throughout my body. “You good at obeying?”

There was no mistaking the way his voice dropped an octave. This man was not one for bullshit, as he’d told me, and so I wouldn’t give him any in return.

With a little tug, I pulled free of his grasp and flashed him a grin. “Not in the least. Obeying has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Start learning,” he growled in what I had to assume was the tone he took with the men and women in his unit. “I’ll see you at the station. Don’t make me chase you.”

The words had the opposite effect on me than what he’d probably hoped.

They didn’t inspire fear.

No, they inspired lust.

Sergeant Lincoln Asher could chase me all he wanted, but unless I let him, he’d never catch me.