Shattered Reflections: Psychological Dark Romance by SK Pryntz

Author:SK Pryntz [Pryntz, SK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SK NARRATIONS LLC
Published: 2023-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

The street was actually fucking cold. It was supposed to be summer, and I couldn’t feel my ass cheeks in this ridiculous micro mini skirt. The brown-haired wig on my head itched to all high hell, and the girls wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.

Trying another alley, I walked to the street where the girls congregated. Some were hanging their heads in the car windows of shady drivers. Others were off to the side smoking a cigarette. I chose the latter.

“Hey!” I said, trying to impersonate my best Cassie voice.

“How are you guys…girls hanging tonight?”

The prostitutes looked me over, assessing me from my clunky ass heels to the top of my short head. They didn’t have to look long.

“Girl, are you new?”

Internally cursing at myself, I forced a laugh. “Nah, silly. I’m Cas—Carrie.”

They continued to inspect me quietly.

“Thought you were too big for the streets, baby girl,” a woman said, stepping out from the crowd.

I laughed dramatically, wincing at my own volume.

“No, I am just with you girls tonight. I know…I had some big clients last week, but I forgot their names. I know. Silly me! Did any of you happen to catch the Johns’s names?”

The lady eyed me suspiciously—her over-done makeup and marred skin from hard work gleamed in the overhead lamps on the street.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she said, her thickly mascaraed eyes pinning me down. “I’d say you sound like a cop sniffing for details.”

The other women gasped, scattering like pins to a bowling ball with the word cop. The cars lined-up on the street sped off, leaving rubber marks and exhaust fumes. I glanced over at the blue sedan. Quinn shook his head at the wheel at me.

Well fuck.

Angry at myself, I ripped off the damned wig.

“I’m not here to bust anyone, okay?” I said in my tone, my eyes pleading with the woman who stayed behind.

“I’m just here to find my sister. She hasn’t answered her phone and had a shady client last week. I’m worried.”

The woman chuckled dryly, flicking on a cheap, red lighter and touching it to the tip of her cigarette. “All Johns are shady, hunny. You need to do better than that.”

I ground my molars. Annoyed at this lady and half wanting to slap some cuffs foron her. Shiny metal ones.

“He went by the name The Butcher,” I said through clenched teeth.

She took a hit and blew out the smoke in my face. “Oh, that’s Markus Moshkov. He owns a butcher shop out on Lakeshore Ave,” she said, waving her hand and turning around. “Now, since you’ve scared off my money for the night, you can give me what I would have made.”

I stared at her. Her wrinkly aging skin, a pound of makeup, and weight under her sparkly bra forced me to keep my mouth shut. This lady couldn’t make more than between twenty and fifty dollars a night.

Quinn got out of the car, his hair slicked back and his calloused hands flipping through a wad of bills from his fancy black wallet.

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