Sheryl Nantus - Battle Scars

“Busking?”

“Singing, dancing, whatever brings in the money.” Bran smiled as he prepared two mugs for us, adding a dash of milk to each. “Harder than begging but it has a bit more validity. Actually doing something for the cash and all that.”

I studied my notes. “I just call it panhandling. Evan took his guitar when he split. Not sure about Lisa.”

Bran nodded. “Busking, then. He’ll sing and she’ll either beg for cash or grab a bucket to bang on and supplement his songs.” He picked up the bag of cat treats and opened it. “Working together to survive.”

Jazz did her best impression of a feline ghost, appearing at his feet with a loud trill of starvation despite our previous interaction. I rolled my eyes as Bran dropped another handful of treats into her already-full bowl, ignoring my comment.

“She’s going to get fat.”

“Fatter.” Bran held up a finger. “And I like my women to have a little meat on their bones, thank you very much.”

I placed the file on the counter and busied myself with pouring out the tea into the two mugs. “I’m okay with you sitting out this one. If you’d rather work on your article—”

“I told you I’m fine.” He slammed his hand down on the countertop. The Brown Betty teapot shook and clattered.

Jazz vanished from the room in a white blur.

“I’m fine,” Bran repeated in a lower, softer tone.

I crossed my arms and waited.

“I’m going to be fine.” He lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside. “I’m not going to sit at home here and let you run out there with the wild dogs. Some of those kids can be nasty and mean and a lot of them have more than just a sharp tongue to defend themselves.”

I could smell the sweat gathering on his forehead. Musky, tingling smell speaking of fear.

This was not going well.

“I can take care of myself. I was doing this before you came along, remember.” I tried to sound lighthearted, take the edge off. “You can stay here, work the phones. I expect you can run through the list faster than I can physically visit each and every shelter.”

He didn’t take the bait. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger unnecessarily. You don’t know the streets like I do.”

“Really.” The throbbing behind my eye increased ten-fold. I was tired of playing nice. “What the fuck do you think I was doing for years before you came along?” I grabbed the teapot. “Do you think I’m some helpless woman waiting to be saved?”

The pot swung around in my hand, steaming hot liquid shooting out the spout as I aimed for the mugs.

And missed.

I jumped as a splash of hot tea hit my hand. “Fuck.” I dropped the teapot back on the counter.

“Damn it.” Bran flipped the cold water on and grabbed my wrist. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

My first instinct was to pull away and bare my teeth, snarl at this man trying to dominate me.

His grip tightened. “Don’t fight me on this.” His jaw tensed up, his lips pulling into a straight line.

He yanked my hand under the flowing water.

I winced at the shock, the light burn now drowned out by freezing water. The tap sputtered for a second, spewing water over us before settling into a thin drizzle.

Bran moved in behind me, pressing his chest against my back. His free hand went around my belly to hold me still against the counter. “Don’t try to stop me from taking care of you. It won’t work.”

I felt his teeth nip at the back of my neck, his tongue running over freshly-healed marks. Marks he’d put there to stake his claim to me, to our relationship.

I growled. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Of course not.” His low voice both soothed and annoyed me, the heated air rolling over my ear. “And I don’t need to go out with you on the streets. But here we are and we’re both in agreement now.”

I squirmed, trying to shake his grip. The iron bar across my belly stayed put.

“I have faith in you being able to handle yourself,” he whispered. “But don’t blame me for wanting to top you every now and then. It’s an alpha male thing.”

I huffed and reached for the tap. The light burn had disappeared. “We’ll see about the topping.”

A soft kiss behind my ear and he released my wrist. “Now I’m hungry for pizza.”

“Work now, food and kink later.” I finished pouring out the tea into the two mugs, inspecting the teapot for any cracks.

Jazz poked her head around the corner, obviously more hungry than afraid.

Bran added a handful of treats to the overflowing food bowl as an apology to Jazz. He took his mug, a pensive look on his face. “Been a long time since I thought about the streets.”

I didn’t push.

Jazz plopped down in front of her bowl. She dipped her paw in and flipped one piece of food out before eating it off the dark blue mat we used to try and keep the kibble contained.

I looked at my watch. “After we finish this, let’s head to the bus terminal and see what we can find. If we’re lucky we’ll trip over the little buggers and have them back to their respective families by sunset.”

Bran sipped his drink. “I’ve finished the first draft on that article about Pennsylvania and need to let it steep for a bit.” He chuckled. “It’s a piece on small town business revivals. Used the strip club as an example.”

“Sounds good.” I sipped my tea and watched him.

He threw a saucy wink my way. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “I’m good, Reb. I’m good.”

The weariness in his eyes told me otherwise. But I couldn’t pass up on a chance to get some help and find these two before any blood got spilled.

Including ours.

I looked down at Jazz. “You stay here and guard the kibble.”

The white cat flipped another piece of food onto the floor and ignored us.

The Toronto Bus Terminal is located right at the intersection of Bay and Dundas, a sneeze’s distance away from Yonge Street, the main artery for the city. Two terminals—one for arrivals, one for departures and a handful of underground shops offering up food and magazines for the weary travelers too afraid to leave the area and go into downtown proper. Regular travelers bypass the snack shacks and go the extra block to the nearest Starbucks to hook into the free wifi between buses heading out to all points from New York City to the Great White North.

It wasn’t hard to pick up the newcomers hopping off the bus with a backpack and a handful of dreams, the wide-eyed visitors staring up at the towers circling around them. And easy to see the predators waiting in the shadows, watching and judging how fast they could pick up the sweet young things and put them to work in one way or another.

We pulled into a lot a half-block from the terminal, squeezing the Jeep between two black Hummers. The parking attendant grinned as he extorted three times the going rate for any other place in the city from me, pocketing the bills and touching the brim of his baseball cap.

I grumbled and led Bran back to the main street. “Highway robbery.”

He chuckled. “Just put it on your expense report. You know Jess’ll make sure you get reimbursed.”

I gave him the stink-eye. “That’s not the point. The point is that just because someone owns a piece of real estate that’s flat and empty they can ask whatever they want and people have to pay.”

“Until they sell it to a construction company so another condo can go up. Free enterprise.” Bran laughed again. “Might be a time when you end up buying a condo to park in—it’d be cheaper.”

We walked toward the terminals, choking on the amount of diesel fumes swirling around us.

“Place needs better ventilation.” He put one hand over his mouth and coughed.