The Runaway

By Cassidy Quillin

Mila is a waif-like runaway with a dark secret and a fearsome will to survive. Recruited by a powerful, arms-dealing drug lord against her will, Mila is groomed to seduce and ultimately assassinate the drug lord's fiercest rival for power.

 

Only Alexan Casimir - the drug lord's achingly ha

• Language: English
• Publisher: The High Street Publishing Company
• Release date: Jan 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648468622

Cassidy Quillin

Cassidy Quillin is an avid reader and writer of contemporary romance novels that feature heroines who are outside the box - strong, smart, dangerous women who like their men, and their narratives, the same way.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The tall man stood in the shadows, dressed all in black, watching.

Every night there were fresh faces under the flyover on the edge of the city, joining the ranks of the homeless.

There were the bums who accosted you for money or booze or cigarettes; the illegals who crashed in packs beside the bridge pylons during the day but worked the streets at night; the mentally ill and the down-and-out — all living in a badly-lit shanty-town of cardboard and plastic.

When a noisy fight broke out over a choice patch of turf, the man’s eyes narrowed and he moved closer.

A young girl was being set upon by a pack of women, who were being goaded from the sidelines by a man; their pimp.

The women were dressed like peacocks. Big hair, big heels, tight clothes, bright colors.

The girl looked about sixteen at most. Hacked-off black hair to the jaw, cut-off shorts and T-shirt, cowboy boots — although the night was icy. The women surrounded the girl at the same time, the pimp clapping and calling out encouragement. Pushing, shoving, scratching, slapping — the watcher in the shadows knew how it would play out.

The kid would get a beating and leave with her tail between her legs. Or she’d be left in a pool of blood, at the mercy of the elements and the kindness of strangers. He’d seen this a hundred times before. He’d told his boss the flyover was hopeless. They’d never find what they were looking for in this sea of broken humanity.

But the girl was a fighter. Still on her feet, though clearly punch-drunk, she lashed out with her fists and caught one of the women full in the face. The woman went down screaming, in a tangle of arms and legs, blood gushing from her nose. The remaining four closed in with the intention of pinning the girl down and beating her to a pulp. Two of them were grabbing for her arms while the other two went for the kid’s eyes.

But the girl did something unexpected.

The man in the shadows moved closer.

The girl ducked her head, bending at the waist as the two women behind her grabbed her forearms. The girl charged forward, throwing them both off balance. At the same time, the kid used her head and shoulders to bulldoze one of the women coming at her from the front. All three attackers teetered in their stilettos and fell down hard, arms windmilling.

Which left the girl with one attacker still on her feet: far better odds.

The girl — still crouched low, fists up to protect her face — lashed out with a surprise short-action kick and the last woman fell to the ground. The sound of her whining was audible in the frosty night air. She was telling the pimp to beat the bitch’s ass.

Throwing the cigarette in his mouth aside, the pimp obliged, moving forward. He put his hands up in a classic boxer’s stance.

‘I’m gonna kill you first, then rape you!’ he screamed at the girl before dancing forward, jabbing at the girl’s head with his huge fists.

The tall man in the shadows moved so close that he was almost standing in the light cast by one of the street lamps beside the flyover. His brief was to locate a subject without being seen. He was excited. After months of fruitless searching, here was someone he might be able to use.

The girl ducked sideways as the pimp came at her, swinging. She adjusted her stance so that she was facing him front-on. The pimp lumbered forward again, jabbing again and again as the girl ducked and wove so that she was facing him from different directions every time.

‘I can do this all night, old man,’ she taunted.

The pimp pulled a flick knife out of an inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing and charged at the girl, slashing at the air.

Faster than the watcher could believe, the girl roundhouse kicked the pimp in the knife arm and he dropped the blade with a roar. Then she kicked him in the balls so hard he dropped to his knees in agony and fell to the ground face-first.

The girl picked up the dropped knife and squatted, grasping the howling pimp by the hair. The crowd under the flyover was absolutely silent — every dirty face turned the girl’s way.

Still holding the pimp’s head off the ground by his