"Sorry, baby. Come back if you decide you want a hand job, OK?" Maggie offered.

The man put the car in drive and left. As soon as he was gone, Maggie began to walk in the direction opposite of where Trinity stood. She recognized that her "mentor" was in the kind of mood that would get her a hearty ass-kicking. Maggie was several blocks away, talking to another customer, when the same man came back around and spotted Trinity again. "Hey, you!" he yelled out the car window.

Trinity looked up from lighting a cigarette. Then she strolled toward his car as if she was in no hurry and completely disinterested. She bent down to look at the man. "Yeah, what cha want? I thought you wanted some of that white meat. Now you're back 'cause everyone knows dark meat is tastier than that nasty, dry, white meat," she chastised.

"Yeah, whatever. How much for regular sex?" he asked.

"Fifty bucks," she told him.

"Fifty bucks? Is your pussy made of gold or something?"

"What the fuck? You think you gonna get this shit for free?" she said with a dramatic wave of her hand across her chest and between her legs.

"OK, but I want it to last awhile for that much dough," he told her.

"Baby, ain't no man can last long with Trinity. You can move slow all you want. Ain't nothin' gonna stop you from blowing a load the minute you're between my sweet black legs," she said, trying to be seductive.

Trinity got into the man's car and they drove down Kensington Avenue. The john parked under the train tracks. Drug addicts and alcoholics stood around, stoking fires in large metal barrels. "OK, let's get in the backseat. It's too fucking cold outside," the man told her.

Six minutes later, they were finished. "I told ya, no one gonna last a long time wit' me," Trinity said, beaming in his direction. "Can you drive me back down to where we met, baby?"

"What do you think I am? Your fucking chauffeur? Get the hell outta my car, you crazy whore! You and that other whore, there's something wrong with both of ya!" he told Trinity.

"Ain't nothin' wrong wit' us. There's somethin' wrong wit' you!" Trinity argued. "I did exactly what ya wanted me to do, and I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout with the other girl. Ya left her ass and came crawlin' back to me," she announced victoriously.

"Ha! Is that what you think happened? Nah, that ain't it at all. That little white bitch only gives hand jobs. The only reason I came back for your skank ass is because I didn't want no hand job; I wanted sex. Now get the fuck outta my car," he hollered.

Without another word, Trinity got out of the car and slammed the door shut. So that's what the bitch has been doing, Trinity thought as she stomped her way back home. The bitch is selling hand jobs for cheap and stealing all of my business. Just wait until Armando and Rock find out! She reveled in the idea of Maggie getting what she deserved.

Chapter Forty-Seven.

Trinity went back to the house immediately. She could barely contain her anger with Maggie and her excitement at being the one to deliver the news to Armando and Rock. She burst through the front door and, with intended drama, swaggered into the room where the men sat. Hearing her loud footsteps approaching, the men stopped talking. They looked over when Trinity stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips tightly together, revealing her annoyance.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Armando asked, irritated by the interruption.

"Your bitch, Maggie, she's playin' all of us. A john I was wit' tonight told me that he wanted regular sex, and she told him she only gives hand jobs. Ain't no wonder why the ho is meetin' her quota and stealing customers from the rest of us," she fumed.

Armando watched Trinity closely, trying to gauge if this was a jealous rage or if she was speaking the truth. With that in mind, he tested her. "Well, I'll look into the matter. But I best not find out that you're lying to make yourself look good," he hedged.

"I ain't no mother fuckin' liar. I'm telling ya what the man told me. I think Maggie's the one who's lyin' to ya. She thinks she's better than all of us, including you and Rock. I suggest you go find out for yourself," she stated.

It was unacceptable for the girls to talk to the men in the house that way. Armando realized Trinity's outburst could only be fueled by truth. Still, he had to make sure Trinity didn't overstep her bounds. He stood, walked over to doorway, and grabbed a handful of her hair. "Don't you worry. I'll check it out. Let me be clear with you, though. Don't ya ever talk to me that way again." Then he shoved the side of her head into the doorjamb.

Once Trinity came to her senses, she left the house and went back out to the street. She began to gossip to the other prostitutes about Maggie. "Yeah, I told Armando exactly what that nasty slut is doin'. She's gonna be sorry...thinks she's better than the rest of us...thinks she pretty, too. Fuck that ho bag!"

The other hookers weren't any more inclined to feel sympathy for Maggie. She was a stunningly beautiful young girl, and they'd all smoldered with jealously watching the johns swarm to her like flies on shit. They hated her for that because it meant they all had to work harder to make their nightly quotas.

A few hours later, Rock stopped at the house to check with his men. Armando repeated the story Trinity had told him. "You get one of our guys she doesn't know out there to see what she's really doing. Get back to me, 'cause I wanna know right away," Rock instructed, boiling with rage at the possibility that Maggie was duping him.

A few hours later, a man approached Maggie on the street. "Hey, honey, you need a date?" Maggie asked enticingly.

"Yeah, how much for regular?" he asked, avoiding all niceties.

"I only do hand jobs. Fifteen bucks," she stated and batted her long eyelashes at him.

"Only do hand jobs? What kinda whore are you?" he pressed.

"Look, baby, that's what I do, OK? My man, he wants me to keep it simple," she replied.

"Well, your man is damn fool then. Just forget it. I ain't interested in no hand job," he told her and drove off.

Later that night, it began to snow heavily, and the wind whipped through the streets. Little white clouds shot out of Maggie's nose and mouth every time she exhaled into the bitterly cold air. There were practically no cars on the streets, and the foot traffic had nearly come to a halt. Just after two in the morning, with several inches of snow on the ground, Maggie climbed the broken-down steps of the row house that she secretly called the house of whores, slipping and sliding in boots with five-inch heels.

Once inside, the heat of the house hit her ice-cold bare legs and ass, which made her feel as if there were bugs crawling under the surface of her skin. She leaned over and scratched her legs, causing red blotches to appear. Quickly, she went over to the corner where she kept her clothes and put on an oversized hooded sweatshirt she had found in the trash on Kensington Avenue. It hung just below her thighs. Then she pulled on two mismatched socks and a pair of canvas sneakers. Pulling the thin cotton blanket over herself, she settled in to sleep. She was dreaming when the men lifted her from the mattress and stood her upright. Her eyes bolted open, and the first person she saw was Armando.

To her right, Rock leaned on the banister of the stairs. Armando stared at her for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Word on the street is that you're only givin' hand jobs. Is that true?" he asked.

"No! I don't know who told you that, but it's a lie. I swear," Maggie choked out, as she began to tremble.

"Oh, OK. So then my man, Jeremy, over here," Armando said, looking to his left as a man stepped into the room, "he's lyin' to me. That's what you're tellin' me, right?" he asked in a belittling tone.

Maggie looked at the man. She recognized him. He was the one she had told that same night that she only gave hand jobs. Fuck, shit, balls, Maggie thought. I'm busted.

She looked to Rock, who had been so nice to her, but he just held a steady gaze, showing no sign of pity. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she struggled to put together a cohesive sentence as panic gripped her. "I'm sorry," she finally managed through uncontrollable sobs.

"Nah, you ain't really sorry," Armando told her. "But you gonna be."

Armando pushed her back down on the mattress. By now, all of the other prostitutes were huddled on the other mattresses, watching with anticipation. Trinity had a smile plastered across her face, waiting for Maggie to get what she deserved.

Armando towered over Maggie, looking like Blunderbore, the giant in "Jack and the Beanstalk." She thought he might trample her to death. She didn't know what he was going to do and wished one of the other girls would say or do something to help her. Instead, they sat by, entertained by the drama.

Armando finally spoke. "Jeremy, here. He works for Rock. We heard what you were doing and thought we'd check it out ourselves."

Maggie looked over at Trinity, who sat perched on a mattress victoriously. Then she turned back to Armando. "It was a mistake, Armando. I'm still new at this," she wailed, trying to play on sympathy that he didn't have for her.

Armando turned to Jeremy. "Go ahead, my brother. Take what's yours."

Jeremy dropped his jeans and was on top of Maggie in seconds. The other girls watched as she fought and flailed her arms and legs, trying to push Jeremy off. Then she felt the blade that Jeremy laid against her throat. "You best stop fightin' and make me feel wanted, or I'll slice you up like a watermelon," he threatened.

Maggie believed he would do just that, so she stopped fighting and pretended to participate. When he was finished, he climbed off of her and left the house. She quickly sat up on the mattress, traumatized and embarrassed that Jeremy had just taken advantage of her in front of so many people, especially the other prostitutes.

Rock approached her on the mattress. "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," he chanted. "We can't tolerate liars in our little family. It costs a lot of money to keep you warm and dry, living in this house. Nobody takes advantage of my generosity. Ya see, that's what you did. Ya took advantage of me," he continued, bending down to rub her cheek gently.

At his soft touch, Maggie began to beg. "Please, Rock. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I swear."

Rock smiled into her terrorized face. "No, baby. I'm certain it won't happen again. Ya know, I haven't mentioned recently how happy Seth is. I mean, Thelma can be a little overbearing at times, but all in all, I think he's adjusted to his new momma pretty well. When he does act up, Thelma puts him in line. Now, if you were to do anything like this again or try to run, well then, that would really piss off me and Thelma, and we'd probably have to kill Seth just to get even with ya."

Just hearing Seth's name was comforting to Maggie. He was still alive; at least that was something. "I swear I won't do anything to piss you off again," she promised.

"No, I'm sure you won't," Rock said gently. "I have to go home. Armando's gonna deal with all of this now. So, just remember what I told you-that is, if you don't want to put Seth in harm's way."

As soon as Rock left the house, Armando commanded her to stand up. Still dressed in the clothes she had changed into, he told her follow him. They stood just inside the front door, and he slowly opened it.

The cold from outside rushed in on Maggie and Armando. They both stood watching the blizzard outside. The snow was heavy, and there was no visibility. Maggie couldn't even see the houses across the street. "Quite a snowstorm we're havin' tonight. See, like Rock just said, it costs a lot of money to keep you. Now that we know you weren't earnin' your keep, you're gonna have to stay outside tonight," he told her.

Maggie seized the doorknob. "But it's a blizzard out there. I'll die in the snow." She wept, gripped with fear.

"Yep, you just might. But I'm thinking you're a pretty clever girl. I mean, you managed to fool us for a pretty long time. So, now you'll have to figure this one out," he stated and pushed her toward the open door.

Maggie hobbled, her steps tentative, wondering if she'd get an even worse punishment if she were to stay in the house of whores. As Armando pushed her over the threshold, she clung to him. Fed up, he shoved her. She plummeted hard onto the cold steps and slid down the icy cement on her stomach.

By the time she landed on the bottom step, she was covered in snow. She sat up slowly, her eyes darting up and down the street. Where would she go?

Then she looked up at Armando, still standing in the doorway, her eyes pleading for mercy. He watched her for a moment, as if he might let her back into the house. Then he turned and shut the door behind him. The sound of the deadbolt being thrown was all she could hear in the silence of the cold, wet night.

Chapter Forty-Eight.

Maggie slowly stood and grunted in pain from her scraped knees and chin. Her limbs trembled as she walked away from the house, looking for shelter. The stores were all closed. The wind and snow cut at her exposed skin like razor blades. Her oversized sweatshirt was wet. The streets were empty. Even the bums had found refuge. Snow had buried the trash. Everything was white.

Maggie shivered more violently as she took labored steps, one at a time. Her eyes were watering, and her lips began to turn blue. She started to trip over her own feet and became increasingly clumsy as the minutes passed. Maggie realized, as if in a dream, that hypothermia was setting in. She'd read about it in one of the books that Dr. Barnes had given to her, and in one fleeting moment of clarity, Maggie knew she had to get out of the snowstorm quickly.

She turned down an alleyway that led to open field. In the distance, she could see a high mound of snow, and she stumbled toward it. As if an angel had guided her movements, Maggie found herself next to an abandoned car. The tires were gone and the rear passenger door was missing. She hobbled around to the opening, and with quivering breaths, climbed into the car. Then she shimmied into the front seat. The temperature inside the car wasn't any warmer, but the broken-down vehicle gave her a safe haven from the wind and driving snow.

Maggie huddled, pulling her legs up under the large, wet sweatshirt. Her feet felt like two blocks of ice in the canvas sneakers, and her skin burned with pain instead of warmth. She could feel her body breaking down. Tears slid down her red, chapped cheeks. She curled up in a ball on the front seat, and with great relief, she thought, just a little more time and I can leave this life. She had reached her limit. She welcomed the hands of death to hold and comfort her.

Chapter Forty-Nine.

Maggie was semiconscious when she felt herself being pulled from the car. She thought she was hallucinating, but someone was carrying her away from the car. She could feel her body wrapped in something warm and dry. She heard the snow crunch under the feet of whoever was carting her off. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy, and then everything went black as she slipped into unconsciousness.

When Maggie woke up an hour later, she was lying next to an Asian girl. They were both in their underwear. The stranger had her arms and legs draped over Maggie's, and their torsos were pressed together. The girl was looking at her with anticipation.

"Fucking A, you're alive. Thank God! I read that body heat is the best thing for someone who is freezing to death," the girl said, snuggling even closer.

Maggie gave the girl a small smile and fell back to sleep. For the next two hours, the girl massaged Maggie's limbs to increase her circulation. She kept Maggie covered in old towels and dirty clothes until she finally woke again.

When Maggie struggled to sit up on the edge of the mattress, the stranger rushed to her side to help. "How about a cup of hot tea?" she asked.

"I've never had hot tea, but I'd drink anything hot right now. Thank you," Maggie said gratefully.

The girl came back carrying two cups of steaming tea. She rested them on the empty wooden crate next to the bed. Then she opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a sweat suit and socks. "Here, you should put these on. They're dry. Your sweatshirt is still wet. I hung it in the bathroom. I took your shoes and socks off as soon as you got in here. I practically had to chisel the ice from your sneakers to get them off your feet," she explained.

Maggie took the clothes and began to dress. Her mind and muscles were fatigued as she struggled to put the dry sweatshirt over her head. The Asian girl jumped up. "Here, let me help you," she said with compassion. "My name is Juju. Lucky for you, I was looking out the window and saw you climbing into the car across the alley. I knew you'd die for sure if you stayed there. What's your name?" she asked.

"Maggie," she croaked. Her throat was dry and sore. She lifted the mug of tea and took a sip. As she felt the warm liquid coat her mouth and slide down her throat, she started to come back to life.

"How old are you?" Juju asked.

"I'm eighteen," she stated.

"Where do you live?" Juju asked, testing her.

"I live with my boyfriend," Maggie responded, as if she were a Stepford wife.

"Hmm. So, which one of those douche bags do you belong to? Arsen?" she asked.

Maggie shook her head.

"Diesel?" Juju offered.

Maggie shook her head again.

"It's Armando, isn't it?" Juju asked.

When Maggie hesitated, Juju knew she'd gotten it right. "Armando is a fucking dick. They all are. Rock is the biggest prick of them all. How did you get caught up with them?" Juju pressed.

"Rock bought me at an auction," Maggie stated, feeling like a piece of meat.

Feeling Maggie's self-loathing, Juju told Maggie her story. "Well, I work for Rock too. I'm one of his drug pushers. A couple of years ago, Rock was riding me hard to prostitute for him. I kept turning him down, and that was pissing him off something fierce. Then one day, I was in that convenience store down on Somerset. You know the one I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, I know it," Maggie said, intrigued.

"Well, I was in there, and I overheard these two goons saying they were gonna take Rock out at a party he was invited to. The party was a cover-up, just to get him there so they could kill him. Anyhow, I left that store in a New York minute and ran nonstop until I found Rock. I told him everything I heard," Juju explained.

"What happened?" Maggie asked.