CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY

DOUBLE DADDIES FOR CHRISTMAS 

BOOK FOUR

BRIAN POV

The moment Moona Avii stepped into my office five months, six days and four hours ago, I knew she was one beautiful package of trouble.

 She dropped herself into the seat opposite, sitting just as she is right now, with the same world-hating scowl on her pretty face, the same hunch of her perfectly sloping shoulders, and the same nervous tap of her right foot. She told me back then, just as she will today, that she doesn’t give a fuck about anything.

She doesn’t give a fuck about claiming assistance and applying for college.

She doesn’t give a fuck about the fact she’s less than a week away from being homeless.”

She doesn’t give a fuck about the latest foster family she’s run ragged these past few months.

 Moona Avii has a chip on her shoulder bigger than the file of case notes with her name on the cover. She has a wildness about her, and if those feral looks of hers could kill, I’d be a dead man right now, along with half of my colleagues in this building.

      Her long black hair is glossy and thick, even though I’m sure it rarely sees a brush. The sprinkling of freckles over her nose give her a softness at odds with the rest of her appearance. Her teeth are surprisingly perfect given the generally dishevelled state of her.

They say she’s from Romany descent, although little is known about her actual lineage. She offered to read my palm once, then cackled when I handed it over.

      I don’t know why she comes here. Half of me wishes she wouldn’t.

      Half of me.

 The other half is in the pits at the knowledge that this is our last official session. In four days’ time she will turn eighteen and her funding here will cease. I will refer her to other agencies, of course, but I doubt she’ll turn up.

 For all my efforts over the past few months, I’ve failed her. My words have been for nothing, my time has been fruitless. Moona Avii will leave my office today in a far worse position than she was when she first stepped foot in here. Eighteen and soon to be on the streets. A failure of the system.

      Who knows where she’s going to end up.

      I’ve got twenty minutes to make the last five months count, but she’s barely even looking at me.

      “How was your week?” I ask, as though I think she’ll grace me with an answer.

      A shrug. That’s all she gives.

      “How are things with Amie and  Nick? Did you apologise for the carpet?”

      “I tried.”

      I take a breath. “You tried? Good. And what did they say?”

      “Amie gave me that prissy smile of hers. Nick said nothing.”

      She’s wearing the same filthy boots she soiled their new cream carpet with. She tugs at the laces absentmindedly. There’s a trail of mud through my office showing just how well she learned her lesson, but I don’t care about that. Cleaning the floor isn’t my job.

      Moona Avii is.

      I’m a community support assistant for a non-profit organisation handling disadvantaged youths, and this gem of a girl is my client.

One of twenty I’ve currently got on my books, and the only one that makes my heart race.

      She shouldn’t.

 On paper she’s still technically a minor with a history of substance abuse and behavioural issues. On paper she’s a bad kid who doesn’t want help from anyone.

      But that’s not true. If it was, she wouldn’t be here. At least that’s what I like to tell myself.

      “They’re gonna throw me out on my birthday,” she says. “The minute I turn eighteen I’ll be out of there.”

      “Maybe if you tried again… offered another apology…”

      She sneers at me like I’m a total fucking imbecile. Like I have no idea how the world works.

      She’s right. I have no idea how her world works. I have no idea how it would feel to grow up in a world where no one gives a shit about you. Without a family.

      “They’re dicks,” she snaps. “I hate them.”

      “You don’t hate them,” I begin.

      “I do hate them,” she insists.

      “Amie and Nick are good people, Moona. They care about you.”

      “They don’t give a fuck about me.” She stares me right in the eye and I feel it in my gut.

“They hate me. They’ve always hated me.”

      She strikes like a snake, launching her skinny little body at my desk in a heartbeat. I have to fight to keep my composure as she learns right over, my stance is easy and non-threatened even though my heart is pounding.

      She tugs up the sleeve on her grubby bomber jacket and shoves her wrist in my face.

      “They did this to me.”

      They didn’t. I know they didn’t.

      Someone was definitely responsible for the yellowing bruises on her pale skin, but it won’t have been Nick and Amie. Those bruises on her wrist have been a constant throughout her file.

      Rumor has it they’re self-inflicted, but I’m not so sure on that either.

      “Nick and Amie did this to you? Is that what you’re telling me?”

      She sits back down. “Gonna call the cops?”

      “Is that what you want?”

      “They wouldn’t do shit if you did.”

      She’s right about that. My agency called the police out ten times in a twelve-week period when she first landed on our books. Ten tall tales, ten instances of accusations with no substance to back them up. Her account of events changes every five minutes, just as they would today if I pushed her on them.

  I fell into the sob-story trap myself on day one, even though my colleagues told me I was being played. I wasn’t the first, and I sure won’t be the last. The girl is difficult, but she’s compelling. Her wildness is addictive.

    I breathe through the silence as she examines her grubby nails. I wait patiently until she speaks again.

      “Nick wants me.”

      “Want you?”

      “He looks at me.”

 “Nick wants what’s best for you,” I insist.

 “You don’t fucking get it, do you? He wants to fuck me. You do, too.” Her eyes bore right through me, and I didn't move. I don’t look away, not because she’s right – which she is – but because playing her game is the last thing she needs from me.

I’ve wanted to fuck her ever since our first session when her pouty little mouth sneered at me and told me I was just another useless cog in the useless fucking system.

 I’ve wanted to bend her over my desk and fuck some manners into the snarky little bitch ever since she spread her legs in that very same seat and asked if I was hard for her. Asked if I wanted a go.

      Asked if I knew she was wet for me.