Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(4)

With nearly 2.7 million residents in Chicago alone, and even at two in the morning, the streets hummed with people captivated in the lights and glamour of the city. Passing through the large buildings, I noticed the temperature had dropped considerably.

The temperature of a Chicago winter proved to be variable and fickle. Mostly, the temperature hovered around the mid-thirties for weeks at a time, and then the occasional snowstorm would blow through leaving a fresh blanket of snow. Growing up in Pittsburgh, I was used to the cold winters and snow, but this week had record lows and averaged in the single digits at night. Let's just say, these were the nights I wouldn't mind have a nice warm body to curl up to.

My eyes were half closed as I walked from the restaurant, passing cabs hauling off drunks from the local bars. The wind blew, shocking me momentarily before causing a shiver. Huddling in, I pulled my jacket tighter. Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt the tenderness of the hits I took tonight, but welcomed the cooler temperature against my burning cheeks. Each breath burned my nose from the cold and made my eyes water. It was the kind of cold that had you thinking your lungs would freeze with the slightest breath.

Walking along the pier, I followed a path along the Chicago River that I had learned well over the last year, the one heading toward my apartment in the Trump Towers.

After crossing North State, I passed by Rossi's, waited for a car to pass by, and then attempted to cross the street, but stopped when I heard a soft moaning. It sounded eerie, almost like a dying animal. Pulling my beanie cap from my head, I looked over my right shoulder down a dark alley between the two buildings, trying to decipher where the noise was coming from. Between the dumpsters appeared to be a small figure pushed up against the side of the brick building.

That was not unheard of in downtown Chicago, with the homelessness increasing daily. What was alarming was the bright red spilled against the white snow.

Whoever it was had been injured.

Redfish, a grimy bar, was right on the corner. Outside, a group of shifty men stood leaning against the side of the building, smoking. The smoke from their cigarettes mixed with their breathing, and frigid air created a thick layer of fog around them.

The wind whipped around. Before I could focus again, my eyes felt as though they couldn't move, literally frozen at the sight. A dark alleyway had bad news written all over it, especially for a professional athlete worth millions. The hesitation ruled momentarily, but then the noise got louder, and I was sure it was a woman's moan, one of discomfort and helplessness.

There was no way someone, anyone, should be out here in this weather, let alone lying in a snow covered street. If anything, I could at least get her out of the cold. I wasn't exactly the type of guy that would allow her in my apartment, considering she was probably just another transient who made some bad decisions.

Regardless, I approached her prone figure hesitantly, not knowing exactly what to expect. Visions of Leo and his theory on dark streets in Chicago made me smile. You couldn't get him to walk alone in the city; he was convinced someone would shank him.

"Hello?" I called out, my dress shoes crunching in the frozen snow with each step. Hoping I didn't get shanked was still on my mind, but now real fear took over.

There was no answer—no moaning, no crying, just the raucous voices from Redfish calling out last call. I pressed my back into the wall, keeping my distance, as I slowly approached the scene. The sight before me caused bile to rise in my throat: a girl huddled in the corner, curling into herself. She had her arms wrapped around her delicate body in a protective manner.

Her light hair cascaded over her face and shoulders, obscuring the view of her face. The black jacket she wore was ripped in various spots, her jeans pulled down around her ankles.

Jesus Christ, how could someone do this to another person?

I closed my eyes, hoping I was just imagining things. Suddenly, my breath caught loudly when I realized she'd probably fell victim to one of those shifty smokers outside Redfish. Her light colored underwear was torn to pieces, shredded around her right thigh. Long, purplish black marks were forming over her thighs. I wasn't looking close enough. It seemed wrong to look at a naked girl when something so horrendous had obviously happened to her. Kneeling down near her face, I attempted to check for a pulse, and though it was there, it was extremely faint. Blood poured from her mouth and nose, her lips were blue, and her skin was cool to the touch, and that was when I knew she wasn't going to make it unless I helped.

It was a shame, but in a city this size, crimes like this were a daily occurrence. Though completely unjustified in my mind, they still occurred. My mind focused on the justification, rather than the scene before me. How could someone attack a person so viciously and unwarranted? Suddenly the win and the excitement from the game was gone and now replaced with confusion and worry as though it was never there.

The tang of blood, though my senses were frozen, was strong. Blood poured from a large gash on her forehead, nose, mouth, and ears. I'd seen some nasty carnage before on the ice, but this girl was in need of medical attention, and I wasn't sure, but it could be too late.

Her eyes were swollen shut already, reddish purple marks looped around under her eyes and the back of her ears.

"Hey—girl?" I tried to nudge her slightly, not wanting to cause any more damage than had already been done to her. "Hey, girl?" I tried again, my voice lower.

Girl? How original. What is wrong with you?