Honestly, he hadn’t expected to be picked up within the first fifteen minutes of his shift.

“How much?”

Apparently, Mr. Midlife Crisis wasn’t one for small talk. Which was unfortunate because Micah needed him to actually say the words. “How much for what?” he asked.

“Don’t be coy, you little tart.” Micah fought the urge to wrinkle his nose when the man took another step forward and the stench of alcohol hit him straight in the face.

He wasn’t intimidated – or, at least, that was what he told himself when arms braced themselves on either side of his head, effectively trapping Micah against the brick wall. Sure, he didn’t have his Glock, but Tessa was watching out for him. Not to mention the fact that he was well-versed in hand-to-hand if worse came to worst.

“$100,” Micah said, knowing he was highballing the man even before his bloodshot eyes widened in disbelief.

“$100?” he repeated, scoffing. “For a loose hole like yours? I’ll give you $50 if you can even make me bust my nut.”

This. douchebag.

Micah had planned on just wrangling the man’s hands behind his back and arresting him as soon as he’d said enough to incriminate himself, but now he was pissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were asking after my mouth,” he retorted. “If you want a piece of the filet mignon, the going rate’s 300 bucks.”

He heard Tessa sigh into his earpiece, and judging by the dull thud that followed, could perfectly picture her banging her head against the steering wheel of the undercover van she was parked in across the street.

“300 bucks?” Mr. Midlife Crisis sneered. “Who do you think you are? Sluts like you are hardly worth the time it takes for you to get me off.”

“You’re the one who approached me, buddy,” Micah reminded him. “Must be worth something.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t expecting for the guy to take him by the hair, backpedal him into the alley, and smash his head against the wall. The hit wasn’t hard enough to make his ears ring, but Micah’s eyes watered involuntarily when the man’s grip on his hair tightened, and he leaned his face into his personal space. “How about this, you little bitch? Since your ass is apparently off limits, why don’t you get on your knees so I can show you how you ought to be treating your customers with that smart mouth? Consider it a free lesson. If you manage to bring me to finish, I’ll even think about leaving a tip.”

Alright, play time was over.

This guy was more than just your typical drunkard looking to pick up a hooker – he clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass whether Micah was willing to blow him or not, he was going to make him. The fact that there were real people out there working the streets and being treated this way – probably pretty regularly – made anger burn hot in Micah’s gut. He was about to elbow the asshole in the throat and force him to his knees so he could slap the zip ties he had hidden on his person for just this reason around his wrists when Mr. Midlife Crisis was abruptly pulled off of him-