[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQEHK7VjaQE][b]Rare[/b][/url][/center]

The sound of music echoed off concrete walls, filling the air inside the abandoned building. What was once supposed to be the site of a new law firm in New York City was now an unfinished eyesore at the edge of the county. Construction had lasted long enough for three levels to have been built before the project came to a screeching halt when the benefactors had lost the funds to continue it in a multi-million dollar law suit. It was a pretty ironic way for the story to end: lawyers who were so bad at their jobs that they couldn’t even represent themselves. However, it had worked out for the best, because the jilted job site had turned into a home for quite a few of the region’s most opportunistic vagabonds.

Alexandra Banks was one of them.

Sitting cross-legged in front of a broken mirror, she squinted her olive green eyes with focus as she touched up the burgundy lipstick at the edge of her mouth. As a long-time resident of [i]Casa de Hobo[/i], she had turned her room on the second floor of the building into a homey little space. An old mattress laid in the corner, torn at the seams and stained by a mysterious bodily fluid that she both couldn’t and didn’t want to name; the concrete walls were decorated with chalk artwork, created by her and a few other tramps who’d come and gone over the years; string lights hung from the ceiling; and she’d even set up the full-length mirror that she was currently using to get ready for her night out. For a homeless woman, life was about as good as it could get.

She pressed her painted lips together and smiled at the dimly-lit reflection that stared back at her, pleased with her own handiwork. In addition to the lipstick, she’d also carefully crafted the rest of her look with a smoky-eye palette and full contouring from her forehead to her jawline. Her dark, wildly curly hair, a tribute from her beautiful mother, had been tamed as much as was possible with a comb and fell across her bare shoulders in thick waves. Despite the amount of time and effort she’d put into achieving her look, she’d still managed to make it seem just natural enough that she didn’t look as gaudy as the streetwalkers who paraded around in nothing more than thongs and body paint. She had to have at least a little decency, after all.

Just as she capped her lipstick and stuffed it back inside the bag where she kept the rest of her ‘weapons of mass attraction,’ she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the adjacent room. Without looking up, she knew the owners of those feet were her friends, Caden and Whitney. Caden had been living at the abandoned construction site even longer than she had, and Whitney had moved in about a year ago. Although they were all very different people with very different histories, they’d bonded quickly over the fact that they were some of the youngest bums in the building.

“Selena Gomez?” Whitney whistled, tossing her weight into her left hip and folding her arms over her chest as she grinned at her friend with a classic feral charisma. Her long, ginger hair framed her face, highlighting her bright, blue eyes and freckled skin. Out of all the people Alex had gotten to know on the streets, the redhead had adjusted to homeless life the quickest. She was a natural thief, swift and nimble and able to outrun the police every time she was chased. It would take nothing short of an act of God to stop her when she had a target in sight. Even though she was only twenty-one, there was no doubt that she would survive for a long time on her own.

“Girl, you know this is my jam,” she said, moving in time with the beat of the song as she danced along to it. Even though she was just being playful, every move she made was so smooth, it practically oozed sex. Alex wasn’t one to perpetuate stereotypes but, well… Whitney had always been the poster child for the things that were said about redheads.

“[i]Girl[/i], this is your playlist,” Alex shot her a sarcastic shake of her head. “You know we all share the same iPod.” Standing up from the floor, she brushed the dust off her rear and primped her clothes. That night, she’d chosen to don a pair of form-fitting black jeans and a dark green, shoulderless top that further showed off her hourglass figure. A pair of strappy black heels and a gold necklace completed the ensemble. On a few separate occasions, she’d been approached by agents who had wanted to sign her on as model, but she’d turned down the offers every time. As amazing as it probably would have been to enter the world of Victoria’s Secret, any chance she had of having a job like that—or any job at all—had ended the second she’d met Matt DeLuca. Now, life on the streets was her past, present and future.

“Hot damn, Alex,” Whitney gawked. “I almost feel like I shouldn’t let you out of the house looking like that.”

“You like it?” she grinned back at the other girl, arching her back in a sultry pose. “I was going for a cross between basic bitch and Babylon whore.”

“You’re definitely leaning more toward the whore,” Whitney judged.

“That’s alright,” Alex shrugged, bending down to pick up a black leather purse. “I’ve got you to make up the difference.”

“Hey!” Whitney’s blue eyes shot wide open.

“Bitch, you just came in here to dance to Selena Gomez,” Alex laughed, stepping over to nudge the other girl’s arm as she shouldered the purse. “If that isn’t basic, I don’t know what is.”

“Whatever,” Whitney scoffed. “Anyway, are you ready to go yet? If you make us sit around any longer, Caden and I might change our minds about coming with you.”

“No, I still need to put on my falsies and botox my face,” Alex replied dryly.

“Oh my god, get your rude ass out the door,” Whitney threw back her head with a groan, and Alex snickered as she ushered her into the hallway.

Behind them, Caden took a moment to turn off the portable generator that powered the lights and music player and followed along with an exasperated sigh. Between the three of them, he was the strong, silent member of the clique. Neither of the girls knew what he’d been through, but he was a loyal friend and a trustworthy man to have on their side when they ventured out into the city. When Alex had first found the abandoned building, he’d been the one to take her under his wing in a sense, and had helped her adjust to being homeless. He’d also been the first man she’d come across who hadn’t been nice to her just to get inside her pants, and she knew she would be forever grateful for his genuine kindness. She sometimes repaid him in the form of food when she scored leftovers after going out.

Heading downstairs and into the brightly lit streets of the city that never slept, Alex fell in step beside her friends as they made their way to a nearby bar, [i]Devil’s Share[/i]. A common side effect of being homeless was that one usually didn’t have a job. All three of them were afflicted with the unfortunate symptom, which meant they didn’t have any money either. Most city drifters resorted to petty thefts and pickpocketing to get by, but the thought of stealing had never sat well with her. Of course, she was guilty of committing a few misdemeanors, mostly when she and Whitney shoplifted cosmetics, but she tried not to make a habit of it. Not only did she feel bad for the people she robbed, she also knew that she risked drawing the attention of the police every time she stole anything. Unlike her friends, she had a lot more to lose if she was arrested.

That was why she’d come up with her own clever alternative to thievery. Guys at the bars around NYC were suckers for a pretty face and a hot body, and she’d learned to use her natural gifts as a tool to get free meals. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes and pretend to be interested in them long enough to convince them to migrate from the bar to a restaurant for a late night “date,” scarf down a hot meal, and escape with the leftovers under the guise of getting food poisoning. It wasn’t enough to feed her every day of the week, but it was better than going hungry or sticking her neck out to swipe a bag of chips from a bodega. With her friends tagging along to make sure she wasn’t roofied at the bar by a sleazy bastard, it was her best option to stay alive without drawing attention to herself.

And tonight, she was dressed up to lure out a cash cow that could buy her a Kobe beef dinner. With a sly smile on her lips, she tossed her dark curls over her shoulder and stepped up to the door, showing the bouncer her ID before she headed inside the [i]Devil’s Share[/i] night lounge to go fishing.