Chapter Two
Shai
I got a job at a fucking pizza place, and it’s the most annoying shit ever. People—and the college crowd especially—are assholes, entitled pricks, complaining about everything.
I never went to college myself. That’s not the kind of life I’ve lived.
When I was a kid, for a short time I had this teacher who used to give a fuck about me, or at least pretended to.
She used to tell me school and college were my tickets out.
That I could do anything I set my mind to, blah, blah, blah.
That’s easy to say when you aren’t poor, with an alcoholic and a sex worker for a mom and a pimp for a father.
Higher education isn’t made for people like me.
Give me an instrument, though, and I can play anything.
I can learn anything music related, which is honestly the only thing I’ve ever given a shit about anyway.
Other than my mom, but I chalk that up to stupidity.
I head home after my second shift, smelling like tomatoes and garlic. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m surprised at how busy it was. I would think all the spoiled students in this town would have left to be with their families.
We live in a tiny-ass trailer owned by a slumlord who never fixes anything but who made sure we knew that if rent wasn’t paid the day it’s due, he’d kick us to the curb because there are a hundred others like us, who can’t have credit checks and shit like that, looking for a place to stay.
And I don’t doubt him. I also don’t fucking doubt he’d resort to violence.
The motherfucker is always walking around with this big, beefy guy whose arms are permanently crossed, face set in an angry scowl.
I’m positive I’ve seen him carrying a gun too.
I’m so used to it, as it’s what I’ve seen my whole life.
I’m thankful my car starts before making the drive outside town, then down the long gravel driveway to our place that I’m sure used to be a meth house.
I groan when I find the door unlocked. I always tell Mom to leave that shit locked up when I’m not home.
“Ma,” I call out, walking through the messy living room and down the hallway.
She doesn’t answer, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Ma,” I say again, slowly pushing her door open.
She’s in bed, wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
She’s only fifteen years older than my twenty-two—too young to have a son my age, yet looking older than she should because of her lifestyle.
It only takes one look at her to know she’s drunk.
There are two hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand, and her hand’s shaking when she lifts it to run her fingers through her blond hair.
My spine stiffens, my muscles going rigid. “Did someone hurt you? Was it Bruce?” If that slumlord laid a hand on her, I’ll fucking kill him.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I made some money!” She grabs the bills and tries to throw them at me, but they flutter like broken butterfly wings and fall to the blanket.
She doesn’t have to say more. I can feel the guilt radiating off her, thick and heavy and choking.
“Jesus, Mom. What did you do?” There’s no doubt in my mind she did something. Every time I try and get things straight, she fucks it up again.
“I messed up.”
“No shit.”
I shove out of the room and go straight for mine. I hear her scramble out of bed behind me.
“Shai. Wait.”
She tries to jump on my back but doesn’t make it.
The second I see the typically padlocked closet door open, the simmering rage beneath my skin cracks and pops with even more intensity.
Please only let it be the money that’s gone, please only let it be the money that’s gone.
I rip the closet door open—and breathe out a sigh of relief when I see my guitar’s still inside. I can deal with almost anything, but if she’d pawned my guitar, I’d be fucking done.
I grab the money can, rip the lid off, and…
Nothing.
“All of it!” I shout. “Fucking all of it?”
“I can’t help it!”
“What do you mean you can’t fucking help it? I sure can’t help it for you. What did you even spend it on?” But I know the answer: drugs, alcohol, gambling. Three of her favorite things. If she had a man around, she would also spend her money on him, trying to buy his love.
“I’m sorry.” She starts crying.
I knew I should have brought the money with me, but I don’t trust keeping a bunch of cash on my person either. I’ve seen too many people get jacked.
“Rent is due tomorrow! What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
“What about your job?” she asks.
“I’ve worked two shifts, and it’s part-time.”
“Can’t you take the money from there?”
“Sure. Just let me steal from the register, and then I’ll get fired and any legal way we have of getting paid goes down the drain.
” It’s not a bad idea, though. The issue is, I don’t work tomorrow.
I could go back tonight and break in, but I’m sure they’re not dumb enough to leave any money in the till overnight.
“How did you even leave?” I have our only car.
“It’s not hard to find men to do what I want, Shai. You should know that. It’s not hard for you either.”
No, it’s not, but I’m not playing this game with her right now. I have to figure out how to fix this, and I have to do it now.
I tug out a box from the top of my closet and get a mask and gloves out. My gun is already on me because I sure as shit don’t keep it here when I’m not home. All I need is for her to fuck up with a nine-millimeter involved.
I push around my mom, who’s sitting on the floor, one of her tits half out of her bra.
“What are you going to do?”
“Fix your fuckup. Again.” I swear I’ve spent my whole life doing that shit.
We left my abusive, rapist, asshole pimp of a father behind, and just drove, not stopping until we got to this random-ass town in Massachusetts that she thought was pretty.
We were supposed to try and have a better life here.
I was supposed to keep her safe, but how do I do that when she steals our rent money from a man I have no doubt is dangerous.
“Shai! Don’t leave me!” She’s always afraid I’ll leave her, and she knows she can’t cope without me. I should leave. But I never do. “Promise me you’ll come back!”
“I always come back,” I counter, then slam the door behind me.
I have no option but to steal what I need. The question is, random person or breaking and entering? It’ll be a whole lot harder to get all the money I need from an individual, but stranger things have happened. I’d rather take my chances with one guy than with alarms and surveillance cameras.
It doesn’t take me long to decide where to go. There’s a hotel I’ve heard about where a lot of shit goes down. I’m sure whatever trick my mom had tonight spends time there. People go there to fuck, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they go there to buy pussy or whatever it is they’re looking for.
A thrill of excitement jolts me, the familiar tingle and rush of adrenaline that always courses through me when I’m about to do something like this. It makes me feel alive, invincible, like I’m in control of my life in a way I don’t often feel.
I don’t park in the lot, instead finding a spot down the dark road. The hotel is in the middle of nowhere, which I suppose is the point. My car is inconspicuous, with a couple of other vehicles on the side of the street. I’m in front of them, so it’ll be easier to get away.
I climb out and make sure my gun is loaded before stuffing it in my jeans. I’m already wearing all black because most of the time I do, but I tug on a hoodie from the back seat to cover my tats, then stuff the mask and gloves in the front pocket.
I try to keep myself in the shadows as I make my way there. The neon sign reads THE DOVE, but some of the lights are out. There are about eight cars out front. If I don’t find what I need, I can always ransack those later.
My gaze darts around the building, looking for cameras. There seems to be one on the left side of the building but not on the right—the mount still there as though it broke and they didn’t take the time to replace it.
Jackpot.
Keeping myself out of the view of the working camera, I tuck myself in a dark corner on the right side of the building and wait—for someone to come, to go, someone who looks like they might have cash on them.
Someone coming is probably a better option than someone going because they’ll have money for whatever they’re here to buy.
I’m not stupid enough to think this place will be my only hit tonight, but I’m hoping to get lucky.
I ignore the first two people to arrive, thankful there aren’t many streetlights out here, just a few along the front of the building.
The first guy is my height, probably just under six feet, but he’s at least three of me in width.
I’m long and lean, scrappy as all hell, but I don’t feel like testing my boundaries with this monster tonight.
The second guy…I’m not sure why I don’t go for him.
His car is in worse shape than mine, so he probably doesn’t have much cash on him.
It takes a good thirty minutes for another car to arrive, and I immediately perk up.
It’s a BMW that’s nicer and more expensive than anything I’ve ever owned.
The guy inside looks about my age, with red hair that goes up and backward like he’s run his hands through it so much, it’s stuck that way.
He’s hot, from what I can tell, but also looks like a spoiled rich kid, which makes me hate him on sight, but a spoiled rich kid is exactly what I need.
With quick hands, I tug the mask over my head and face, then get my gloves in place, hiding my black-painted nails.
Rich Kid gets out of the car. He’s shorter than me, thin, but with firm muscle. He’s wearing crisp jeans and a button-up shirt, as though it’s not freezing balls outside—not that I’m dressed much warmer in my hoodie.
I wonder what his rich mommy and daddy think about their little boy coming to a dirty-ass hotel to get his dick wet, or whatever the hell he’s doing here.
He puts a vape to his lips, takes a drag, then starts walking away from me.
I have to get this done and do it quickly before he gets too close to the camera.
I hurry out from behind the building, trying to be as quiet as I can, heart thudding, adrenaline fueling me in the best way.
When I’m a couple of steps away, he turns around, but my arm’s already raised, gun pointing at his head.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t look scared or cower, which makes worry trickle down my spine.
This is not how someone like him is supposed to react to being held up.
“You should be smart and use that gun on me because if you don’t, you’re fucking dead.” He takes a step closer, arms in the air. “Right here.” He points to the center of his forehead. “Shoot.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’ve never seen someone with a gun pointed at them talk like this before.
It makes my skin pebble with uncertainty but also flicks a strange, curious switch inside me.
The cold stare of his ice-blue eyes makes me tremble…
something I shouldn’t be thinking right now.
“Tick-tock,” he says with both coldness and amusement in his tone.
One look down his body, and I see the familiar bulge of a gun. Definitely not your normal, run-of-the-mill spoiled college kid. I have no idea who he is, but this just got a whole lot more interesting.
“Don’t move.” I keep the gun pointed at him, shove his shirt up, and tug his piece out.
He doesn’t try to fight me, which has my senses on alert.
Seconds ago, I thought this guy was an easy target, but being face-to-face with him, I sense the danger beneath the surface, the uncontrollable energy rolling off him.
I shove his gun into my hoodie pocket. “Give me your money and your keys,” I order.
“Sure.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal and pulls his wallet out.
“A word of advice…look over your shoulder every second of every day from now on. You won’t know when I’m going to find you…
but I will find you. It’ll be fun to play with you, torture you.
You’re lucky I’m bored, or I wouldn’t be indulging you.
You’re giving me someone to hunt later.”
“Fuck you,” I say just as he tosses a stack of hundred-dollar bills at me.
Who the hell is this guy? He’s someone important, and this is a big-ass mistake on my part.
But there’s no turning back now. I keep my gun pointed at him, watching him as I kneel, pick up the money, and shove it all in my pocket.
He tosses his keys on the ground, then smiles at me when I take those too.
“You have no idea, do you? I’m guessing you’re new here.”
He would be guessing right, but it’s not as if I’ll confirm that.
“I hope that money is to help you leave town.”
His cockiness, his whole holier-than-thou persona, makes me see red. He might be dangerous, but he’s still spoiled. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. It’s killing me not to say anything, but I don’t want to accidentally give something away.
“Oooh. You’re pissed. I see it in your eyes. What did I say to make you mad, little boy? Or is it because you expected me to be scared, instead of telling you that when you die, mine will be the last face you see. I’m excited. This’ll be fun.”
My whole body flushes with heat, anger bubbling up inside me like shaken soda, ready to explode. Fuck this prick.
But then…then when I look at him again, eyes trailing down his body, there’s a bulge that wasn’t there before. This son of a bitch is turned on by what’s happening. I don’t know how to respond to that, why a part of me knows it’s fucked up, yet it makes me even more curious about him.
Before I can dwell on it too long, I swing my arm, hitting him in the head with the butt of my gun. He drops to the ground, and I run. I throw his keys across the lot, don’t stop until I’m back in my car. Seconds later, I’m peeling away from the curb, pulse pounding, an unexpected smile on my face.