Page 77 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Winter was the worst time to be homeless. Even in Texas. The humidity and the cold felt like icy knives seeping into your bones.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I finally let a tear escape.

No one would even care that I was gone.

How incredibly pathetic was that?

Twenty-one-years old, and the only person who might give me a passing thought was my childhood tormentor.

A dog’s bark pierced the silence, loud and close. My eyes flew open as my breath caught in my throat, and I pressed myself against the cold, filthy wall. “Please, no,” I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible as I peered down the alleyway, searching for where the sound was coming from. “Not now.”

The barking grew louder, more insistent. I closed my eyes again, trying to calm myself down. It was just a stray. Or maybe someone immune to the cold was out walking their dog.

Nothing to be afraid of.

I wasn’t in a cage. I was hidden. A dog wasn’t going to attack me.

I tried to steady my breathing, but the panic clawed at my insides.

A sudden noise—a can tipping over—sent a jolt of fear through me. I peeked around the dumpster again, eyes wide. Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on me. I forced myself to breathe, each inhale and exhale a battle to regain control.

“You’re stronger than this,” I whispered fiercely. “You have to be.”

I wrapped the blanket around me tighter, its threadbare fabric offering little warmth and comfort. My mind drifted back to the safety of the shelter, flawed as it was. At least there, I had a roof over my head, a cot to sleep on. Here, I had nothing but darkness and fear.

A rustling sound made me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.

It was just a squirrel or something...right?

Or a rat.

That thought made me slightly queasy. I could just picture waking up and finding a rat gnawing on my leg.

Not that I was going to get a wink of sleep tonight.

Silence descended, the kind that felt heavy with unseen threats.

“Please,” I whispered under my breath, not sure who I was begging. “Just let me get through this.”

The tears continued, stinging my eyes and freezing against my cheeks.

The barking had stopped, but the fear lingered. I curled up tighter, trying to make myself as small as possible. Every muscle in my body ached, but I couldn’t afford to relax. Not here. Not now.

Just let me get through this...

Camden

Tapping the steering wheel anxiously, my gaze was focused on the alley she’d disappeared down.

My poor little dancer. It was freezing tonight, the cold wind whipping in the air, scattering dead leaves and debris with it.

Fifteen minutes was about all I could take. Any more, and I’d be worried she was getting hypothermia.

I would have just appeared immediately...but that would have been suspicious, right?

Rubbing a hand down my face, I wondered why it seemed like I was fucking all of this up again. One of the dogs rattled around in their crate behind me while I stared ahead desperately, picturing her huddled against the cold.

I thought I’d lost my mind when I’d found a woman who frequented Haven, and I’d paid her to plant the drugs under Anastasia’s bed. I’d snuck in the drugs with a food order I had donated to the shelter, and the woman had grabbed them and hid them while Anastasia was in the bathroom. She’d been all too easy to convince to help and didn’t ask any questions when I’d offered her the money…or when I’d also paid for her to stay at a motel for a month while she looked for a job.

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