Page 79 of Burn Like An Angel

Because that’s what family does, no matter how much they beat, bruise and hate each other. There’s no stronger bond on Earth than that. Not all of us are lucky enough to have biological family left.

But the connections we create can be stronger than shared DNA.

We’re living proof of that.

Ripley demonstrated her worth to me the day she avenged her best friend’s death. She was defending her family. The family we took from her. Beneath all that goddamn beautiful rage, we’re just alike.

Together, we could be unstoppable.

Our rage will burn the whole fucking world.

CHAPTER 12

XANDER

ROSES – THE COMFORT

Thick black hoodieflipped up to offer me protection, I stare straight ahead at the bald guy in front of me. He’s distracted, intently studying the coffee menu on the wall while flipping his car keys in his hand.

Clueless.

The perfect mark.

Spending the better part of a decade in foster care teaches you life skills. Just not ones that are necessarily advertised. When you’re competing with twenty plus kids for basics like clothes and toys, the art of stealing becomes second nature.

“Next!” a haggard barista calls.

Before he’s even moved to place his order, I’ve already pulled my hand from his back pocket. I stuff the loot into my hoodie and quickly turn to leave. The sour-faced teenager wearing headphones behind me pulls a face.

“Changed my mind.” I shrug at her.

The trick is to walk away slowly—with confidence and like I have all the time in the world. Baldie’s in for a shock when he attempts to pay for his overpriced sludge. The idiot shouldn’t stash his valuables in his back pocket.

I melt into the morning crowd, happily going about their daily routine. Dog walkers. Postmen. Delivery drivers dropping off boxes of newspapers and fresh produce to the numerous corner shops. The picturesque scene makes me fucking sick.

I’m headed for the outdated internet cafe two streets over that I spotted earlier on. None of us escaped Harrowdean with our belongings, let alone mobile phones. We’ve been totally cut-off from the world.

Using a walking map I pilfered from the holiday park’s office, I volunteered to find the nearest town and get us back online. We already needed food, clothing and more medical supplies—requiring me to swipe some cash.

Before I set my sights on greater targets in my early twenties, I honed my skills as a street thief. I don’t care what kind of person that makes me.

The rich take from the poor all the livelong day, and we don’t kick up a fuss. Why shouldn’t it work in reverse?

“Morning.” The cafe’s owner waves me in. “Just here for coffee, or you want internet?”

I adjust the heavy backpack on my shoulder. “Two computers. Half an hour should do.”

The fact that this place exists at all speaks to the elderly demographic in the town it took me two hours to find. I haven’t heard of anyone using internet cafes like this in the last decade. I was convinced I’d be stuck using the public library.

“Two?” he repeats.

Nodding to his plugged in phone, I slide an extra note over. “Your charger as well.”

His grey brows raise. Sighing, I add another note. He palms the crisp twenties, any further questions drying up. I accept the charger then follow his pointed finger to the back of the cafe. Two monitors sit next to each other.

Sinking into the chair, I fish the two phones I’ve managed to lift from my hoodie. Baldie wasn’t my first mark; I had already targeted a distracted parent wrestling two kids from her flashy Range Rover outside the supermarket. It was easy to lift her phone and cash.

I keep the screens angled slightly to prevent any prying eyes. It’s child’s play to commence a hard reset on both phones. I snap the SIM cards in half before sliding in new ones I purchased earlier.

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