Page 165 of At the Edge of Surrender

He’d been in two foster homes since his mother had been killed six months ago. Both of them homes to the same kind of bastards he’d been subjected to his entire life.

There’d been zero hesitation to fight back. Hell, he might have even instigated it. Needing something to do with his fury and his fists. Some way to pound out the vengeance that suffocated.

He figured the circumstances didn’t really matter. Either way, he would have ended up here. Walking the streets of LA.

Alone.

Hungry.

Exhausted from the fits of sleep he fell into for mere minutes at a time on whatever cold, hard surface he could find.

Terrified of whatever wickedness might be lurking in the dark, dingy corners.

Pangs of hunger tightened his stomach as he trudged down the crime-infested street.

He’d become a partner to it, and he whipped his head back and forth to check that no one was in sight as he grabbed a broken brick that sat in a pile of garbage off the sidewalk then bashed it into the side window of a car that was parked along the street.

He ducked through it to grab the change sitting in the console.

He felt like a piece of shit.

Hewasa piece of shit.

Coins clattered as he stuffed them into his pocket, and he ducked his head between his shoulders and continued down the sidewalk like he wasn’t responsible.

Then he quickened his pace when he sensed someone behind him.

Not someone.

A group.

Multiple footsteps approached, nearing with each step.

Sweat gathered at his nape, and his hands curled into fists in his pockets. No doubt he was going to have to fight his way out of this. With how many it sounded like there were, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out of it.

A second later, he was surrounded, two guys on either side of him and one behind him.

Trepidation billowed through his body, his muscles tight and his chest heaving, his breaths coming too sharp to play off the fear that slicked through his being.

The guy on his left stepped out ahead of him, turning around to walk backward as he faced him.

Kane barely cut up a glance, trying to act like he wasn’t affected. Act like alarm wasn’t blaring in every single one of his senses.

“That was low, bro. A bashed window for a dollar in change?” The words left the guy on a huff of laughter.

The guy was likely his age. Sixteen or seventeen. Tall and thin with jet black hair. Cropped super short on the sides with a strip running down the middle.

Amusement glinted in his dark, dark eyes, and he tsked. “Gonna find yourself in all kinds of trouble if you keep that up. Right out in the open and obvious as hell. Bet you haven’t seen the dude who owns that car, or you wouldn’t have done it.”

The asshole kept chuckling as he said it, way too entertained at Kane’s expense.

Kane’s teeth gritted, his nerves going haywire, mind spinning with how he was going to defend himself. How he’d beat them when they eventually jumped him, which would be right after this fucker had his fun with him, he was sure.

“You got a death wish?”

“Hungry.” He grunted it. And thatchangehad a fifty-nine-cent taco written all over it.

The guy dipped his chin. “Yeah, figured as much. Have seen youwalking up and down this street nonstop for the last week. Been watching you.”

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