Page 54 of Pack of Crooks
Thanks, Mom.
Love you too, nerd. Have fun. Don’t eat too much candy and don’t send nudes to boys.
Gross.
Shaking my head, I tuck the phone into my bag and exhale, letting the rocking subway soothe my anxiety. Lottie will be fine. Sarah’s parents are nice, and a sleepover beats staying home with a babysitter. I’ll have to text her mom and thank her for offering to drive Lottie home.
Fast walking, scurrying past all the trash on the sidewalk, I hurry home to escape the scent. Trash day is always the worst. I push into the lobby of our building, stop at the mailbox, and turn to head upstairs but startle at the sight of Roger, the landlord, standing with his hands curled into fists and jaw clenched.
My heart leaps into my throat. “Jesus, Roger, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Rent.”
Tension bunches my shoulders. I knew sooner or later he’d come to collect. I’ve almost scraped together enough, but I need the first paycheck from Kain Industries to bridge the gap. “I need a week and I promise I’ll catch up.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re two months late.”
“I know, but I have a job.” I gesture to my outfit. “I get paid next Friday and the whole paycheck is yours, I promise.”
Stepping closer, he invades my space. Roger is a beta, but he’s huge with a wicked mean streak. Charity isn’t on his word of the day calendar. “I want you and your sister out by the end of the month.”
The end of the month? “That’s so soon,” I tell him. “My lease?—”
“Is broken. I don’t owe you shit. You’re lucky I’m giving you that much time.”
“Roger,” I try again. “I promise I have the money, it’s only taking a minute to get into my account.”
His eyebrows lower. “If you’re not out by the end of the month, your stuff will end up on the sidewalk next to the trash.”
My pulse quickens. Where will we go? He can’t do this. It has to be illegal. “I have nowhere to go, Roger. What about Lottie?”
“That’s not my problem. You signed a lease, you pay rent when it’s due, or your ass is gone. Your mom was bad, I didn’t expect you to be worse.”
I wince. Ouch. That fucking hurts. He’s right though. Mom would do anything, and I mean anything, to scrape together the money. Emotions clog my throat. “I’ll pay you next week, Roger.Please.” The shake in my voice is humiliating.
He curls his lip in disgust. “It’s too late. I have people waiting for an apartment, and they’ll pay rent on time.”
Laughing, I gesture to the stairwell that most definitely has mold. “They’re begging to get into this cesspool?”
His features tighten. “Good. Then you agree, this isn’t the building for you.”
“You know, you could get sued for the water leaks, right? The only reason you haven’t is because no one can afford it.”
Rolling his eyes, he moves toward his apartment on the first floor. “And neither can you. Don’t make me throw your shit on the street.” His words are punctuated by the slamming of his door. The sound hits me and I jump, exhaling a shaky breath.
God fucking dammit. He can’t evict me.But he can, you’ve been consistently late on rent and you’re more behind than usual right now.Clenching my jaw and blinking through blurry vision, I stomp up the stairs, glaring at the dripping water the whole time.
A bright red piece of paper is taped to my door. Large bold letters line the top.
EVICTION NOTICE.
Staring at it, I fight the urge to scream. I rip the notice off, crumple it in my hands, and suck in a ragged breath. I can’t break down in the hallway. That would be a Mom move. Making a scene where everyone can see. The last thing I need is for one of the neighbors to tell Lottie. My hands shake as I unlock the door. Knees weaken as I walk inside. Stomach roils as I close myself in. I was supposed to be better than Mom. Not worse.
Shame burns through me. Who was I kidding? I can’t even take care of myself, how was I ever supposed to take care of Lottie? She deserves better than this shitty apartment, and it’s a knife to my gut to realize she deserves better than me, an omega with no real future outside of con jobs and petty theft.
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you,”Mom hisses, staggering from the alcohol. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Haze, my blood runs through your veins,” she pauses to burp, and cackles, “and if I’m trash, then so are you.” Rushing toward me, she jabs a finger into my chest. “Filthy.” Poke. “Stinky.” Poke. “Trash.”
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll never be like you.”
