Page 120 of Stabby Little

Smack.

"You don't question me when I tell you what goes on in my business. No one knows the facts but me."

"Is it true?" I demand. "Did boys escape your warehouse?"

"They were attending the pitbull fight."

"How come you never told me that?"

"I'm under no obligation to tell you my family's business dealings."

"How did this information leak?" I push. "You have a mole somewhere."

"I don't know," Michael seethes. "But I'll tell you one fucking thing."

"I'm listening."

“If you and Jagger keep poking your noses where you're not wanted, you're both dead." Michael tugs a knife out of his back pocket. "I'll bury you next to Miles."

He drives the blade through my right pinky. I don't speak as it crashes to the floor and rolls next to my foot. Blood spurts from the wound and soaks his white shirt, but I don't make a sound.

Michael wants to see me suffer.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Michael throws the knife against the wall. "Get the fuck out."

37

KOBE BAILEY

I stepinto the sun and resist the urge to smile. I'm having a great day for the first time all month and nothing's gone wrong for a change. A cool breeze blows my blond hair back as I adjust my backpack and walk to class.

Last month, some asshole stole my ID when I was partying. I never go to clubs. My time is better spent at the local Humane Society where I volunteer with street animals. It's terrible how many owners abandon their puppies because they discover caring for a pet is too much work. This is prevalent in the city where young couples think a dog or cat will brighten their life, only to discover they need to walk and feed it.

Food is expensive.

Walking takes time.

I'll give them that.

But these are things they should research before adopting a puppy. It's not fair to traumatize an animal that way. Many of our animals have been through multiple owners, and have never had a true home. I spend as much time with them as I can, but as a full-time student at Columbia, it's difficult.

When I'm not studying, I'm writing papers and submitting well-researched articles to undergrad journals. Or volunteering in the writing room at the campus library to help foreign exchange students craft decent papers.

That's why I was so ticked off when someone jacked my ID. I never make time for myself—I didn't even plan to head out that night. I had a training session with my favorite golden retriever at the shelter who I was teaching to roll over. Her name is Cyclone and she's the biggest dork on the planet. Instead of following my commands, she licks my feet and begs for treats. When my best friend Becca texted me to head to a nightclub, I wasn't sure I'd accept.

"Come on, Kobe. It's your twenty-first birthday and you need to have fun for a change. The animals will be here next week."

She had a point. An annoying one, but a point nonetheless.

She took me shopping and helped me pick out new clothes. We hit up Hollister and American Eagle for cute shirts and jeans, luxuries I never grant myself. I don't use the trust fund my grandfather set up for my education for personal expenditures, but I made an exception that night. I picked out an adorable bright blue top with a sexy eagle on the breast and a pair of jeans that made my ass look great. The cashier at Hollister even complimented my look. He wolf-whistled when I walked to the register, then slid me his number. He said that if I was ever interested in hanging out, I should call him.

I planned to call him and have a great night together. It'd been ages since I'd hooked up with a boy, mostly because the demands on my time are ridiculous.

Everything changed when I got to the nightclub and lost my ID.

Errrr—lostisn't the right word. Someone stole it out of my pocket when I was taking a breather on the sidewalk. Robbed me. Rammed their hand down my pants and swiped my wallet. The weirdest part is they returned my wallet—I felt them do it. But my ID was gone.

---