Page 5 of The Mobster's Angel

Now I’m driving to the nearest town with a car that’s not mine loaded up with a flat-screen TV, a few gaming consoles, a vase that looks somewhat expensive, and various other household goods. Basically anything of value that wasn’t nailed down and could fit in the back of a car.

Now, keratin treatment aside, I am categorically not a thief.

Well, I wasn’t a thief.

No matter how bad things were in the past, I never resorted to shoplifting, or pick-pocketing, or fraud.

I’ve spent my whole life knowing that I’ve worked hard for what meager possessions I own.

But I am feeling very, very thievish right now.

My stomach is twisted up in knots as I drive down the highway, a good ten miles-per-hour below the speed limit.

I always used to watch cop shows and wonder why the drug carriers did stupid shit like speeding and running red lights. It was like they wanted to draw attention to themselves.

Well, not me.

I’m driving like I’m taking my exam for the first time, absolutely shitting myself that I’ll be pulled over by the cops any moment now.

So, why does a girl who’s categorically not a thief find herself in a stolen—borrowed!—car, with a bunch of possessions that aren’t hers?

The Rossis have left.

Left the town, left the country, who knows? But they’re not coming back.

Which means I have to think on my feet.

Brenda said they owe money to a lot of people. A lot of very powerful people. I figured I had maybe a day or two before the house was taken, but Brenda advised me not to wait for that to happen.

The problem? I have nothing.

No apartment to go back to. No way of paying Gram’s fees. No job.

I don’t even have the month’s salary I’m owed.

So… I maintain I’m not a thief.

I’m just resourceful.

Well… I’mmostlynot a thief.

With a pang of remorse, I glance at the book lying on the passenger seat. A historical thriller set during the Napoleonic wars.

It’s not mine. Mr. Bennett lent it to me.

Jack Bennett lives in the house behind the Rossis. I maybe have more than a little crush on him, not that he’d ever see me that way.

It’s not just that he’s stupidly hot—although he is.

But Jack is also always so thoughtful. Considerate.

And now I’m repaying his kindness by stealing his book.

I considered returning it before I left. But what would I have said?

“Thanks for the book. Wish I had time to discuss it. But my employers skipped town to escape their debts and now I’m kind of on the run.”

Yeah, no thanks.

---