Page 1 of Tempting Little Thief

Prologue

Four Years Ago

The deepest, darkest shade of red runs in a steady stream, filling in the cracks of the concrete, not stopping when it meets the burned grass, but soaking into the roots and panning out like a flame with no fire.

So why the fuck is there a man in yellow trench pants standing ten feet from me, eyes wide and hands raised in the air? His mouth is moving, but if he’s speaking, I don’t hear shit.

No, that’s not right.

I hear something deep in the back of my mind.

Screams.

Cries of pain.

Cries for help.

Cries for mercy.

My vision blurs, and it’s as if time rewinds, my fucked-up head forcing me to relive what led me right here, right now …

“Please, no. Please, don’t. I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.”

“You’re worthless.”

Smack.

“Useless.”

Smack.

“Trash.”

Crash.

More cries.

The scream that tears from me is damn near unrecognizable as I wrench my hands free of the zip ties, a few layers of skintearing as I do. The electrical cable he used to tie me to this chair holds strong around my middle, but the brutal sounds coming from downstairs tell me there’s no time to find something to cut the thickly covered copper digging into my ribs, so I lurch awkwardly to my feet and spin so my front is facing the bed.

Pulling in as much air as the position allows, I run backward with all the speed I can manage, slamming the cheap wood into the wall. A guttural shout rips from my throat as my shoulder crunches against the wall, but I do it again.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Come on, come on, come on …”

Wood splinters pierce my bare back, digging into the fresh welts there and tearing open half-healed ones. I do it again. And again, my back teeth at risk of cracking from clenching them so hard.

I gasp, my entire body shaking with rage, as the screams from the first floor grow even louder.

Warm liquid trickles down the entire right side of my body now, and my chest heaves, but I don’t stop. I draw on as much adrenaline as I can, and with one last crash, the back bars of the chair split, snapping from the base and left arm enough for me to wiggle my body and crawl out of the restraints.

“You want to cry?!” he screams. “I’ll shut you up!”

“No!” she weeps.

My heart pounds wildly as I run toward the voices, the cuts on the bottom of my feet tearing open more and more with every step, but I don’t care. I can hardly feel the pain anymore.

I can hardly feel anything. A new, darker form of rage bleeds into my bones, numbing me from the inside out.

“Get back here, you little bitch!” he demands, the front door slamming against the hinge.

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