Page 4 of Tempting Little Thief

The dead drunk.

A slow smirk spreads along my lips.

Muffled shouts fight their way into my consciousness, and slowly, the echoes in my ears calm, the real-time noises hitting me all at once.

Sirens, shouts, demands.

“You’ve been shot …”

My shot was better.

“Son, it’s over …”

I’m no one’s son anymore.

“Put the gun down …”

I will when I’m ready.

“We’re here to help …”

No one ever helped us.

I point the gun at my dear old dad’s cold, dead heart and pull the fucking trigger.

After that, everything goes black.

By the time my mind decides to tap back into reality, I realize I’m sitting on shiny leather seats in a fancy town car, not cuffed in the back of a dirty cop car or belted to a bed in an ambulance on my way to a mental institution. My body feels like it was hit by a truck, and then I remember it wasn’t a truck.

It was a custom,stolen,steel-bodied Glock shot by my dad. Mydeaddad.

My sister!

My hand shoots for the door handle, and I hiss as pain explodes across every inch of my flesh. Before I can move another muscle, the door flies open, and a man slips inside. He’s a big fucker, built like a linebacker, and dressed like I interrupted his fucking wedding or something. He’s wearing a suit. An actualsuitsuit with a tie, shiny shoes, and a watch I’d swipe right off his wrist without him realizing if my limbs weren’t so fucking heavy.

“Who the fuck are you and where’s my sister?” I growl, searching for a weapon in case I somehow landed myself in the presence of another twisted fuck.

“She’ll be okay.” He speaks calmly like he didn’t just climb in the back seat with a murderer. “The doctor is with her now, waiting to see if she will need surgery or not.”

“I want to see her.”

“I’m afraid you can’t. Not yet.” The man studies me. He can’t be much older than my dad, maybe early forties. “Not until you make a decision.”

I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, so I cut the bullshit out and wait, and he doesn’t hold out long.

“There’s a place for someone like you not far from here. They find kids in your position and offer them an out.”

My position. Right. Like there’s just a gang of people out there, looking around for beat-on punks who get pushed to the edge and kill so they don’t fall over it.

Or maybe killingisfalling?

“Oh yeah?” I cock my head, ignoring the sharp sting it causes. “Sounds like some shit slick bastards tell young broken girls seconds before they stick a needle in their arm and drop them into rotation at some run-down hourly motel.” Panic roars in my chest at the thought. “Where is my sister?”

He watches me a minute, then says, “She’s safe. In the hospital, getting the care she needs, but the longer this takes, the less chance I have at keeping social services away.”

My brows dip in the center, and the man dips his chin.

Yeah, fucker, you got my attention.

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