After years in different foster homes, Tate wouldn’t give me up without a fight. I was his only family. In a few months, he would turn eighteen. He planned to be my legal guardian. I tried telling him it could never happen because the cops would arrest him the second he resurfaced.
Food was becoming harder to find. The abandoned house we called home recently sold to a new owner, forcing us to live on the streets.
Drake pushed a water bottle in front of my mouth. “Here, take a sip.”
I shook my head. “Give it to Tate. He needs it more than I do. He won’t wake up.”
He stuffed the bottle into my hand and uncapped another, tipping it to Tate’s lips. “You stubborn ass, you better open your eyes and stop scaring your sister. Why won’t you accept my help and stop doing this to yourself?”
My brother coughed as Drake forced him to drink. After a few gulps, he choked on the water and shot upright. His eyes opened, narrowing on Drake, and then his fist crashed into his cheek.
“Who the fuck do you think you?—”
Drake tackled him to the ground, but my brother swung at him, fists flying. Despite my brother’s attempts, Drake did not hurt him.
He curled his muscular arms around Tate and yelled, “Knock it off.”
“Fuck you,” Tate growled.
“Tate, stop it!” I got on my knees and yanked on his arm, but a punch landed on my jaw this time.
“Oh shit,” Tate muttered, blinking rapidly as our eyes met. “Liv, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. Shit.”
Drake gripped my brother by his dirty shirt collar and pulled him closer. “This ends now, Tate. Look at what you’re doing to Olivia. Both of you are coming home with me. End of fucking discussion.”
“Why do you keep coming back, Richie Rich?” Tate sneered. “We don’t need or want your charity.”
“Then, you can work for it,” Drake shot back, releasing his grip on my brother’s shirt.
“What?” Tate’s lips parted. “Work for what? No one would hire me. That’s why we’re in this mess.”
Six months ago, Tate finally made good on his promise to find me. We’d lost contact after Child Protective Services separated us. I lived with the McDougalls for almost six years while Tate bounced between filthy, unsafe homes.
He was lucky to be alive.
I couldn’t believe my eyes the night he knocked on my bedroom window. Despite having a decent life with my foster family, I needed to be with my family. Without Tate, I didn’t feel whole.
I thought one of us would eventually find work, but no one would hire us without an address, a social security card, or respectable attire. Not that I could blame them. The dumpster smelled better than us.
“You can fight,” Drake said to my brother. “You’re scrappy. A survivor. I could use someone like you as the head of my security at Battle Industries.”
Tate scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Battle Industries? Never heard of it.”
“My company specializes in technology-based weapons.”
“So,” Tate spat back. “Like I give a fuck about you or Battle whatever.”
I shook my brother’s arm. “Please just hear him out. I can’t keep doing this. We’re starving, tired, and can’t live like this much longer.”
“If we hang on for a few more hours, we can eat at the shelter.”
I hated going there. The last time we attempted to spend the night, I almost got sexually assaulted. Tate beat the shit out of the guy.
“We’re banned,” I reminded him. “The shelter is not an option anymore.”
“Well,” Tate mumbled. “We’ll figure something out.”
Drake rose from the ground and wiped his hands down the front of his perfectly pressed pants. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home with me. It’s not up for debate.”
