That’s a lie—I’ve been late twice, counting today, and we already spoke about the reason for the first time. I was at my mother’s funeral and came in three hours later, as had been planned and agreed.
“Your shift started an hour ago.” His pipe crackles as he sucks, coughing up a lung without covering his damn mouth. “I won’t have sloppiness working here. Hand in your time sheet and get off the premises.”
My eyes widen. “Wait,” I say, sitting forward. My voice is shaking as the words spill out. “I’ve been here every day, working late most shifts and taking on overtime. I don’t know where you’re getting the information that I’ve been late, but, respectfully, sir, that isn’t true.”
A sly smile curves his lips. “Are you calling me a liar, boy?”
“No. I’m asking you to double-check that you have the right employee.”
“Lincoln Taylor. Twenty years old, son of the deceased Tabby Taylor, brother of Dylan Taylor. Crippled with debt left by your late mother, behind on rent, close to eviction, and let’s not forget about the child you’re trying and failing to raise.”
I sit back, completely dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open.
My silence has him grinning. “Did I get that correct?”
Swallowing, I put my hands on my lap under the table and squeeze my thumbs. “Yes.”
“Then I have the right employee. Now, stop wasting my time and leave. Don’t expect any final pay for your attitude.”
“You can’t do this!” I slam my palms down on the table, making two construction manuals drop to the floor.
Shaking, I grit my teeth. “Don’t do this,” I beg. “I need this job. I’ll be better. I’ll work harder.”
He stands, his face contorting into all types of anger as he tugs at the cuff links of his crisp white shirt. Then he pulls the gold stopwatch from his waistcoat, places it on the table between us, and checks the time.
He can’t do this. He can’t.
My entire body is trembling, my stomach coiling, and I think I might vomit everywhere.
“I’m going to ask you one more time before this gets physical. Get off the premises.”
Holding back panicked tears, I imagine my brother going to the orphanage. The future I’m trying to build.
Dylan.
“Please.”
Staring me down, a long moment passes before he grunts and turns toward the door. He swings it open. “Can someone get this kid the fuck out of here?”
My eyes fall on the gold stopwatch, engraved with some sort of crest. Two lions and flames. I’ve never stolen anything, but that watch alone will get me and my brother out of this city. The decision takes only a split second.
Three guys pile in and grab me by the arms and collar; they drag me out of the room, down the stairs, and throw me out the front door. I fall on my face so mud coats my cheek and clothes.
Stuart chuckles by the entranceway. “If I see you again, there will be consequences.”
It takes everything I have not to tell him to go fuck himself as I push myself to my hands and knees. Ignoring all the eyes on me, I grit my teeth, tense my body, and limp out of the grounds.
As soon as I reach the corner of the road, I slouch against the wall and pull the heavy stopwatch from my pocket, eyeing the way the gold sparkles. This is my ticket to everything. I need to get home, pack our things, and get Dylan. We’ll be leaving tonight.
For good.
I’ll take it to the fencer, get as much coin as I can, and start fresh.
My steps feel lighter as I reach the apartment building, but as I go to enter, a firm hand grabs my shoulder from behind, turns me, and a heavy fist smashes into my face so hard, I see stars before I’m dragged down a nearby alleyway.
Stuart’s raging eyes burn into me. “Where is it, you ungrateful peasant?”
He isn’t alone—Andrew, his son, is beside him, scowling and shaking his head.
