No, it’s not, but I’m not playing this game with her right now. I have to figure out how to fix this, and I have to do it now.
I tug out a box from the top of my closet and get a mask and gloves out. My gun is already on me because I sure as shit don’t keep it here when I’m not home. All I need is for her to fuck up with a nine-millimeter involved.
I push around my mom, who’s sitting on the floor, one of her tits half out of her bra.
“What are you going to do?”
“Fix your fuckup.Again.” I swear I’ve spent my whole life doing that shit. We left my abusive, rapist, asshole pimp of a father behind, and just drove, not stopping until we got to this random-ass town in Massachusetts that she thought was pretty. We were supposed to try and have a better life here. I was supposed to keep her safe, but how do I do that when she steals our rent money from a man I have no doubt is dangerous.
“Shai! Don’t leave me!” She’s always afraid I’ll leave her, and she knows she can’t cope without me. Ishouldleave. But I never do. “Promise me you’ll come back!”
“I always come back,” I counter, then slam the door behind me.
I have no option but to steal what I need. The question is, random person or breaking and entering? It’ll be a whole lot harder to get all the money I need from an individual, but stranger things have happened. I’d rather take my chances with one guy than with alarms and surveillance cameras.
It doesn’t take me long to decide where to go. There’s a hotel I’ve heard about where a lot of shit goes down. I’m sure whatever trick my mom had tonight spends time there. People go there to fuck, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they go there to buy pussy or whatever it is they’re looking for.
A thrill of excitement jolts me, the familiar tingle and rush of adrenaline that always courses through me when I’m about to do something like this. It makes me feel alive, invincible, like I’m in control of my life in a way I don’t often feel.
I don’t park in the lot, instead finding a spot down the dark road. The hotel is in the middle of nowhere, which I suppose is the point. My car is inconspicuous, with a couple of other vehicles on the side of the street. I’m in front of them, so it’ll be easier to get away.
I climb out and make sure my gun is loaded before stuffing it in my jeans. I’m already wearing all black because most of the time I do, but I tug on a hoodie from the back seat to cover my tats, then stuff the mask and gloves in the front pocket.
I try to keep myself in the shadows as I make my way there. The neon sign readsTHE DOVE, but some of the lights are out. There are about eight cars out front. If I don’t find what I need, I can always ransack those later.
My gaze darts around the building, looking for cameras. There seems to be one on the left side of the building but not on the right—the mount still there as though it broke and they didn’t take the time to replace it.
Jackpot.
Keeping myself out of the view of the working camera, I tuck myself in a dark corner on the right side of the building and wait—for someone to come, to go, someone who looks like they might have cash on them. Someone coming is probably a better option than someone going because they’ll have money for whatever they’re here to buy.
I’m not stupid enough to think this place will be my only hit tonight, but I’m hoping to get lucky. I ignore the first two people to arrive, thankful there aren’t many streetlights out here, just a few along the front of the building. The first guy is my height, probably just under six feet, but he’s at least three of me in width. I’m long and lean, scrappy as all hell, but I don’t feel like testing my boundaries with this monster tonight. The second guy…I’m not sure why I don’t go for him. His car is in worse shape than mine, so he probably doesn’t have much cash on him.
It takes a good thirty minutes for another car to arrive, and I immediately perk up. It’s a BMW that’s nicer and more expensive than anything I’ve ever owned. The guy inside looks about my age, with red hair that goes up and backward like he’s run his hands through it so much, it’s stuck that way. He’s hot, from what I can tell, but also looks like a spoiled rich kid, which makes me hate him on sight, but a spoiled rich kid is exactly what I need.
With quick hands, I tug the mask over my head and face, then get my gloves in place, hiding my black-painted nails.
Rich Kid gets out of the car. He’s shorter than me, thin, but with firm muscle. He’s wearing crisp jeans and a button-up shirt, as though it’s not freezing balls outside—not that I’m dressed much warmer in my hoodie.
I wonder what his rich mommy and daddy think about their little boy coming to a dirty-ass hotel to get his dick wet, or whatever the hell he’s doing here.
He puts a vape to his lips, takes a drag, then starts walking away from me.
I have to get this done and do it quickly before he gets too close to the camera.
I hurry out from behind the building, trying to be as quiet as I can, heart thudding, adrenaline fueling me in the best way. When I’m a couple of steps away, he turns around, but my arm’s already raised, gun pointing at his head. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t look scared or cower, which makes worry trickle down my spine. This is not how someone like him is supposed to react to being held up.
“You should be smart and use that gun on me because if you don’t, you’re fucking dead.” He takes a step closer, arms in the air. “Right here.” He points to the center of his forehead. “Shoot.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’ve never seen someone with a gun pointed at them talk like this before. It makes my skin pebble with uncertainty but also flicks a strange, curious switch inside me. The cold stare of his ice-blue eyes makes me tremble…something I shouldn’t be thinking right now.
“Tick-tock,” he says with both coldness and amusement in his tone.
One look down his body, and I see the familiar bulge of a gun. Definitely not your normal, run-of-the-mill spoiled college kid. I have no idea who he is, but this just got a whole lot more interesting.
“Don’t move.” I keep the gun pointed at him, shove his shirt up, and tug his piece out. He doesn’t try to fight me, which has my senses on alert. Seconds ago, I thought this guy was an easy target, but being face-to-face with him, I sense the danger beneath the surface, the uncontrollable energy rolling off him.
I shove his gun into my hoodie pocket. “Give me your money and your keys,” I order.
