“I don’t want to,” he said softly, his breath moistening my shirt and warming my skin underneath.
“I know, but I have to make sure it’s not broken.” It wasn’t like the Hayeses would take us to the hospital to check, but if he couldn’t move it at all, I’d carry Boyan all the way there if I had to. He lifted his arm, inch by inch, whimpering and wincing in pain between sobs.
“So brave.” I kissed his head and caressed down his spine. “You did good. I don’t think it’s broken.”
Lou climbed in behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, clutching him close like a teddy bear.
“I’ll take care of you,” she said.
I ran my hands over their heads. Their little cherub faces, one dark, one light, both with wide, teary eyes, stared back at me. So innocent. So vulnerable. They deserved to be protected and cared for. But how could I do that when I couldn’t even protect myself, and nobody else cared enough to try?
The first time I witnessed the Hayeses beating Micah, I went to the cops, even though Micah argued not to bother. I answered their questions. They were understanding at first, asking me fordetails, for proof of the abuse, like images, and if the victim would come forward. The moment I used the words “foster parents” and said that Micah refused to come, they pulled my file. Their attitude changed quickly after that. No more sympathy. No more listening. The report was closed, and they chided me for making false accusations. They accused me of placing my bitterness on the shoulders of a good community couple trying their best to help ungrateful, troubled children like me.
The second time I went to the cops, the welts on my ass hurt so much I couldn’t sit in the interrogation chairs. I was embarrassed when they asked to see proof. At first, I agreed to show one female caseworker. When I was told photos were needed, I refused. The more they pushed, implying I was lying, the more hopeless it felt. All that was before my file came out, with my previous incident report listed as a false accusation. I left with a limp and absolutely no improvement in my situation. It only got worse when I returned to the Hayes house. Charlie knew what I’d tried to do this time. They must have called him. I learned that day never to rely on the cops again.
“There you are, you little thief.”
Marlene’s strides thumped against the hardwood floor. My heart rate picked up, and I tried to shove myself to my feet and away from Boyan’s bed as fast as possible. The strike came faster than I’d thought. One moment, I was upright, the next, I was whacked to the floor, my feet kicking at Boyan’s bed frame on the way down. Both kids cried out. My head and left shoulder knocked against the floor. The entire right side of my face burned from temple to chin, where she’d hit me. My right eye watered, and my vision blurred. Blood poured over my gums from where I bit my tongue on the impact.
“You thought you could steal from me.”
A heavy weight smacked against my ribs.
“Where’s my money?”
More strikes came down—to my head, to my shoulder. My arms wrapped over my face.
“Nothing but a stupid girl who’ll end up whoring herself out.”
My ears rang with every hard thud of whatever she’d chosen to pummel me with. The kids cried and wailed. I stared at Micah’s shoes, my vision half blurred, too dazed and exhausted to try to fight back. Thankfully, Lou and Boyan didn’t intercede, but neither did Micah. He could’ve fought back if he wanted to. I guessed I wasn’t worth it to him.
“It’s gone,” I told her.
“You good-for-nothing little hussy.”
Two more hits, and then her weapon of choice, a hardcover, landed inches from my nose. I stared at it cross-eyed, tired and numb.
That night, I fell asleep right there on Boyan and Micah’s floor, too sore to move. The kids covered me with a blanket and placed a pillow under my head. Both took turns kissing away my boo-boos like I did to them, their sobbed whispers carrying me off into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with my first black eye ever. I never could have predicted how much it would change our lives.
Chapter 14
MONSTER
You’re the reason I look for the worst in everyone.
“AnymovementfromtheGreeks?”
“Still nothing,” Vinny said, his focus flicking between the road and the rearview mirrors on our way back from a business meeting. “What’s the plan?”
“Dimakos’ wife’s cousin still owns that restaurant in Lower Haight?”
“Think so.”
I settled back in my seat, closing out the latest finance report on my laptop. “Then we send the girl.”
“What girl?” The frown narrowing Vinny’s eyes was probably the most emotion his face had shown in the last two days since that same girl blew a hole in the side of my car.
