Page 8 of Four Cards Exposed

He’s only seven.

“What the hell do you have there?”

Is he already doing drugs?

“None of your fucking business,” Dom spat out. His dark eyes were wide with fear, and James softened his hold.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The boy opened his hands, revealing the object clutched between them.

“What the hell is that?” James asked, even though he could see exactly what it was—a small, shivering ball of fur.

“He’s mine,” Dom said, baring his teeth. He had a gap where his front teeth should be, reminding James just how young the boy really was.

James released his hold on Dom’s collar. The boy wasn’t going anywhere.

Dom straightened his shoulders. “I found him in the basement. He was alone, I promise. I didn’t take him from his mother.”

James nodded. “I believe you, kid.”

“He won’t drink anything,” Dom continued, looking at James with part-worried, part-hopeful eyes. “Can you help me?”

Shit.

“Let me see.” Dom pushed the mangy ball of fur towards him. The kitten’s eyes were open, so he wasn’t as young as James had initially thought, but he was clearly starved—all ribs and paws and eyes.

And probably still too young to drink out of a bowl.

James covered up a sigh. Icing his jaw and ribs would have to wait. “Come on up. I have an idea.”

Dom followed him wordlessly up to the second floor, where James unlocked his paper-thin front door. Everything in this building was paper-thin, and smelled of decay.

“Does your mom know you’re out?”

“She’s working tonight, and my sister Maya is staying with the little ones.”

He’d seen Dom’s mother coming from work before, when he went out on early morning runs. She always looked exhausted. She was a waitress in some club—he didn’t know if that’s all she was, and he couldn’t afford to get involved with this family’s troubles. He would be gone soon enough.

“Okay. You should still get home, though.”

James walked straight to the kitchen and pulled out a new disposable rubber glove from under the small sink. Sitting at the kitchen table, he pulled a folding knife out of his pocket. Dom’s expression didn’t change at the sight of the knife, and James felt a weight on his chest at the thought that the boy thought it was normal for people to carry such weapons on their person.

He stabbed the tip of the glove’s index finger carefully, making a small hole.

“What are you doing?”

“We’ll put the milk inside,” James said. He had no idea if kittens could drink cow’s milk, but he imagined it’d be better than nothing.

“I can’t take any milk from—“

James knew what the boy was going to say—that he couldn’t take any milk from his little brothers and sisters.

“There should be some milk inside,” James said, pointing to the small fridge.

Still holding on to the kitten, Dom took the milk carton from the fridge. “It’s almost full.”

“Pour some in the glove. Just a bit. That’s it.” The first few drops of milk splattered onto the kitten’s gray head. James worried how Dom would take it if the animal was too far gone to save.