Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Danny.” I wasn’t one for entertaining strangers, but the man demanded to be answered without even demanding it.
“Who did that to your face?” He nodded to my cheek, sliding his hand into his pocket. I noticed in his other he was still holding the gun.
Reaching up to my cheek, I cupped it, feeling my palm slide across the blood. “It’s nothing. Doesn’t hurt.”
“Big, tough guy, huh?” His thick eyebrows raised, and I shrugged. “But that wasn’t my question.”
“Just some kids.”
His heavy brow crinkled a tad, and the evil shone brighter. “Next time they try to do that to you, kill them. No second chances, kid. Remember that. Don’t hesitate, don’t ask questions. Just do it.”
I glanced across to the car that was decorated in blood, nodding, and Mr. Cream Suit looked down my front, turning his nose up at my filthy form. When his armed hand reached forward and lifted the material of my T-shirt with the end of his gun, I did nothing to stop him. Didn’t flinch, didn’t even move. “They do this too?”
“No, Mister.”
“Who?”
“My stepfather.”
His blue eyes flicked up to meet my stare. “He beats you?” he asked, and I nodded. “Why?”
Truth was, I didn’t know. He hated me. Always had. So I shrugged my skinny shoulders again.
“Your mother?”
“Left when I was eight.”
He sniffed, stepping back, and I suspected he was piecing my miserable puzzle together. “Next time your stepfather touches you, kill him too.”
I smiled, loving the thought of doing that. I wouldn’t, couldn’t—my stepfather was five times the size of me—but I still nodded anyway. “Yes, Mister.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought a smile cracked the corners of his mouth. “Here.” He pulled out a pile of notes that was held neatly together by a shiny money clip, and pulled off a fifty. My eyes bugged. I’d never seen a fifty before. Not even a twenty. “Get something to eat and some clean clothes, kid.”
“Thanks, Mister.” I swiped the note from his hand and held it up in front of me with both hands. I was in awe, and it must have been obvious because the man chuckled lightly as he pulled off another.
I watched in wonder as he reached forward and wiped my cheek. With a fifty-pound note! “You’re dripping everywhere.” He shoved the bloodied note in my hand. “Now, scram.”
I darted off with my two fifties, my eyes set firmly on them as I jogged down the alley, worried that someone would snatch them away from me at any second. Run, Danny, run!
I heard the familiar sound of a knackered Nissan up ahead, and my feet ground to a halt. My stepfather screeched to a stop and jumped out, stalking toward me with the usual murderous look on his face. He didn’t speak first. Never did. The back of his hand collided with my already-injured cheek. I didn’t flinch, not even when I heard my flesh tear some more. “Where the fuck did you get them from?” he spat, swiping the fifties from my hand.
It was completely out of character for me, but I yelled and dived at him, trying to win them back. “Hey, they’re mine! Give them back.”
I didn’t want to fight for them or show him I cared but . . . they were mine. I’d never owned anything. I wasn’t going to spend them, not ever, and if he had them, they’d be gone before the end of the day on drink, drugs, and a hooker. My sight went foggy when he cracked me square on the jaw before grabbing my overgrown hair and dragging me toward his shit heap of a car. “Get in the car, you fucking shit.”
“Excuse me.”
My stepfather swung around, taking me with him. “What?”
The cream-suited man had approached, and the evil I saw in his eyes before was back with a vengeance. “This your stepdad, kid?” he asked, and I nodded as best I could with my head partially restrained. Mr. Cream Suit bobbed his head mildly, turning his attention to my stepfather. “Give the kid his money.”
My stepfather scoffed. “Fuck you.”
Without another word, no second chance or any warning, Mr. Cream Suit raised his gun and put a bullet clean between my stepfather’s eyes. My head got yanked back as he dropped to the ground, tearing out some of my hair from my scalp. Just like that. Bang. No second chances. Dead.
Gone.
Stepping forward and dipping, Mr. Cream Suit took the fifties from my dead stepfather’s hand and offered them to me. “No second chances,” he said, simple as that. “You got any family?”
I took the notes and shook my head. “No, sir.”
He slowly rose to his full height, his lips twisting. He was thinking. “Two fifties aren’t going to get you very far in life, are they?”
At that moment, I felt like the richest kid in the world. But I knew a hundred quid didn’t go far. “I suppose not, Mister. Wanna gimme some more?” I threw him a cheeky grin, and he returned it.