had.
Sure, life got tough and confusing, but you didn’t hide in a fantasy world, depending on others to save you. You held your ground. Maybe you got gut-punched or jumped from behind now and then, but you learned from each attack and figured a counterpunch for the next time.
He thought he’d shown Beth that, but he’d fallen down on the job somehow. He was supposed to look out for her, dammit. As a kid, he’d tried to look out for his mother, too, for all the good it had done.
He still remembered the cops at the hospital asking his mom to press charges against the bastard boyfriend who’d put her there. Gage had been eleven. When she’d declined, he’d heard the detectives talking about her in disgusted tones. Why do these broads put up with that shit? Next time we get a call on her, it’ll be for the corpse cart .
Gage had vowed that would never happen. He’d met the creep on the stoop with a stainless steel bat, heart pounding, twisting the grip, smelling sweat and metal. Tasting it, too.
The asshole had held a fistful of wilted roses—stolen, no doubt—as some lame apology and when he’d started up the stairs, Gage batted the bouquet out of his hands and told him to get lost.
“Plenty more whores where she came from,” he’d sneered, but backed off, intimidated by Gage’s fury.
“Don’t you say that about her!” Gage had shouted, voice cracking, trembling with rage. He’d pounded the bat against the stoop, creating a lightning-shaped crack. Every time he saw that zigzag fracture, he remembered his vow that no thug would ever get near them again. To be ready, he used his newspaper money to pay for tae kwon do. His mom had learned her lesson about bad men, though she’d returned from the hospital with the Oxycontin she got hooked on and their lives suffered in a whole new way.
When Gage found Beth, he wouldn’t leave her alone until she had a decent life away from these crazies. He’d get back her money, too.
Shifting the nightstand to check for more entries, he noticed that a three-by-five snapshot had slipped to the floor. It was Cassie and Rena in Dome gear, arms around each other. He slipped it into his pocket. Rena would want this, he’d bet. Eventually, he’d get it to her.
It had been cruel to make her to kick out her friend. What more did the Blackstones want from her beyond the worship she already gave? Lifers would do whatever they asked. Lie, cheat, steal.
Kill? Would they kill for the “Family”? Maybe. Cassie had yelled something about some accounts. Was Beth’s money there? Ousted from the Lounge, Cassie might tell him what he needed to know. He would track her down tomorrow. A clock was ticking on Beth. And not just the one marking time to her twenty-first birthday and her hundred grand. He felt it deep inside.
He’d move as fast as he could without raising suspicion. Now that he knew the first name she used here, he’d try to weasel a peek at a Lounge-wide directory through the girl in personnel, have his pricey PI fake employment checks to all the Lounges, though her still-unknown surname would be a problem.
Once Gage knew where she was, he’d sign up to temp there. He’d hold more sway with Beth as a Lifer himself, though she’d be as tough a sell as Rena, who was already on his case.
As grotesque as it seemed, Gage had to start acting like a real Lifer.
When he’d finished, he put the key back where he’d found it. He’d love to hang on to it for access to the floor, but it was too risky. These people seemed to track all the details.
…
The next morning, Rena awoke to a knock at her door. She jerked to a sit, heart racing. The Watchers? Again?
No. That was over. Calming herself with a deep inhale, she dragged herself off the bed. It was late, she saw—nine. She hadn’t drifted off until five.
She opened the door to Maya, who yanked her into her patchouli hug. When she released Rena, she stepped back to smile. “I’m so proud of you, Rena, and I
Sure, life got tough and confusing, but you didn’t hide in a fantasy world, depending on others to save you. You held your ground. Maybe you got gut-punched or jumped from behind now and then, but you learned from each attack and figured a counterpunch for the next time.
He thought he’d shown Beth that, but he’d fallen down on the job somehow. He was supposed to look out for her, dammit. As a kid, he’d tried to look out for his mother, too, for all the good it had done.
He still remembered the cops at the hospital asking his mom to press charges against the bastard boyfriend who’d put her there. Gage had been eleven. When she’d declined, he’d heard the detectives talking about her in disgusted tones. Why do these broads put up with that shit? Next time we get a call on her, it’ll be for the corpse cart .
Gage had vowed that would never happen. He’d met the creep on the stoop with a stainless steel bat, heart pounding, twisting the grip, smelling sweat and metal. Tasting it, too.
The asshole had held a fistful of wilted roses—stolen, no doubt—as some lame apology and when he’d started up the stairs, Gage batted the bouquet out of his hands and told him to get lost.
“Plenty more whores where she came from,” he’d sneered, but backed off, intimidated by Gage’s fury.
“Don’t you say that about her!” Gage had shouted, voice cracking, trembling with rage. He’d pounded the bat against the stoop, creating a lightning-shaped crack. Every time he saw that zigzag fracture, he remembered his vow that no thug would ever get near them again. To be ready, he used his newspaper money to pay for tae kwon do. His mom had learned her lesson about bad men, though she’d returned from the hospital with the Oxycontin she got hooked on and their lives suffered in a whole new way.
When Gage found Beth, he wouldn’t leave her alone until she had a decent life away from these crazies. He’d get back her money, too.
Shifting the nightstand to check for more entries, he noticed that a three-by-five snapshot had slipped to the floor. It was Cassie and Rena in Dome gear, arms around each other. He slipped it into his pocket. Rena would want this, he’d bet. Eventually, he’d get it to her.
It had been cruel to make her to kick out her friend. What more did the Blackstones want from her beyond the worship she already gave? Lifers would do whatever they asked. Lie, cheat, steal.
Kill? Would they kill for the “Family”? Maybe. Cassie had yelled something about some accounts. Was Beth’s money there? Ousted from the Lounge, Cassie might tell him what he needed to know. He would track her down tomorrow. A clock was ticking on Beth. And not just the one marking time to her twenty-first birthday and her hundred grand. He felt it deep inside.
He’d move as fast as he could without raising suspicion. Now that he knew the first name she used here, he’d try to weasel a peek at a Lounge-wide directory through the girl in personnel, have his pricey PI fake employment checks to all the Lounges, though her still-unknown surname would be a problem.
Once Gage knew where she was, he’d sign up to temp there. He’d hold more sway with Beth as a Lifer himself, though she’d be as tough a sell as Rena, who was already on his case.
As grotesque as it seemed, Gage had to start acting like a real Lifer.
When he’d finished, he put the key back where he’d found it. He’d love to hang on to it for access to the floor, but it was too risky. These people seemed to track all the details.
…
The next morning, Rena awoke to a knock at her door. She jerked to a sit, heart racing. The Watchers? Again?
No. That was over. Calming herself with a deep inhale, she dragged herself off the bed. It was late, she saw—nine. She hadn’t drifted off until five.
She opened the door to Maya, who yanked her into her patchouli hug. When she released Rena, she stepped back to smile. “I’m so proud of you, Rena, and I
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