The Butcher Read online

  Her hand had slowly fisted in her pocket. “You narced on me?”

  Now it was my turn to arch a brow. “You think I’d narc?”

  “I don’t know you.” She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. Small, white, perfect—I wondered if she’d had braces. Then again, she was far too street for that. Braces meant having parents who gave a shit about you. One look at this girl told me she took care of herself, didn’t go home to some lovey-dovey family at the end of the day.

  “I’ve been trying to fix that.” I held out my hand. “I’m David. And you are?”

  She eyed my palm, then flicked her suspicious gaze back to mine. “What is this?”

  “Look, I’ll shoot straight with you. I dropped out in the seventh grade, so I could be wrong on this point, but I think when someone holds their hand out like this, it means you’re supposed to shake it and introduce yourself.”

  That secret smile twitched at her lips again, but she didn’t give it to me. Not all the way. I realized getting a smile out of this girl would take a lot more effort, and the longer I stood in her presence, the more I wanted to work at it.

  “You’re weird.” She shrugged as if giving in, and took my hand, her warm, dry palm a contrast to my own sweaty mitt. She held my gaze. “I’m Angel.”

  Angel. Well, wasn’t that perfect?

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook, and a tidal wave of questions rose in my mind. I wanted to know everything about her, but the distant bells of St. Andrew’s told me I’d blown my chance at getting to the noodle shop at closing time. That meant I’d have to break in before the real violence could start. A break-in meant a bigger chance of getting busted, but the touch of Angel’s fingers—worth it.

  Our hands lingered for a moment before she pulled away. I took a step toward her, something instinctual demanding I remain close.

  She didn’t move back, just tilted her head up to hold my gaze. “I hate to do this, but I have an appointment a few streets over.”

  “Appointment?” I wanted to stay here with her, just listening to her talk and teasing out that smile that kept hinting around on her plump lips.

  She nodded her head slightly. “It might involve a certain little ice cream truck parked under a malfunctioning streetlight.” The way she said “malfunctioning” told me she must have had pretty good aim when throwing rocks. Mischief and trouble danced in her eyes. An ice cream truck score. It was almost too sweet.

  “I’ve got business, too.” Maybe my chest puffed up a little. Maybe.

  Her smirk made my blood sizzle. “Prize fight?”

  My chest puffed up at that for sure. “Just because I’m big I have to be a fighter?” Flirting—that’s what this was. I didn’t even know it was a thing I could do. But here I was, flying like a fucking baby bird pushed out of the nest.

  She cast a perusing eye over me. “You’re big, always bruised when I see you, and your knuckles are scarred.”

  “When you see me? So you’ve noticed me? And not just as a creep?” I couldn’t keep the satisfaction from my voice.

  “Everyone notices you, big guy.” The sparkle in her eye was a lure. One I needed to chase.

  “Hey!” Peter’s soft hiss pulled me out of my thoughts. “Did you fall asleep?”

  “No.” I tried to keep my voice low to ward off another visit from Gerald. Turning on the squeaky cot, I kept my injured shoulder toward the ceiling.

  “Tell me. You saw her?” He seemed just as invested in my pursuit of Angel as I was. But that was us. Tight. We’d fought to stay together from one foster home to the next, and we always would. But with the money we’d been saving, it was almost time to bust out of the system for good.

  “I saw her.” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant. “Talked to her.”

  “Talked.” He sat up on his elbow, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he gawked at me. “Spill, man!”

  I quietly recounted my meeting with Angel, but no words could convey her or the odd prickles I felt all over my skin when I was near her.

  “An ice cream truck?” Peter snorted as he lay back down. “That’s a new one on me.”

  “It’s kid stuff. Harmless … unless she gets caught.” I didn’t like the thought. But she was safe. I’d hoofed it over to the truck when my job was done. Everything was quiet, and she was long gone. The ice cream truck looked none the worse for wear, but I got the feeling she’d been there. Just something about it.

  I smiled in the dark, my bottom lip stinging where the shop owner had split it.

  Mischief and trouble. That’s what this girl was. And I wanted two scoops with sprinkles on top.

  3

  Angel

  “Where you been?”

  I tried not to jump at my father’s hoarse voice. “Out.” Hurrying through the small kitchen and careful not to step on the mushy board right in front of the refrigerator, I made my way into the short hallway.

  “Get in here, girl!” He coughed, the low rattle in his throat growing deeper every day.

  I crossed my arms over my stomach and forced my chin up. Did he terrify me even now? Yes. Would I let it show? No.

  He shifted on the threadbare couch, the TV casting a flickering light on his lined face. He’d lost a lot of weight in the past year, ever since his diagnosis, but he was still the monster in my dreams—the one with fists that flew at the smallest of slights, real or imagined.

  “What?” I leaned against the doorframe.

  He reached for his pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it with the flick of his Bic. I focused on that orange glow instead of on his eyes.

  “I asked you where you been.” The first whiff of cigarette smoke wafted to me and covered over the stink of old sweat and decay.

  “And I said out.” You can run. If he gets up, you can outrun him. He can’t touch you anymore.

  “I’m getting tired of your attitude.” He took a deep drag, and somehow it made the rattle in his voice even out. “I haven’t disciplined you enough. You’re going wild. Out at all hours. Probably whoring around for cash just like your shit-for-brains mother.”

  I dug my nails into my sides but kept my mouth shut. He wanted to get a rise out of me. When the cancer had wicked away his strength to the point he couldn’t hit me anymore, he’d changed tactics. Now he used words, many of them just as blunt as his fists and doing as much damage. But I wouldn’t let it show.

  “Well, is that what you’re doing out there? Getting on your back for scratch?” The orange tip glowed. “You are. That’s all you’re good for. Just a dick garage like your mom.”

  I knew better than to respond, but that didn’t stop me. “At least she was smart enough to leave you when she had the chance.”

  He grated out an ugly laugh. “Left you too, remember?”

  I remembered. It ate at me every day, a thorn that would never leave the skin over my heart. How could she have left me with him? I swatted that particular flavor of despair away.

  He wouldn’t win. I wouldn’t let him. “Maybe she knew I had too much of you in me.”

  “If only you could be so lucky. Naw, Ang, you’re her through and through. From the stacked body to the smart fucking mouth. I guess the whoring is in your blood. You’re going right where she went. Nowhere.” He coughed, then took another long drag. “Now give me a cut of your slut money or I’ll black both of those pretty eyes.”

  “Try it.” I dropped my arms from my defensive stance and curled my hands into fists.

  “Bitch, you don’t want to be testing me right no—”

  “Come on, old man.” My blood hummed, anger coating each cell with the need to destroy him. “If you’re so tough, bring it.”

  He reached out and grabbed the back of the couch, then pulled himself into a sitting position.

  The hackles rose on the back of my neck, and I wanted to run to my room and lock the door. But that was stupid. He’d busted that lock years ago. There was nowhere to go. I stood my ground.

  “You fucking bitc
h.” The orange circle flared again, and he pulled himself to his feet. His clothes hung off him, and his stench rolled through the air.

  Terror trickled down my spine like ice water, but I brought my hands up.

  “You need to learn, little girl. I’m the man here. Not you.” He took one step, then another. “I’ll teach you, though. I’ll beat you half dead if that’s what it takes.” His next step was a stagger, and he leaned on the ripped pleather love seat, gasping for breath as the cigarette dangled from his lips.

  “Come closer, and I’ll drop you.” My tone was surprisingly even despite the tremble in my body.

  “You’ll drop me, eh?” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing me as if he were an old dog.

  I bent my knees slightly. “It’ll be me or the cancer.”

  He rattled in a few more breaths, swaying slightly as if considering his options. His spirit was still in there, malevolent and ready to inflict damage, but his body couldn’t give life to his demands. With a gasp for air, he sat hard on the love seat and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. In a wheeze, he said, “Get out of here. I’ll deal with you later. You’ll see, you little bitch. I’ve got plans for y—” His cough cut him off.

  Relief unfurled inside me like a flower in midday sun. I took a step back as the cough took over—the deep kind that would go on for far too long. He would pass out at the end of it, his labored breaths the only indication he was still alive. Or maybe this time would be the last, and he’d finally be silent.

  Turning, I hurried to my room and slammed the door, then leaned against it and took huge, gulping breaths. Everything in me shook, and tears doubled my vision.

  “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.” I repeated my litany in a whisper sing-song until I could open my eyes and wipe away the tears. Dragging the small wooden chair from beside my bed, I wedged it under the door handle, then sank onto my squeaky mattress. “Everything’s okay.”

  My bedroom was stuffy, but if I opened the window, I’d be feasted on by late summer mosquitoes, so I just lay down and closed my eyes as my heartbeat slowed back to a normal pace. At least I wasn’t hungry—not that there was anything in the house to eat, unless cigarettes counted as food. A late dinner of ice cream wasn’t so bad. I only found a couple of fives and some change in the truck, but it’d be enough to feed me the next day.

  Tucking one hand behind my head, I let myself think about the creep. But, then again, he wasn’t such a creep after all. Not like the guy in the black Mercedes who’d followed me from time-to-time. I never saw his face, but I could feel his eyes on me. That guy was the main reason I’d gotten so good at disappearing.

  David, though. He didn’t give me that skin-crawling feeling. He gave me something else entirely. He was huge, scary, but with a sweetness I hadn’t imagined. My tongue darted to my lips, tasting the last of the sugar left there. He’d been so close to me on the street. What would his lips feel like?

  I covered my face with my hands. Where the hell did that thought come from? I didn’t know the guy. And I didn’t have time for boys, not even ones that looked like him. Black hair, stunning blue eyes, and something hidden beneath all the brawn—a heart. Or maybe he was just playing me. Guys were like that, I’d discovered. Interested until they got what they wanted or, with me, figured out they were never going to get it. Then they left and told their friends what a great fuck they’d had, how easily I’d given it up, how I’d begged for more. All lies. That’s what men were. Liars and users. Just like my father, all of them.

  But David. Hmmm. The way he’d stumbled over his words, the way he’d looked me in the eye—he certainly wasn’t one of the dopey assholes I’d wasted time with before. He was rough, sure, and I’d heard plenty of whispered tales about him doing odd jobs for the Genoa family—but that had to be gossip, right? The Genoas had a ton of guys on payroll to do their dirty work. I shrugged. I wasn’t involved in that life. No mafia princess here.

  David. I let myself smile. He’d been so nervous, the way he didn’t know what to do with his hands. His knuckles were bruised and scarred, and I could tell he’d been in a fight pretty recently, judging by the bruise on his jaw. But he was nothing but gentle with me—even his voice softened, as if he was afraid he’d spook me.

  I sighed. Thinking about him wasn’t smart. The butterflies swooping and diving in my stomach had to stop. I didn’t have time for him. Pulling my few bills from my pocket, I tucked them into an old Hardy Boys book in my bedside table. I had a secret stash in my closet, one I’d use to run when the time was right. But until I had more gains from my sticky-fingered enterprises, I’d have to bide my time with my father.

  Lying back on my bed, I stared at the maps I’d plastered to my ceiling. So many places to go. I wanted to see the world, not just this tiny, dirty corner of it. Looking at the land and oceans, the invisible lines separating countries, I dreamed of crossing it all, experiencing the fullness of life. But my thoughts turned back to my encounter of only a few hours ago. One I’d had in my own ugly corner of the world. A boy who looked more like a man—one with kindness in his eyes but violence written all over his body. I imagined a future where David and I ran away together. Just the two of us. Living life the way it was meant to be. No regrets. I filled in all the details about him I didn’t know, imagining how his hands would feel on me, the things he’d say, the way he’d just know what I needed. Silly, really, given that he could be a giant asshole, but something told me my musings might not be too far off the mark.

  Together, we could fix whatever brokenness we’d started out with. We could be whoever we wanted. All that mattered was that we were away from here.

  4

  David

  “You got a job tonight?” Peter leaned against the brick wall, the graffiti behind him creating a comical halo around his head.

  “Nope.” I’d called my Genoa contact earlier, but he had nothing for me. It’d been two weeks since my last job, and the Genoa money flowing my way seemed to have dried up. “I think we should go.”

  He ran a hand through his hair that needed a cut. “One more job, maybe two. We want to be able to float on our own for a while, you know?”

  “I know, but Gerald—”

  “I can handle that, okay? We’ve taken plenty of beatings. One more won’t kill me.” He shrugged, as if the cut under his eye and the bruises on his ribs meant nothing. They meant something to me.

  “Fucking Gerald.”

  A cicada hummed in the dilapidated tree set into a square of pavement. Across the street, a pack of kids walked by, one of them on a skateboard, the others smoking or talking shit. The heaviest heat of the day pressed on the air, squeezing out beads of sweat from my forehead. Once the sun went down, the streets would radiate warmth, keeping Philly uncomfortable.

  He pushed off the wall. “Let’s go get our McDinner on and then hit up the—”

  I held a hand up as my eyes tracked movement between two of the row houses nearby. Maybe I had a spider sense, because something inside me tingled. Her. It had to be her.

  “What?” He followed my line of sight, but she was gone. Already a ghost through the tall weeds.

  “I gotta go.” I turned and headed toward the spot where the grass still swayed gently.

  “Hey, where—”

  “I’ll see you at home.” I jogged between the graying buildings, my feet quiet on the turf as I headed for the next street over.

  “Fucker.” Peter’s voice followed me, but he didn’t.

  Once I’d made it to the cracked sidewalk, I scanned both sides of the street. She wasn’t there. Had I already lost her?

  Something to my right glinted in the setting sun and caught my eye. A car door was open, but I didn’t see anyone nearby. I quickened my pace and dashed to it, but she wasn’t there. The glove box was open, as was the center console. If she’d scored, I couldn’t imagine she’d gotten much from a beaten-up jalopy in this shit neighborhood.

  Standing up again, I peered around. The weed
s swayed between two houses the next street over. Was she watching me? The thought sent a pulse through me, one that ended in my crotch. Hunting her was a wild turn-on, one I didn’t even know I had. But now that I was on her trail, I had to catch her.

  I skirted around the car and headed between the houses. A flash of dark hair two doors down had me sprinting to catch up. My heart rammed against my ribs, blood thundering in my veins. High, that’s what this felt like. The very first time I’d snorted coke—itching to fight, to do anything that meant I was alive and moving.

  When I turned the corner of the house’s porch, I found her disappearing into a first-floor window. Bold. The sun wasn’t all the way down yet, and anyone could’ve seen her climbing into the house. I glanced around, saw no one, then walked around to the back stoop and crouched behind a bush.

  The house was silent. Whatever she was doing, she had a soft touch. The gloom was deeper in the back yard, an overgrown oak shading the area from the setting sun. Waiting for her like this, in ambush, gave me a rush that verged on animalistic. What was wrong with me? My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t deny the out-of-control feeling of arousal that ran like gasoline in my veins. Angel. Her name repeated in my mind like a prayer, an obsession, a reason for why I happened to be on the street the very first time I saw her slinking through the shadows. Snap out of it, psycho. If she knew the way I felt right now, she’d run far, far away. I needed to cool it, to put whatever weird hormones inside me to bed.

  I had to leave before I got even more out of control. But my feet didn’t cooperate. Not at first. The desire to stay here and catch her, wrap my arms around her body and corner her, tried to overwhelm my reason. I fisted my hands, then relaxed them. Just go. Whatever this is, it isn’t what you need right now.

  Rising from my crouch, I immediately ducked behind the bush again when a sweep of headlights illuminated the side of the house and beamed past me. The lights flicked off and a car door slammed. Fuck! The homeowner. He coughed, the sound low and wet. My skin crawled, instinct telling me that shit just got too real.