Chapter Two
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I wake up on a gasp, sweat drenching my body. I push back damp hair and check the clock. It’s seven o’clock in the morning, which means I’ve been sleeping for oh, about half a second.
No rest for the wicked, I guess.
Another round of raucous knocking at the door is joined by the angry stomps of my upstairs neighbor. “Sorry,” I mutter, pushing the comforter off my legs and standing. The cold immediately settles into my bones, the air in here probably colder than outside.
I take a detour to the kitchen and grab a knife, because West was right. My apartment is not safe, and not only because of the location.
“Who is it?” I yell through the heavy door. The peephole was cracked to hell when I moved in—by an angry ex-boyfriend with a baseball bat, the landlord told me.
“It’s Maisie.” My mother.
I use my foot to push the chair away from the door and unlock the dead bolt. A girl can’t be too careful, especially when there are mobster types who think I have their money.
Maisie holds up a white paper bag gone translucent with grease. “I brought breakfast.”
I step back to let her inside, my stomach growling, my whole body tight with hunger. It doesn’t want whatever dollar taco is in that bag. It wants gnocchi and garlic bread. It wants West.
She slides two hot dogs in cardboard containers onto the counter, the meat shiny and brown. “Voila.”
I make a face. “Are those from yesterday?”
“Don’t get picky,” she says, sliding one over to me and taking the other for herself. “We have bigger problems to worry about.”
Dread sinks in my empty stomach. “Jeb?”
I’ve called my parents Maisie and Jeb for as long as I can remember. They’re more like an aunt and uncle who sweep in on a whirlwind with greasy food and cheap presents—and then leave when they’re ready to go back to their own lives. We’ve spent more Christmases apart than together. I’m eighteen now, so the state thinks I’m old enough to take care of myself. The truth is I’ve been doing that since I turned twelve.
Maisie looks down, but not before a rare flash of emotion crosses her petite features. “They took him.”
I stand up, shoving the stale hot dog away. “You said we had until next week.”
Her face is pale, matching the white-blonde hair I inherited from her. “They moved up the timetable.”
“Christ.” I run my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion. It takes a long time to set up a con this big. Next week was already pushing it. “Why didn’t you tell me about this mess sooner? Maybe we could have worked out a payment plan or, hell, I don’t know.”
She hesitates. “We didn’t want to scare you.”
“You didn’t want to scare me,” I repeat dully. I’d told them I wanted to go straight. I’d told them I’d never steal from the Grand, when they’d first suggested it months ago. Then they’d showed up last week, cowed and terrified—and I’d had to help. “You need me to steal fifty thousand dollars from my dangerous, violent boss or Jeb’s fingers will get cut off. I think we’re past being scared.”
She bites her lip, giving me the pouty look that has gotten her out of so many tight spots. Well, that and her body. Jeb and Maisie are both good-looking, and they
don’t consider anything done in pursuit of a con to be cheating. “We knew you’d get mad,” she said, her eyes going wide.
I hate that I look so much like her. I used that same look on the customers at the Grand to milk them out of their money. It’s nothing like what she does, though. They gave me their money fair and square. Maisie only ever lies and steals.
“Who took him, Maisie?” I know they owe money to someone, but not who. “You need to tell me.”
They’ve been cagey about the whole thing. Of course, that’s standard operating procedure for Jeb and Maisie. Still, I didn’t expected Jeb to be abducted over this—and not so fast.
We should have had more time.
She sighs, her eyes falling shut. “The Caivano family.”
“The mob? You stole money from the goddamn mafia?” God, no wonder Maisie and Jeb are terrified. The Caivano family isn’t likely to work out a payment plan.