Renegade Path

“And there’s no shortage of fuckers to fight in here.” Eraser cast a malicious glare around the workout room.

They spent the next hour kicking my ass. My baby workouts were barely a warm-up for these two savages. Regular planks weren’t good enough. They introduced me to side planks and star planks, then plank push-ups for fuck’s sake.

“Enough with the fucking planks,” I groaned. “I’m ready to throw up.”

Eraser shoved a bottle of water at me.

I sucked down half of it before setting it on the floor. “I thought you wanted to teach me how to fight?”

“Nah. First we gotta build up your balance and core strength, little buddy.” Griff gave me a pat on the head to go along with his patronizing tone.

I lifted my shirt. “My core strength is solid as a rock.”

Griff launched his fist at my gut. It hit like a missile, pulsing through my body.

“The fuck?” I wheezed.

“That was a fraction of what he can do,” Eraser said.

“Come on.” Griff patted my shoulder. “Your girl will be all hot and bothered when you come back shredded.”

I scowled at him. “My girl’s never complained.”

After that day, we spent every afternoon in the gym. They tortured—I mean trained—me with sadistic glee.

After a few sessions, I felt stronger mentally and physically. And by lights out, I was exhausted, which meant fewer sleepless nights staring at the ceiling worrying about my future.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Roman

The PA system crackled to life. Conversation in the cafeteria stopped while everyone waited for the announcement.

“Roman Hawkins to the front office.”

My gaze shot to the door and I groaned.

A few people made obnoxious “you’re in trouble” noises. But one quick glare from Eraser and they shut up fast.

“Think it’s your caseworker?” Griff asked.

“It better be.” I slammed my spork on the tray and stood.

“Good luck,” Eraser called after me.

The guard at the door nodded as I dumped my tray. “Go ahead.”

Behind me, the cafeteria returned to its usual level of noise.

I shuffled down the long, dim corridor, tucking my freezing fingers up under my sleeves. This place was so damn cold all the time.

I stopped in front of a set of locked double doors and waited to be buzzed into the office. Ms. Simpson stood when she saw me.

She flashed a bright smile. “How are you, Roman?”

Was she for real? Kiddie prison’s a blast, thanks. “Fine.”

“Let’s talk.”

I followed her into a smaller office without answering. There wasn’t much to say. She was nothing more than another person, in a long line of people, who’d betrayed me in my lifetime.

She closed the door and gestured for me to take a seat in the crooked chair across from an empty, beat-up old wooden desk. She took a seat behind it. It didn’t belong to anyone; no family photos, pen cups, or anything personal on the surface. The caseworkers just used this room to meet with us from time to time. It was as dismal as the rest of the place.

“It’s official. No one’s pressing charges for the stolen items.” She smiled as if I should be grateful.

“Am I supposed to say thanks? You know damn well I didn’t do it.”

A slight frown wrinkled her brow and she ducked her head, shuffling through a folder full of forms in front of her. “I found another facility for you. We can work on the transfer papers now. It’s in a different school district…”

“Of course it is.” The best I could hope for now is that it would be somewhere near a bus line so I could see Juliet.

She sighed and shuffled through some papers, then opened her briefcase and pulled out another stack of forms. “Do you know a Mrs. Emma Shields?”

Finally, a spark of hope lit in my chest, but I answered with caution. “Yeah, why?”

“Her attorney has contacted the agency and inquired about fostering you. What’s your connection to her?”

“She’s my girlfriend’s neighbor.” I shrugged. “Juliet and I helped her out from time to time.”

“Well, she’s been very persistent.”

The weight of the hope building inside me stole my breath.

“Really?” I choked out. Mrs. Shields was that worried about me? She cared that much?

“Yes. So, you can either wait here to see if her application is accepted and she passes the home evaluation. Or I can get you transferred to the new facility and if things work out, then you’d move in with her.”

This was probably the first time I’d been given a choice over anything concerning my life. Stay in this hellhole or move into the unknown?

Both options sucked.

“How long will it take for her to get approved?”

“I’ve asked them to fast-track her application, but it could still be a few more weeks.”

I was pathetically unprepared to make such a big decision, so I tried weighing the options. Here, was familiar. I knew what I was dealing with. Griff and Eraser had my back. A new facility could be worse. “Whatever. I’ll stay here.”