The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

The wiseguys down my block said he had blood on his hands.

That he threatened, tortured, and killed people.

Nobody messed with Troy. Nobody kicked him out of the house or yelled at him or told him he was their worst mistake. And he had that thing about him, like … like he was made out of marble. Sometimes I looked at his chest and was surprised to see it moved.

I wanted to be him so much that when I thought about it my bones began to hurt.

His existence just seemed louder than anyone else’s.

Whenever Uncle Troy disappeared in the middle of the night, he always came back bruised and disheveled. He’d bring dunks and ignore the fact he smelled of gunpowder and blood. He would tell us bad jokes at the table while we ate, and to make sure Sailor wasn’t scared anymore, he’d tell her he saw the monster family that lived in her closet move out.

One time he bled all over a donut, and Sailor had eaten it because she thought it was Christmas frosting. Aunt Sparrow was close to nuclear explosion. She’d chased him around the kitchen with a broomstick while Sail and I giggled, swatting it about and actually catching his ear twice. When she finally caught him (only because he let her), he captured both her wrists and lowered her to the floor and kissed her hard on the mouth. I thought I saw some tongue, too, but then she swatted his chest and giggled.

Everyone was so happy and laughed so much, Sailor had an accident, and she never had accidents anymore.

But then I’d felt my chest tighten because I knew they’d send me back to Cat later that afternoon. It reminded me I wasn’t really a part of their family.

It was the only good moment I had. I’d play it over and over, lying in my bed, every time I heard Cat’s bedsprings whine under the weight of a stranger.

“We’ll take him,” Sparrow announced coldly. “Off you go. We’ll send you the paperwork as soon as our lawyer drafts the documents.”

My chest filled with something warm just then. Something I’d never felt before. I couldn’t stop it. It felt good. Hope? Opportunity? I couldn’t put a name on it.

“Red,” Troy breathed his wife’s nickname.

And just like that, my insides turned cold again. He didn’t want to adopt me. Why would he? They already had one perfect daughter. Sailor was cute and funny and normal. She didn’t get into fights, hadn’t been expelled three times, and definitely hadn’t broken six bones in her body doing dangerous shit because pain reminded her she was still alive.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew where I was headed—the streets. Kids like me didn’t get adopted. They got into trouble.

“No,” Sparrow snapped at him. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. I got really scared. I wanted to shake Cat and tell her how much I hated her. That she should’ve died instead of Grandma Maria. That she deserved to die. With all her drugs and boyfriends and rehab trips.

I never told anyone how she used to give me shots of rum to make me sleep. Whenever Troy or Sparrow paid us surprise visits, she’d rub white powder on my gums to wake me up. She’d curse under her breath, threatening to burn me if I didn’t wake up.

I was seven when I realized I was an addict.

If I didn’t get the white powder daily, I shook and sweated and screamed into my pillow until I ran out of energy and passed out.

I was eight when I kicked the habit.

I’d just refused to let her give me rum or powder. Went crazy every time she came near me with that stuff. Once, I bit Cat’s arm so bad a part of her skin stayed in my mouth, salty and metallic and hard against my teeth.

She never tried again after that.

“You’re fucking lucky my wife is stubborn as hell,” Troy hissed. “We’ll take Sam, but there will be stipulations—and many of them.”

“Shocker,” Cat bit out. “Let’s hear them.”

“You’ll hand him over and sign all the legal paperwork, no negotiations and without asking for a penny.”

“Done,” Cat cackled humorlessly.

“You’ll fuck off from Boston. Move far away. And when I say far, Catalina, I mean somewhere he can’t see you. Where the memory of his deadbeat mother doesn’t burn hot. Another planet is preferable, but since we can’t risk aliens meeting you and thinking we’re all cunts, two states away minimum is my requirement. And if you ever come back—which I sincerely recommend against—you’ll go through me if you wanna see him. You walk away from him now, you lose all your motherly privileges. If I catch you messing with this kid, my kid…” he paused for emphasis “…I will give you the slow, painful death you’ve been begging for almost a decade, and I will make you watch your own death in the mirror, you vain waste of oxygen.”