Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
The box of delicate ornaments fell from my hands and crashed to the pavement as I clawed and struggled against the hard grip that dug painfully into my jaw.
My heels scraped against the cement as I kicked out, to no avail.
An arm wrapped across my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs as I was dragged against my will into the dark alley next to the church.
CHAPTER 2
THOMAS
The alley smelled of piss, pizza, and desperation.
It was a vile combination, even when muted by the biting cold of the sharp wind.
The city had always been swarming with sinners, all pretending to be good people. As if the dollar a man dropped in the collection plate absolved him of the adultery staining his soul or rid his wife of her demons.
Maybe it did.
But as she walked out of the church, popping one of her kid’s Ritalin pills followed by an oxy and a drink out of her overpriced fashionable tumbler so that she could keep up with the Joneses, all while pretending she didn’t know her husband was screwing the nanny in the next room, her demon was alive and well before she reached her car. And her husband’s soul would be soiled just as soon as his kids went to bed.
The same people showed up every week, not because they believed in God’s mercy or the salvation the church provided, but because that was what “good people” did. They were ones to talk about the godliness of their charitable acts but would kick a homeless man who dared to ask for a buck.
God, I missed New York City.
A muffled scream came from further in the alley, and I followed the noise, a dark excitement buzzing in my veins.
“Hey, you get your hands off of her,” I yelled as I saw four men, all dressed in black, wearing matching ski masks—as if the bright red hair sticking out, freckles on their exposed skin, and green-and-black tattoos peeking out from their sleeves didn’t identify them as Irish mob.
Usually, I wouldn’t care.
My family had spent enough time in bed with the Irish mob for me to know that crawling in myself wasn’t worth the hassle. But the girl in their possession wasn’t some Irish street rat.
She was a means to an end.
My means for my ends.
They could pursue other avenues of retaliation.
“Mind your business,” one of them yelled.
“She is my business,” I said calmly. “Leave now.”
“He ain’t going to do nothing,” one man said.
“I could call the police,” I bluffed.
There was no way I would call the police. They would only get in my way.
They laughed again, and one broke off from his little group and moved toward me. I got a glimpse of the girl who was still between them. Her eyes were wide in terror, her face red, probably from being hit, and one of them had their hand on her breast.
She should be scared.
The man coming in my direction had a cocky gait to his step and a wide smile as he told me how he was going to teach me how to mind my manners.
Pride cometh before the fall.
He didn’t even attempt to hide what moves he was going to try. He took his sweet time to wind his arm back and put all his substantial weight behind his fist. Had no one trained these men at all? He swung, and I stepped to the side, clearing the path of his fist so his force made him stumble. Before he could regain his balance, I kicked at the back of his weight-bearing leg and he face-planted on the hard, dirty pavement.
His friends roared with laughter while he got back to his feet.
“You’re going to regret that, asshole,” he snarled, blood already trickling from the corner of his twisted mouth.
“I’m ready when you are, princess,” I taunted. He seemed like the kind to get mad quickly.
Goading your opponent into an emotional response was always the surest way to win any match. Emotions clouded people’s judgment, turning them sloppy and rash.
Sure enough, his ghastly pale skin turned bright red under his mask, and he lashed out again, this time crouching down and running at me like he was a bull.
Nothing about how this man acted before this display of anger led me to think he was intelligent, but this was a stunning example of “too angry to think things through.”
Another step to the side, and the man head-butted a dumpster. My ears ached from the resulting bang, so I could only imagine how he felt.
He was out cold, so I turned back to his friends. They weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, two of them came at me, the last one holding the girl.
These men were smarter, or at least more cautious.
“You’re going to pay for that,” one seethed.
“I didn’t do a damn thing. It’s not my fault you inbred Irish sheep fuckers are simply too dumb to know not to ram your head into a dumpster.” I dropped my jaw and raised my hand to my face as if some brilliant thought had just occurred. “That’s it, isn’t it! His dad fucked a sheep, and now that asshole is part ram. It all makes sense now.”