Page 60 of Pocketful of Shame

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing in Pocketful is as it seems," Presley recited the words that haunted my dreams. "Think about it."

"My dad wouldn't lie to me," Sketch strangled out, trembling. "He cares about me."

"Not enough," Presley huffed.

"That's enough," I warned, giving Pres a meaningful look. "Stop," I mouthed to him, feeling Sketch's entire frame vibrate with tension alongside me. "Just take it down a notch."

"There's something very wrong with your families," Pres declared, leaning back in his seat.

"Why are you looking atmewhen you say that?" Sketch growled, instantly on the defensive.

"Because you are a complete victim in all of this," Pres replied without hesitation. "It makes me sad and I feel sorry for you."

"Don’t," Sketch growled. "I don’t want your pity."

"Too bad because you have it, and I'd hug you if I didn’t think you'd strangle me to –"

"Touch me and you'll be joining my brother in his plot," Sketch warned, holding a finger up. "I mean it."

"Broken baby lion cub," Pres said with a sad sigh.

"Yeah, I'm done." Sketch jerked to his feet and this time I didn’t stop him when he climbed over me and stalked away. He'd reached his limit and I wasn't about to push him over the edge.

"Do you have to goad him?" I asked, staring after his back as he shoved the door of the diner open and stalked outside.

"What?" Presley huffed defensively. "You can't tell me that you don’t feel bad for the guy?"

"Of course I do," I replied. "But you can't pull that crap with him. He's prideful. And private."

"Yeah, well, the pride before the fall," Pres muttered, waving a hand around. "All I know is that his parents – the mom more than the dad – are real pieces of shit."

"Agreed," I said with a sigh. "A-freaking-greed, Pres."

"Actually, I'm not done, asshole," I heard Sketch growl as he stalked back inside, moving straight for us. "I'm not even close to being done because you don’t know a goddamn thing about my family –"

The sound of a gunshot ricocheted through the air, causing the window we were sitting beside to explode, and thousands of shards of broken glass to rain down on us.

Chapter Twenty-One

Romi

Everything happened in slow motion after that. The people in the restaurant started screaming and running for their lives, more gunshots blasting around us, but I couldn’t move a muscle.

Trapped beneath an insufferable weight, I held my breath, paralyzed with fear, as images of the night behind that dumpster flashed through my mind...

"…You can't be in Pocketful after your eighteenth birthday. They're coming for you... For both of you."

"…You're gonna park your sweet little ass in your daddy's mansion andstay there…"

"…Right now, I need you to keep on forgetting, but when it's time to remember, you'll find what you need in here..."

"…You even think about running away, and I'll put a bullet in his brain..."

"Snap out of it," Sketch's voice dragged me back to reality. "We need to move." Blinking rapidly, I registered the weight I was feeling was his body as he pinned me to the floor. "Look at me, Ro," he whispered, breathing hard and fast. Pushing my hair off my face, he gripped my jaw in his blood-smeared hand and forced me to look at him. "Good, now stay with me," he instructed. "I've got you."

I nodded frantically, too terrified to say a word, as gunshots sounded close by.

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