Page 5 of Ruthless King
Sometimes, I barely remember the old version of my dad, but every once in a while I get tiny glimpses. It only makes it worse.
“Be right back.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles without looking up.
I trudge to the door, doing my best to keep my feet from dragging. No matter how hard I try, sometimes I’m sure we’re cursed. Just when I start to see a light at the end of the tunnel, someone slams the door shut in my face.
Once I’m out in the hallway, I stop and lean against the peeling wallpaper and exhale a slow breath. A tear trickles out despite my best efforts. I blink quickly to force the deluge back. After I get Dad fed, I can disappear into my room and let it all out.
The click of the deadbolt behind me sends my heart jolting up my throat.Geez, chill, Stella.
Cazzo,we are so screwed.
CHAPTER3
A SURPRISE AND A TWIST
Stella
I’m still trying to convince myself some knee-busting loan shark isn’t coming after us as I walk up the steps with the heaping tray of spaghetti and meatballs.Grazie a Diofor Mrs. D. She is not a big fan of my dad, so I had to lie and promise the delicious meal was for my mouth only.
I pause on the last step and peer around the corner. All clear. I release a breath, chastising myself for being so paranoid. So Dad owed twenty-five k to some unnamed organization? It didn’t mean we were going to get killed for it, right?
As I creep down the hallway, something catches my eye in front of our door. I narrow my gaze and inch closer. A book? I hurry the last few steps as my pulse accelerates. My eyes finally settle on the massive text and the post-it note taped to the cover.
How did Bo rescue it from the subway? I should’ve been thankful, but it would’ve never ended up on the tracks if the dickhead hadn’t chucked it on there in a jealous fit.
Gently lowering the heaping container of pasta to the floor, I nearly crumple up the note until I focus on the smooth penmanship. It’s not from Bo. I’d recognize his choppy writing anywhere. Bending closer, I scan the neatly penned words.
You forgot something when you ran off without thanking me.
An unexpected chuckle bursts from my lips. I turn the note around to search for a signature but only find a crude design—of a crown, maybe? For someone with such neat writing, my subway savior couldn’t draw for shit.
I pick up the book and the attached post-it and press it against my chest. That new book smell wafts up my nostrils. My rescuer hadn’t just recovered it before it got smashed to smithereens by the subway; he’d bought me an entirely new one. That was pretty decent of the guy. These textbooks are expensive as hell.
“If you wanted me to thank you, you should’ve at least left me your name,” I mumble out loud. Great, now I was talking to myself. Dad’s gambling problems were already getting to me.
Between the book and the platter, I don’t have enough hands to open the door, so I give the worn wood a little kick.
I hear the squeak of the peephole opening a second before the front door whips open, and Dad’s wide eyes bore into me. He scans the empty corridor, then releases a breath. Damn, how bad of a situation had he gotten us into? Did he really think his booky would be coming for us already?
Before I can ask, Dad grabs the platter from my hands and dips back inside. He either doesn’t notice the huge book or doesn’t care enough to ask. Probably the latter. “Save me some!” I call out as he disappears into the kitchenette.
Mrs. DeVito’s spaghetti and meatballs are almost as good as Mom’s. Or at least that’s how I remember it. I trudge into my bedroom which is actually the living room with a makeshift wall to give the pretense of privacy. Not that I’d ever bring a guy home with me anyway. After Bo, I’d sworn off all men. They just weren’t worth the hassle.
Maybe the sun-kissed surfers in Florida would be different. I could hope, anyway.
Dropping the brand-new textbook on my desk in the corner, I heave out a breath. Just a little over a month and school would be over. I’ll finish out the summer working at Mrs. D’s and hopefully I’ll have enough money saved for my grand escape. I sure as hell wasn’t giving a penny of my savings to Dad for that gambling debt. After my run-in with Bo today, I’d decided that even if I didn’t make it into any of the universities in Florida, I was out of here one way or another.
“Shit.” Dad’s muttered curse tears my thoughts from sunny beaches to my dismal reality.
I hurry out of my room and catch him with a mouthful of spaghetti glaring at the screen on his old flip phone. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re fucked that’s what.”
My head snaps back at the bitter edge to his tone. He curses like a sailor when he’s drunk, but his gaze is clear now.
He swallows down the big bite and drags his hand over his balding head, pacing the small length of our apartment. “That Jimmy screwed me over big time.”
