Page 29 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“I was just faster.”

“That’s luck, kid.”

I spin around to face him. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Call me kid.” I study his expression, guarded as it is, and glean nothing. “I’m not a kid.”

Grant’s gaze dips to the towel clinging to the curve of my breasts and clears his throat. “I noticed.”

I lean closer and arch my neck toward him. He doesn’t retreat.

“See this?” I trace my finger over a scar behind my ear. “Got that from a job when I was sixteen. My stepbrother forgot to warn me about a broken window. Just missed the artery, the doc said.” My finger lingers on my pulse for a few heartbeats, as if to remind me I’m alive and this is real.

“That who roped you into becoming a thief? Your stepbrother?” Grant cocks his head. His eyes glint in the dim lamplight, shifting from amber to something darker, something richer.

He cut straight to the heart of it. I nod, unable to fix the lie on my tongue. I don’t want to talk about me or my family. I need him to see me. Not a kid. Not the petty thief, the troublemaker, or the murder witness. I want Grant to seeme.

“How old were you?” His voice is soft, with a smoky hoarseness that lends to his appeal.

“Twelve.” I shrug a shoulder like it’s no big deal. “I played distraction while the older boys picked pockets on the subway.”

“Where were your parents?”

“Dad died when I was two. Mom remarried when I was eleven.” My gaze drops to the fraying carpet. “She got sick shortly after.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Quinn.”

I angrily wipe away tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “We didn’t have money for medicine. I had to do something.”

My stepbrother saw my desperation to help mom as a weakness, and he exploited it. For years. It kept her alive for a while, at least until Jim disappeared. Then her health took a dive. But by that point, I was in too deep. It was all I knew.

“Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out.” Grant gives voice to my unspoken thoughts.

“Yeah, something like that.” The towel on my head slips, and my curls tumble free. “Damn it.” I push the hair away from my eyes and shake my head back.

Grant takes a damp curl in his hand and twists it around his finger. “The red is coming through again.”

“Maybe I should pick up some dye.”

“The red looks good.” He slides his finger free of the curl coiled around it.

“Makes me easier to recognize.”

“That’s true.” He regards my hair thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head. “You should get some rest.”

My protest dissipates when he rises from the couch and gathers up the first aid kit. Frustration and shame wash over me.

I grip the towel tightly to keep it from slipping and stand. Grant’s halfway across the room when I turn around. “Thanks for your help.”

“Any time, kid.” He shelves the kit, keeping his back to me.

“Good night.”

“Night.”

A tangle of emotions pierces me as I retreat to the bedroom. Inside, I claw at the towel constricting me and climb into the bed. It’s too hot to wear pajamas.

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