The Hitman's Angel
Jessa Kane
CHAPTER ONE
Margaret
I should have stayed out of sight.
That’s the thought that repeats over and over in my head as I’m being dragged by my elbow down the stairs. My stepfather gives me no chance to gain my footing, so I’m essentially a skidding, flailing blur of awkward limbs. I smack the side of my head off the railing and almost welcome the stars that wink in front of my eyes—they’re a vast improvement after looking at Hank’s disgusted expression.
God, he hates me so much. More than I hate raisins baked into bread.
Why do people insist on ruining good bread?
Hank throws me to the floor and pins me there with a sneer. “You’re done sponging off me, girl. You’re old enough to earn your keep now.” He crosses his battered arms over his T-shirt, which reads Hank’s All-Nude Review. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the food missing from my refrigerator?”
“How else am I supposed to eat?” I’m not being a smart-ass. It’s an honest question. There’s nowhere else to get food, because he keeps me locked up. “You won’t let me leave.”
He backhands me across the mouth before I can duck. “Don’t sass me, you little brat.”
I lick the blood off my lip, pretending it’s his and not mine. “Sorry.”
“You should be. I tried to do the responsible thing. Your mama took off and I kept you here, safe, for when she came back.” His smile is ugly. “Well, looks like she ain’t coming back and if I’ve got my math right, you’re eighteen now. Time to pay your way or get out.”
“Great. Which way is the door?”
This time, I manage to avoid his flying hand, scuttling back on the floor until I reach the wall of the dingy living room and can go no farther. Never one to let an insult stand, Hank stomps close and leans down, his beer breath bathing my face. “You wouldn’t last an hour out there alone, not a penny to your name.” He points to the window and the rundown streets of Baltimore beyond. “You know what happens to girls who look like you when they ain’t got a man to protect them? They end up on their knees in a public bathroom, just trying to make enough cash to eat off the dollar menu. You’re lucky to have me.”
I was worried about this. Hank has been threatening to kick me out ever since my mother split for Mexico with a new man—a photographer she met downstairs stripping at the Review. Hank is dead in love with my mother. But here’s the thing, hundreds of men have believed themselves in love with my mother since I was a child. She’s a modern-day siren, calling sailors toward the rocks, except she can’t sing for shit. It’s more about her amazing rack.
Anyway. Being in love with my mother is why Hank kept me around. Hoping to earn points if she comes crawling back, broke and regretful. Look at me. I’m the husband and father you need.
Eye roll.
It has been six months, though, and my mother hasn’t even called. Obviously Hank had a few drinks and a long-awaited male epiphany this afternoon and realized his lady love is gone for good. I saw this day coming and I had a feeling Hank has been bluffing about kicking me out. Men like Hank don’t cut their losses. No. They’re driven by getting the last word.
Apparently, I’m going to be the last word he gets against my mother.
I’ve been working up my courage for the last six months, just in case he actually stayed true to his threats and booted me to the curb. I could have snuck out my window long before now. Or simply walked out when he passed out drunk on the couch. But—and this pains me to admit—he’s right. I have no survival skills. My mother left my real father thinking she could make it on her own and she was blowing truck drivers within the week.
I don’t want that. I’m terrified of that.
But I’ve finally worked up the bravery to try. To find a job and a cheap place to sleep, until I have enough cash to get out of Baltimore. My other option is to stay in this rank, disgusting place with a man who hates me, thanks to my resemblance to mom. And that’s no option at all. It doesn’t seem like he’s giving me one, anyway.
“How do you propose I earn my keep when you won’t let me leave?”
I already know the answer and his wolfish expression confirms it. “Did your mama teach you any of her moves on the pole, girl?”
Heat rushes to my face. “No.”
“Well, you better learn fast.” He reaches down and fists a hunk of my hair, dragging me toward the hallway of the apartment building. I scramble to crawl faster so I don’t lose all of the hair on the left side of my head. Although maybe I should just let him rip it out. No one wants a half-bald stripper, right? And I most definitely don’t want to take my clothes off for men like Hank. God, the idea makes my skin crawl.
The closer we get to the hallway, the louder the drunken cheers downstairs become. Hank lives above his own strip club, because it’s convenient and also, I suspect, he might catch on fire if he actually leaves the building and is exposed to sunlight. I’ve never been inside the place, even when my mother was the headliner, but it appears I’m about to get the grand tour.
“You know something?” he grits out, yanking me to my feet and forcing me down the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. “I hope your mama does come back so she can see what you’ll become. She wants to throw me away like yesterday’s coffee grounds? Well we’ll see who’s the garbage around here. She is. And now you will be, too.”