Unhinged (Necessary Evils #1)(3)

It was strange how seamlessly one could blend if they just pretended they belonged. Even somebody who spent much of his time in the public eye. Somebody famous in certain circles. He supposed it was almost easier to blend in when the alternative seemed preposterous. And the youngest son of billionaire Thomas Mulvaney walking around alone in the worst part of town in the wee hours of the morning seemed pretty preposterous.

But that wasn’t who Adam was either. In truth, Adam was nobody. A carefully crafted lie, raised specifically to right the wrongs of others. A lie he had executed so well that, sometimes, even he believed it. But it wasn’t real. Any of it. Maybe that was what truly made his walks the best thing about his nights. Nobody gave a shit about him on this side of town. They didn’t know the Mulvaney name or who the world thought he was. They didn’t care.

He cut through a dark alley to the entrance of the hollowed out shell of a building where he kept his…supplies. He didn’t need light to see his way around. He’d been using this particular shelter since he was fifteen. He just needed to drop the knife in his kit and then he’d be on his way. He might even make it home by midnight.

Adam didn’t hear the scuffing of sneakers over concrete until it was too late. The sound of a gun’s hammer cocking quickly followed, echoing through the empty space. Still, he didn’t slow his pace until a wobbly voice shouted, “Stop.”

Adam was tempted to ignore the request. The owner of the voice sounded young, uncertain. Terrified, really. It wasn’t uncommon for homeless kids to try to find shelter when it grew cold outside. He was probably a junkie. A tweaker looking for quick cash or drugs. But the likelihood of getting shot wasn’t zero, and even twitchy junkies sometimes got lucky and hit an artery. His father would resurrect him just to kill him again if he got himself merced in this part of town.

He slowed to a halt with a sigh, turning to face his assailant. He was definitely an amateur. He’d stopped directly in the only pool of light in the darkened space, illuminating his features in great enough detail that Adam could have drawn the boy’s sketch from memory.

He was the antithesis of Adam, fair and freckled where he was tan, messy light brown hair where Adam’s was jet black, small and delicate boned in direct opposition to Adam’s swimmer’s body. He most likely wasn’t much younger than Adam. He looked to be in his early twenties.

The kid, whoever he was, had never held a gun before. That much was clear by his stance and the way his hand trembled, but his finger hovering directly over the trigger meant Adam gave him the same care he’d give any other predator.

“Okay, you got me. Now what?” Adam asked.

“Put your hood down,” the boy demanded, gun twitching in his hand as he spoke.

Adam frowned at the odd request. “Why?”

The kid seemed to hesitate, like he hadn’t expected Adam to argue with him. He thought the gun gave him an advantage. It probably did for most. But not to Adam.

He shook the gun. “Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

Adam took a single step forward, watching with interest as the boy took a step back. “No.”

His eyes bulged. He looked near tears. “No? I’ll fucking shoot you in the face.”

Lie. “Then do it.”

Adam watched as the boy’s finger twitched on the trigger. Oh, he wanted to do it. He wanted Adam dead. Interesting. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. There was no shortage of criminals in this area. Plenty of people to hold a grudge.

“I know who you are,” the boy said, confidence edging into his voice.

Adam couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, yeah? Who do you think I am?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, a pained smile forming on his face. He was sweating despite the cold, but Adam no longer thought he was a drug addict. The boy was terrified, but his eyes were clear, his skin flawless. This boy wasn’t a junkie.

“Adam. Mulvaney.” He enunciated each syllable, like saying it out loud might invoke some sort of supernatural wrath.

His name on the boy’s lips wiped the smirk off his face. If he didn’t need to hide his identity, then he might as well show his face. Might as well give the boy the appearance of control. He pushed the hood off his face. “And who are you?”

There was no hesitation. “Noah.”

Adam mouthed the boy’s name. He hadn’t expected him to answer him. People who intended to let their victims live didn’t give their names. That didn’t bode well for poor Noah, who looked like life had already run him over more than once.

“Okay. What is it you want, Noah? Cash? Drugs? I have a hundred bucks on me, but if you take my debit card, you can access a lot more. I’ll even give you my pin.”

The boy’s face twisted with a fury that almost looked comical on his innocent freckled little face. Almost. “It’s just that easy for you, huh? Just throw money at it. How do you do it?”

“Do what? I’m just trying to make sure we all go home tonight. I have money. You look like you could use some help. Nobody blames you for doing what you have to do to survive.”

That only made him more angry, if that was even possible. “People really don’t see who you are, do they? You lie so easily.”

He wasn’t wrong. That probably unsettled Adam more than anything. Whoever Noah was, he’d done his homework. Noah was signing his own fucking death warrant. Adam didn’t like the sharp stabbing pain that came thinking this was going to end badly for the boy.