But she also needed money to buy them food and clothes. And growing boys needed a lot of both.
She got out of the town car that Jardin insisted she use to get home. She’d had it drop her off outside her neighbors’ place, where the boys were. Fuck, her neighborhood was creepy in the dark. She walked quickly across the street, her gaze roaming her surroundings. It felt like someone was watching her.
Her instincts warned her to run. But she knew better. If someone were watching, it would be like dangling a red flag in front of a bull. By the time she reached Juanita’s, her breath was coming in sharp pants and she was sweating.
Christ. Way to overreact to nothing.
She knocked on the door. Ella, Juanita’s thirteen-year-old daughter answered. She had on way too much makeup and her clothes were several sizes too small. Hard eyes stared out at Thea before she turned and walked away without saying anything.
Thea got it. Living in this kind of neighborhood eventually sucked your soul. It could crush you. That was why she was determined to do better for Ace and Keir. She’d make sure they didn’t end up in some gang or dead from an overdose before twenty. They were so smart they’d qualified for a scholarship to go to a private school. They were going to do something with their lives. Be better than she was.
The sound of the boys yelling greeted her, and they rushed down the stairs, brandishing fake swords, which were actually just large sticks, and horsing around. Diego, Juanita’s youngest son, was with them.
“Guys!” she yelled. “It’s time to go home.”
“Aw,” Keir said, turning with a pout. “Can’t we stay? Diego’s mom’s making tacos.”
And all they’d likely get at home was scrambled eggs and toast. She got it. She wished she had the time to make them proper meals. But she was already dead on her feet.
Juanita popped her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, chica. Get in here, take a load off.”
“Hey, Juanita, thanks for having the boys. But we should get going.”
“Stay for dinner.”
The boys whooped and took off. Guilt filled Thea. Juanita had four kids. And while her husband had a job, they weren’t much better off than Thea. Yet they always had extra food for whomever walked through their door. They were good people. They took great care of their kids and it was clear they loved each other. Thea often found herself jealous of the way Juanita’s husband looked at her, like she was his whole world.
“Don’t give me that look,” Juanita told her. “There’s plenty of food. Sal’s working a double shift, so he won’t be home until later. Sit. Tell me what’s happening.”
An hour and a half later, her belly full with good food and her heart lightened with friendship, she made her way down the street with the boys. She blamed her inattention on her sleepy state and that’s why her danger radar didn’t go off as soon as they stepped into the rundown house that their landlord took great pleasure in charging them rent for while never doing anything to fix up the place. And that included the holes in the roof that leaked when it rained.
She opened the door, ducking just in time as a fist swung at her face.
“Boys, bedroom. Now!” she screamed, backing away and blocking the next swipe at her face. At least he was only using his fists. One time, he’d greeted her with a baseball bat and broken her arm in two places. It still ached on cold days.
Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed with rage. The fact that she’d managed to escape his meaty fists only stirred his fury. She dodged back as the boys raced out of the room. They knew what to do when the bastard got like that.
Get the fuck away from the psycho.
The stench of bourbon and piss filled the air, making her gag. Her dad was dressed in a holey, white wife-beater, pit stains under the arms. His jeans sagged off him. His muscle might be turning to fat and his body might be deteriorating from years of abuse, but he still had a good hundred pounds and a whole foot of height on her.
Plus, he was a nasty son of a bitch with zero morals.
“Where’s my money, bitch!” His face was red, mottled.
She forced herself not run off. She couldn’t escape him. Not with the boys in the house. She just had to keep him away from them, and survive as best she could.
He lunged out at her, his hand pulling back to crack across her face. She ducked and dove forward, tackling him. Her skin crawled where she touched him. And she only managed to push him over because he was already unsteady from hours of drinking before they’d gotten there.
She’d gotten rid of all the booze in the house, so he’d obviously brought it with him.
He roared and climbed to his feet as she shifted away. But her foot connected with the arm of a chair and she toppled over, unable to catch herself on the ridiculous heels she wore.
“I know you took it, bitch! I need my money!”
She had no idea what money he was talking about since he never had any. Other than what he stole from her, that was.
She scrambled backward as he made his way over to her, breath heaving from his chest.
“I want my fucking money.” He reached down, grabbing her shirt and ripping the front, exposing her plain, cotton bra. His gaze fixated on her chest.
Her heart raced, fear making it hard for her to think. To react. He’d never touched her like that before. He’d bruised her, made her bleed, made her dream time after time of revenge, of escape.
But he’d never hurt her sexually.
Something shifted in his face. Something calculating.
“Maybe there’s another way. Maybe I don’t need the money. Maybe he’ll take you instead.” He started cackling as she stared at him in shock. Had he finally lost it?
“Yeah, ’bout time you paid me back after I fed and sheltered you all these years.”
Yep, he’d lost it. Fed and sheltered her? She’d taken care of herself all these years. With no help from him. In fact, he’d been more of a fucking hindrance.
If it weren’t for the boys, she’d have left a long time ago.
Reaching down, he grabbed her sore hand before she could stop him. “What’s this? Got a little boo-boo?”
He squeezed until she screamed in pain. A satisfied smirk crossed his face. He wouldn’t be happy until he’d exacted his pain. Using her other hand, she dug her nails into his wrist to try to force him to let go.
“Get the fuck away from me,” she yelled at him.
He loosened his hold on her hand only to grab hold of her neck, pressing her to the floor. His hand tightened around her neck until she knew it would bruise, until dark dots danced in front of her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Shit! He was going to kill her!
“Pathetic bitch.”
He let go of her. She lay still, gasping. She couldn’t risk incurring more of his wrath. Not when she had the boys to think of. If anything happened to her . . .
He stepped back, chuckling to himself and stumbled over to where her purse was. She didn’t even bother protesting as he searched around inside it, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. She knew better than to keep anything more in there.
Her cash supply was hidden safely away from his greedy hands.
On his way out the door, he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of bourbon, drank the rest then threw it against the wall. It landed with a crash, but she didn’t even flinch. Small price to pay.