I don’t know what the hell that was, but damn it, I’m intrigued. I need to know who those guys are and I won’t let anything stand in my way.
I didn’t think it was possible but Ravenwood Heights just got interesting.
CHAPTER 2
A scowl stretches across my face as I pull into the driveway of Irene and Kurt’s shitty two-bedroom home. I open the dodgy fence that keeps the yappy dog contained and cringe at the high-pitched squeak that tears through the quiet neighborhood.
I dart across the front lawn and have to skip to the door before the dog starts nipping at my ankles. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely a dog person. Most of the time, I can’t get enough of them, but there’s just something about this one that has me squirming to get away. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way it seems to constantly watch me, or how it jumps up at my bedroom window all night, its nails scratching against the glass.
I fish through my bra for the key that Irene had reluctantly given me, and as I open the door, I instantly groan, finding both Irene and Kurt sitting in the living room. It’s well after 11:30 at night, and for a moment, I wonder if they were sitting up to wait for me but quickly realize they hadn’t given me one thought since I walked out first thing this morning.
My stomach grumbles and I walk through to the kitchen to find nothing waiting on the table for me. I let out a sigh and turn to the fridge. Maybe they’d put dinner away, but as I scan through the shelves, I find nothing. “What do you think you’re doing?” Irene snaps, suddenly standing right behind me in the kitchen. “You don’t see me going through your belongings, so why the hell are you going through my fridge?”
I turn around to meet her horrid stare. “I’m hungry,” I grumble, slightly confused. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“Well, that’s your problem, not mine,” she throws right back at me. “The deal is that I give you a roof to live under. You’re already using my water and my electricity. You’re not taking my food too.”
The fuck?
I gape at her for a minute. Is she for real?
Surely feeding the foster kid is just common sense, right? Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t exactly looked into the contracts between the state and the foster parents, but surely there’s a section that states ‘the child must not die of starvation.’ What do they think the check they get at the end of the month is for? It’s not just to cover their inconvenience. It’s not just something to help feed their alcohol and gambling addictions.
Fuck me.
I give her a blank stare, tempted to ignore her and grab a packet of crackers and retreat to my room when Kurt’s voice rings through the house. “What are you waiting for? She told you to get, now go. Get out of my kitchen. It’s off-limits to you.”
You’ve got to be kidding. Not in the mood to start shit tonight, I move past Irene, shoulder charging her as I go and listening to her over-the-top dramatic howling behind me. I retreat to my room, making sure to close the door behind me and lock it before double-checking that the lock actually works. I’ve been in homes before where the lock is just for show, and the majority of the time, it’s because there are dickhead men who like to sneak in at night.
I’ve been lucky that I haven’t been in a position to have a man force himself on me, but it’s not uncommon with some of the other girls I’ve met in similar situations. It’s part of the reason I’ve learned to fight.
Out of the eighteen homes I’ve been in, only two of them had foster parents who actually gave a shit about me. Karleigh was a great foster mom, and I was with her between the ages of nine to thirteen. She saw something in me that I never saw in myself and was able to help me put aside the anger. Instead of getting in fights at school, she enrolled me in martial arts. That went well for a while—until I started beating the shit out of the other students as a way to let the anger out. I was kicked out after six months of training, but I took away a lot of skills that have always stayed with me.
Karleigh got me one of those heavy boxing bags that the MMA dudes train with after that. She hung it in the backyard, and regardless of the weather, I was out there pummeling my fists into it until they bled.
Good times.
I flip off my light and drop down onto the side of my bed, the moonlight from my window enough to guide me so that I’m not fumbling around in the dark.