Laura Drake - The Reasons to Stay

Her hands fisted. “Oh, yes. He is.” It came out as the growled warning of a junkyard dog.

A muscle worked at the side of Adam’s jaw. When he leaned in, Priss was suddenly aware of his size. She felt the brush of his fury on her face. “Oh, no. He isn’t.”

“Read your lease. It bans pets, not kids.”

The spasm in his hands told her just when he realized he’d been had. His eyes narrowed to slits. “You lied to me!”

“You never asked.”

“It never occurred to me to ask a young woman—”

“Well, that’s not my fault.” When the storm in his eyes worsened, tornado sirens went off in her mind. She’d pushed too far. Her deep, cleansing breath doused the last flickering flames of her anger. “Look. This is not going to be a problem. I’m home from the bar a half hour after he gets home from school, and—”

“The bar?”

“My job. I’m a bartender at Bar None.”

Fists clenched, he looked up to the inside of the awning. Priss knew it was a prayer on his part, asking for strength.

“You have a problem with how I earn your rent money, dude?” She tightened the muscles of her chest and core, attempting to smother the anger flare-up that she couldn’t afford. The battle wouldn’t matter if she lost the war.

He took a step back, eyes narrowed. “Yes, I have many problems actually. You told me you were in customer service.”

Ouch. A rare attack of conscience slipped like a shiv between her ribs. “A bartender is a customer service job.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Look, I promise you that my brother is not going to be a problem.” She crooked a finger at Nacho who, in spite of his casual perusal of the street, was listening to every word.

He walked over to Priss immediately.

She pointed a finger at Adam. “You tell this man that you’re sorry. And that this is never going to happen again.”

Maybe the kid did have some survival instinct, because he looked up at the pissed-off pharmacist with tears in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Damned right it won’t. I may not be able to evict you but I’m going to be watching.” He studied Nacho as if he were a small, venomous snake. “The only reason I’m not having you arrested is because you just lost your mother.” He shot a glance at Priss, and then back. “But you are not allowed in my store. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Nacho’s voice shook.

Is this an act? He was either very good or very sorry. Priss intended to find out which, as soon as she got him upstairs.

“I am not happy about this. But it appears I have no choice.” Adam turned to look down on her. “For the moment.” He turned on his heel, strode to the door, pulled it open, and with one backward glare, walked in.

Priss felt a wasp-sting of regret for having misled him. But she hadn’t had a choice; the county had put her back against the wall.

Screw it. He didn’t matter. Nacho did.

She took a firm hold of his upper arm and pulled. “You and me, dude. We need to talk.” She led him around the building to the back entrance. The entrance she’d been relegated to as a kid. The one she’d worked her ass off to avoid since.

Until today.

CHAPTER FIVE

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO YELL. In spite of the anger singing in her veins, Priss managed to close the apartment door gently.

Nacho crossed to the window that looked down on Hollister. “This is cool.”

The setting sun highlighted the soft planes of his face, reminding her that he was still a boy. One who had just lost his old life, such as it was. And she planned to show him that life could be better than he’d known so far—after she killed him. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how close you just came to going to juvie?”

He walked past the kitchen, to the bedroom. “Where do I sleep?”

“The big couch in the living room opens to a bed.”

“Okay.” His voice echoed from the bathroom.

“Get your butt out here. We’re not done.”

He slouched back in the room, and leaned against the doorjamb, thumbs in his low-rider jeans pockets. She pointed to the table for two between the kitchen and the living area. He walked over, sat and crossed his arms over his chest.

Priss took a deep breath and tamped down the urge to throttle him. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you disregarded my instruction to wait outside the pharmacy until I got there.” She took a deep breath. Kinder and gentler. “But explain to me what possessed you to try to shoplift in this store, of all places? Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

He pursed his lips so hard his bottom lip jutted out.

“Why did you do it?” She could play this game. She crossed her arms and waited.

He lasted about thirty seconds. “You’re not my mother.”

“True thing. Because if I had a kid, he’d know better than to pull a bonehead stunt like this. Why did you do it?”

“I don’t have to tell you.” He moved, just a bit in the seat.

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