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I'm slumped on the corner I've had to fight for, the wind howling through the streets until it suddenly stops. Time stands still.
On the other side of the road, the one with the fancy shops with expensive things in the display, is a couple strolling by, their laughter soft and sweet, their conversation friendly. But the man's hand on the small of the woman's back suggests there's more to their relationship, especially when his palm wanders downward toward her ass.
The couple is June Wildfox and Kade Miller.
They're walking by only a few feet away from me, not even noticing me. I immediately feel the red mist settling over me, and I spit on the sidewalk, snarling at the sight of them. They made me this way. They sent me here to the prison of the streets, and they're happy without me. The perfect couple, but if I have anything to do with it, not for fucking long.
I get up abruptly, my head pounding. Whether it’s from the hangover or the anger I'm feeling, I can't be too sure, but I already know I won't be able to fight the red mist this time.
They look perfect. He’s in that stupid peacoat he always wears, and his hair is longer, ruffled from every time June runs a hand through it playfully. She's wearing a pretty floral dress and a cardigan, her long hair hanging down her back. She looks fucking beautiful.
An insane desire to sear through her body with my cock consumes me. Whenever I see something beautiful, an inner need wills me to destroy it. And June, my little sis, is the prettiest of them all.
My hands form fists at my sides, and I head toward them. Ready to smash Kade's face in and finally claim June's pussy as my own. The way it was supposed to be from the start.
That's when I see it.
June turns to the side, and I see the faintest hint of her swollen belly. She never looked like that before. My instincts never lie, and now, they're telling me the truth.
June Wildfox is pregnant.
I want to fucking kill Kade. The resolve to finish this once and for all drives me forward. I don't care who fucking sees. I don't give a shit if I go to jail for the rest of my life because of this. I'll be fucking damned if I let him have her and the baby growing inside her.
"Are you the street artist?" someone interrupts my thought process. A body steps in my way, bigger and broader than I am, and my eyes immediately shoot upward, annoyed.
"Get out of my way," I snarl, already moving to get away from him, but he sidesteps me, blocking my way.
"I don't want any trouble," he claims, his hands up in the air, whether to defend himself or appease me, I can't be too sure. Not that I give a fuck.
"You're about to get some," I growl back at him, finally getting a good look at the man. He's about fifty, a silver fox, and clad in a sharp business suit. He certainly doesn't look like he belongs on this side of the street, more suited to the other side with the luxury shops.
"I've heard of your art," he says, placating, ignoring my outburst. Over his shoulder, I see June and Kade going around the corner, and I get even more anxious, desperate to get away. Desperate to kill, hurt, maim, scar.
"What about my fucking art?" I hiss, refusing to pay him any attention, keeping my eyes focused on the couple.
"I'm a gallery owner downtown. I've seen your work popping up on social media and blogs, and I'm intrigued," he explains quickly, and he finally has my attention.
A gallery owner? This could save me, I think. The last few drops of the booze from last night put me into a frenzy, making me wonder if this is it. My way out.
"Tell me more," I say, my anger dissipating. June and Kade are momentarily forgotten but always in the back of my mind. I focus on the man in front of me, who pushes a business card in my grimy hands. The stark white paper looks terrible against my palms smudged with paint and dirt.
"My name is Thom Hodge. And I believe you have real talent. But there's something else..." He eyes me thoughtfully, flashing a perfect smile that I, for some reason, don't want to smash in. Yet.
"What do you mean?" I demand, heart pounding in my chest.
"I see something dark in you. I see you suppressing your real talent. And I believe I can help you bring it out. And earn some money while you're at it," he says, winking at me. "So, are you interested?"
I regard him with a cool expression. He's everything I could have, everything I lost. The expensive suit, the Italian leather shoes. Thom Hodge is my ticket off the streets. I find myself nodding in agreement to his question, not trusting myself to speak.
