Page 10 of The Dearly Departed

Teach him a lesson.

Fuck. I don’t want to.

“Where are you boys from?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter where we’re from!” I shouted, rushing toward him and pressing the blade’s tip to his cheek, just below his eye. “Let him go. Do it now, and we disappear.”

His gaze returned to mine, and he asked, “And what if I don’t?”

“Then I swear to fucking God, I will shove this knife into your goddamn eye.”

“I don’t think you want to hurt me, Abraham.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” I said, pressing the knife more firmly to his cheek.

“I know, if you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it already.”

The tone of his voice, the softness in his eyes …

God, who the fuck was this guy, and why was he acting like he cared? He didn’t know me! He didn’t know us! Yet I was struggling, stalling, faltering, and I couldn’t get myself to do what I needed to do because he was too fucking nice.

So, while still holding the knife, I took Isaac by the arm and yanked him away from the man’s hold … and I did it easily. I shot Ike a murderous glare for not pulling out of his grip sooner and took one, two steps backward, holding my knife out.

“Let’s get out of here,” I ordered Shawn and Ike.

The old guy stuffed his hands into his pockets with that strange, sad look still in his eyes.

“Do you boys have somewhere to go?” he asked.

“That’s not your problem, is it?” I replied, smirking.

He nodded, relenting. “No, I suppose not. But can I at least give you boys something to eat before you go?”

The offer gave me pause, and I stopped moving backward toward the door. I raised a hand, silently telling Shawn and Ike to freeze. They did as I’d said, but I couldn’t mistake the sound of Shawn’s trembling exhale.

“And why the fuck would you do that?” I asked warily.

“Because you look hungry,” the old guy said.

I was hungry, and I was certain Shawn and Ike were too. We hadn’t swiped much from that little shop this morning, and who the hell knew when we’d grab our next meal … or if it’d be a meal at all or just a bag of chips?

“Bram,” Shawn hissed, his anxiety and fear mounting, “let’s go. Please.”

I ignored his plea as I lowered my blade, folded it in, and asked, “What’s the catch?”

The old man’s white brows pinched as he shook his head. “No catch. I was just about to make some lunch when I came in here to grab a couple of things and found my window broken. Then I saw the three of you sleeping on my floor.” He offered a small, friendly smile as he added, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind the company, as long as you don’t mind that I’m not the best chef.”

Could this dude be for real? We had broken into his business, and he was offering us something to eat. There had to be something else he wasn’t asking for. People weren’t nice for no reason. No, he wanted something. He had to.

“I’m not sucking your dick for a shitty sandwich, old man,” I warned through a clenched jaw.

Fuck, from the look on his face, you would’ve thought I’d told him to eat a pile of his own shit.

“What have you boys been through?” he asked, clearly horrified as he pressed his hand over his heart. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

Maybe he really is just a nice old guy, I considered, narrowing my eyes and studying the sad look etched on his weathered face.

“Bram! What the fuck are we waiting for?!” Shawn asked, begging.