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PROLOGUE
ERIC CIRILLO
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
Idon’t have time for this bullshit. It’s the worst part of my profession. These fucking druggies show up at all hours of the night, pounding on my door, begging for just one more hit, one more ounce, and they swear they’ll get the money to me tomorrow. Fucking pathetic.
The pounding on the door doesn’t go away, though. “Eric! Eric, open up! I know you’re in there! I can pay you!”
Fuck, is this asshole trying to get the cops called? Sure, the chances of my neighbors doing that are slim. They all know the deal in this neighborhood, but still. I’d rather not fucking blare my business to the whole block.
Groaning the whole time, I put my joint down in the ashtray and drag my ass off of my recliner and to the front door. Of course, I already know who I will see on the other side. I’d recognize his mewling anywhere.
I open the door, and—surprise, surprise—fucking Seth McIntyre is standing at my door, eyes bloodshot and whole body twitching, desperate for another fix.
“What the fuck do you want, Seth? I already told you I’m not giving you another ounce until you pay me what you owe.”
I back up and let him in, against my better judgment, and that’s when I realize the fucker isn’t alone. He has a kid with him. A little boy, no older than seven or eight. He’s a scrawny thing, though; his worn jeans and faded hoodie are way too big for his body. The kid’s a ginger with dark-auburn hair flopping into big light-brown eyes. Those eyes stare into me, and I swear to fuck, the kid sees into my soul. He is one of those kids that you could just tell is way too wise for his age and has seen too much shit.
Sadly, it isn't uncommon for kids in this neighborhood. My own son has the same fucking look in his eyes whenever I see him. I fucking hate it, but what can I do?
I force myself to tear my gaze from the kid and look at the strung-out asshole with him. Fuck, is this scumbag the kid’s father? Just the thought of it gives me the chills. Sure, I’m not father of the year or anything, but something about Seth always unsettles the fuck out of me. I hate the fact that he might’ve produced some offspring.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Seth? I won’t ask again. And why the fuck did you bring a kid here?” I don’t even bring Ev over to this dump. I try to keep him away from this shit as much as possible.
Seth rocks back and forth as his eyes bounce around my apartment. He is seconds away from losing it. Then, before I can fucking blink, he grabs the kid's arm tight. The poor kid flinches but doesn’t say a word.
“I got payment for you, Eric. As I said I would. So if you can give me just a little more, I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”
I roll my eyes. Same fucking song and dance. “Let me see this money first, and then we’ll talk.”
I don’t expect him to have money; if he does, I doubt it will be the full amount he owes me. Seth never has all the money. But he doesn’t even attempt to fish cash out for me. Instead, he takes the kid and shoves him in my direction, causing the poor boy to stumble and nearly crash into me.
I take a step back. No. No fucking way is he doing what I think he’s doing. Just, no fucking way.
“Seth . . . what the fuck are you doing?”
“I know he ain’t much, but I know how much kids go for nowadays. And he’s ginger. That’s gotta be worth something, right? Those queers love fucking gingers.”
There is so much to unpack in that sentence that I don’t even know where to start. But, one thing is clear. Seth is trying to pay his debt to me by selling me his fucking son. Or whoever this kid is to him. I’m gonna be sick.
“Fuck, Seth. Are you fucking crazy? I might be a son of a bitch, but I don’t mess with fucking kids. Is this kid even yours?”
Seth shrugs and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. He’s getting even twitchier. “So his mom says.” Gods. “There’s another one. Twins. I thought one would be enough, but I can grab the other one, too, if you need him. He’s mouthier. But, I’m sure someone would be willing to train him.”
I swallow back the bile that’s threatening to rise. I can’t fucking show this asshole how much he’s getting to me. “And you think I have these connections. That I fucking traffick kids?”
The little boy hasn’t moved. It’s clear he’s learned to stay still and quiet around his dad. Fucking sick son of a bitch. I have no idea what I am doing, but I know one thing: I can’t let this kid go back with his dad.
I kneel before him and try my best not to look intimidating. But I know that isn’t the easiest thing to do. I’m a pretty big fucker, and I know the piercings and tattoos on my face and neck make a lot of kids scared of me. But this kid doesn’t look scared. He just looks curious.
I smile at him and try to clamp down my anger. I have a feeling he has too much anger directed at him already. “Hey, kid, my name is Eric. What’s your name?”
“Lake McIntyre.” I try not to scrunch my nose. Not the kid’s fault he has a weird name.
“Ok, Lake, do you like cartoons? How ‘bout I find some for you while I talk to your dad real quick?”
The kid shrugs. “My brother likesFairly Odd Parents. I watch with him sometimes.”
