Prologue

PROLOGUE

Rico

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

W hen most guys turned eighteen, all they could think about was partying and hookups while planning for college and their futures. The whole world was in front of them, and they were excited to take it on.

Me? I just wanted to get the fuck out of this shithole. It was yet another dirty-ass trap house my mother had dragged me into. Another place where disgusting, greasy ass men sold drugs and guns and kept her pumped full of the shit she was addicted to so they could fuck her whenever they wanted.

I’d seen enough of my mother that there was nothing left to the imagination anymore. Seen her being used and abused. Watched her shoot shit up her arms and powder up her fucking nose.

My eighteenth birthday should have been a celebration of finally being old enough to get the fuck out of here. To finally leave my strung-out bitch of a mother behind. To quit school and forge out on my own. I’d get my GED later when I had my shit together and could stand on my own two feet comfortably.

An education had to take a backseat to my freedom.

“Fucking bitch is too goddamn high to get wet,” one of the guys snarled, coming out of the room I shared with Mom. He was drunk and stumbling, barely able to stand on his own two feet. He looked at me, a sneer curling his lips. “You got a staring problem, kid?”

I rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut. I had a quick temper, but I knew when to run my mouth and when to keep my lips sealed shut. These fuckers were crass and mean, and they weren’t afraid of putting their hands on me—not when I was seventeen and certainly not now when I was considered an adult.

He moved past me, collapsing onto the old, stained, dirty couch. It took mere seconds before he started snoring. Rolling my neck around, I got up and headed for the room I shared with my mom. I cringed when I opened the door, finding her naked and spread eagle on the twin-sized bed, her mouth hanging open as she snored.

God, I fucking hated her.

I grabbed my backpack and pulled all of my school things out of it, tossing them down onto my pallet on the floor, if it could even be called that. It was literally just a sheet I’d found at a Goodwill folded in half and placed on top of the dirty, musty carpet. I had a single throw pillow I’d found at Goodwill as well and a fucking sleeping bag. That was it.

My life had always been like this though. For as long as I could remember, it’d been shit-hole apartments or trap houses like this. When Mom somewhat had her shit together, she would find a local joint to strip at. When she started spiraling, needing more than what she could afford on a stripper’s wages, she began prostituting herself out until some asshole came along and promised her drugs and alcohol in exchange for sex. Then, we’d end up in one of these musty ass places with men and women coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

Sleep was usually a fucking joke.

“Where you think you goin’?” Mom slurred, pushing herself up on shaking, trembling, weak arms. They were so thin, and the veins were so small. I had no idea how she even found a vein to shoot heroin up her arms anymore.

I sighed, double-checking I had my birth certificate and social security card in my backpack before I shoved two changes of clothes inside. My cash was in my wallet; I wasn’t stupid enough to ever leave it lying around, and I’d learned long ago that a small safe was a fucking joke to these assholes.

“The fuck away from here,” I told her, my voice low and quiet so I wouldn’t disturb anyone. I wanted to leave quietly. Peacefully. I didn’t want any fucking trouble.

“The hell you are,” she growled just as the door to our room opened, and a man I hadn’t seen before stepped inside. His hair was matted and greasy, and… was that a booger hanging out of his nose? My stomach roiled. Fuck, I hated it here.

“I’m eighteen,” I bitterly reminded her. “Thanks for wishing me a happy fucking birthday, by the way.”

“Fuck you and your birthday!” she shouted, her entire body trembling with rage. And for fucking what? “You can’t leave, Rico! I promised Charles he’d get a taste of you now that you’re an adult.”

A cold, bitter laugh spilled past my lips, and I shook my head, my fingers tightening around the zipper of my bag. “So, you did remember, huh?” I asked, my voice tight with barely restrained rage. I was so over her shit. I’d long ago stopped being hurt by the shit she did to me. But the rage? It just boiled . I jerked my chin at the man eyeing me like I was a fucking McRib. “This him?” I demanded. My upper lip curled in disgust as I ran my eyes over him. “You better settle on fucking the slut sitting on that bed,” I warned him, my voice cold, dripping with ice.

“Rico—” Mom started, but I was done .

I’d had enough.

My control fucking snapped .

I yanked the gun I always carried from the small of my back and pointed it at my mother, putting a bullet right between her brows. Blood splattered all over the wall behind her and the pale blue, dirty sheets on her bed right before she slumped, half her body hanging off the mattress. I arched a brow at the fucker standing in the doorway, blocking my exit, looking at the scene in front of him in disbelief. “You want the same fate?” I asked him impatiently. I waved the gun for him to move. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

He quickly stepped aside, letting me pass. I snatched my bag up and stormed out of the room. The gunshot had woken up everyone else in the house, but I didn’t care. I passed by all of them, daring them to fucking try me.

They didn’t.

I guessed putting a bullet in my mother’s skull was warning enough that I didn’t care what bodies I dropped. I’d kill every single last one of them in that fucking house if it meant I finally got the fuck out of there.

When my feet hit the sidewalk and I began heading toward the Greyhound station downtown, a cold, twisted smile tilted my lips.

Freedom .

I could finally fucking taste it.