“Bout fuckin’ time,” a voice slurs from the other room. Frank. “You got food?”
My skin crawls at the sound of his voice, knowing this is the sort of s**t she comes home to daily. Autumn flinches beside me, and it takes all I have to stop myself from putting her back in the car and kidnapping her. The place is filthy, every surface yellowed and sagging. Garbage piled up in the corners, empty cans and bottles, and stained Styrofoam containers. A narrow hallway leads to what passes for a kitchen, it’s just as bad as the rest of the house. “Do you know when your mother will be home?”
I can see him through the open doorway, sprawled on a threadbare recliner.
A TV flickers in front of him, the only light in the room. He hasn’t noticed me yet, it won’t be long. And when he does, it’ll be trou
