Chapter 1
Panic
Dark smoke bellows into my vision. I punch my knuckles into the brick next to Chomp’s head. His greasy face flinches.
My knuckles split, and warm blood spills from the open flesh. “I fucking told you that was your last chance. If I give you a break everyone will fucking want one.”
Chomp sobs. Snot oozes out from his nose and I grimace as he sucks it into his mouth on the next large broken inhale.
The thick film coats his overlapping yellow teeth. Black grows in thicker tendrils, claiming more of my sight. Becoming more agitated, the shadowed darkness inside me gets in the front seat.
Briefly, Preen’s small face and dark hair piled atop her head break to the surface. “Pan.” My stepsister warns. Her big, round, green eyes plead. “I can make more, look.” She holds up a baggy of what she calls her pixie dust. I blink away the flashback. The gangrenous sore where my heart used to beat throbs. I hiss through the pain, shoving Preen far away from my thoughts and burying her into the darkness where she belongs.
My gory knuckles wrap around Chomp’s throat. I lift him off the ground, allowing the bricks to dig into his back. He whimpers with his matted orange hair hanging in his zit-infested face.
He claws at my wrist. “We used to be friends.” He whispers in a feeble attempt to save his own neck. Pun intended.
“That was before. When you weren’t a lost boy, that was when you hadn’t dipped into the stash and started using. You’re no better than the ones seeking Neverland. It was never real. We use the term to get people hooked. Remember. Neverland, because you never get clean, you never break free.
“And in a sense, you never grow up. That was the plan for everyone here in the Town of Despair. We were to make bank off the bottoms. Now I’m hunting down my enemies. The ones who made me poor instead of rich. You fucked up everything.” I don’t let him say another word. The anger in me vibrates through my marrow.
With a loud growl, I slam my fist that’s not clutching his throat through his face. There’s a sickening crunch.
I grin as his blood paints my blond hair red. My pitch black eyes soak in the macabre scene of Chomp’s crumpled head.
Inhaling the gore, I allow this high to take me away from here, in between the two buildings on Croc Street.
I grab the black hat off his head and place it backwards on mine. Then I let his gurgling carcass fall to the ground with a wet thud.
Fishing out the cigarettes from my jeans, I light one up. The thin paper crackles as I drag the nicotine into my lungs.
“If I burn every motherfucker is burning with me.” I declare as the smoke leaks from my lips.
The rusty fence groans as I rip it open. Chicks are passed out in the yard, on blow-up floats. They are from the time that Arsen was convinced he could dig us a pool. I almost grin at the memory. He was so sure of himself that he bought the tarps and cement bags and, of course, the floaties.
Then he dug for about an hour and changed his mind. I would have helped him, but I hate people, except for the handful I can tolerate. If we had a pool every druggy in the area would be here. I can’t have that.
A snore comes from a bitch with matted strawberry blonde hair as I pass her. She’s sprawled out, naked, ass up on a pink flamingo. It’s a nice, dark den when I enter the door. Music and moans come from the hallway to the left of the kitchen.
The demon in me is back. He wasn’t fully gone. If I’m honest, he never is. He’s always simmering at the surface. I’ve told them not to fuck in here. The escort business we run is to stay out fucking back in the trailer.
As the town calls them, the Sirens. They aren’t alluring in the slightest, at least not to me. I can’t afford to think about why that is. The wound is wet and raw from allowing my mind to go there earlier.
Taking a high top to the door, I shove it open hard enough that splinters of wood tumble from the frame. Arsen and Lash don’t even look at me. Between them, in an Eiffel Tower position, is Lily. I know why. Her dark hair spills over her porcelain skin. She isn’t small enough, but without seeing her face, she looks like Preen. They miss her too. The only difference between them and me is that they have no self-control.
“Out!” I roar. Lily jumps. Arsen’s glistening cock, falls from her pussy and Lash’s saliva covered dick, pops out of her mouth. She doesn’t look at me as she scurries out of the room. Lash runs a hand over his long red hair. “For real, Panic?” he huffs. Freckles cover his face and work down the back of his neck.
His blue eyes avoid mine as he gets dressed, angrily. Arsen doesn’t say anything. He must not find it worth it. His dark hair is disheveled, and his gray eyes stay trained on the floor. Arsen is only ignoring me because he’s a worthy opponent. When we go at it, we brawl.
Lash is, too, but he tries not to resort to violence. People mistake that for weakness and find out real quick that Lash isn’t someone they want to cross. He glances at the tattoo of the skull on his thigh as he pulls up his jeans.
He’s probably feeling regret. Each of us is covered in ink, from the one woman we all try not to think about. It makes it nearly impossible. I tried to burn a few of them off and ended up scarring the left side of my face instead.
“Chomp’s dead.” I break the news. Both of them look at me, fully clothed now. “He was a problem,” Arsen states, but the way he says it makes it seem like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Yeah, well. I have a new strategy.” I turn out of the room, and they follow behind me. They take a seat on the broken black couch, stuffing and boards hang out of it and wait to hear what I have to say.
