We Who Reap ( Reaper Series )

Chapter 1

It was humid.

Too humid for Chicago. Too humid for me— thick enough it might as well be considered asphyxiation.

An awful stench rose from the coat wrapped around me. I wore this thing through rough weather time and again, so it was no surprise. The smell was nearly impossible for my accustomed nose to pick up, but the thick air drew it out. My back ached, my stomach ached, and oh, this was all just so wonderful.

I sniffed disdainfully and lumbered down the Chicago streets, slowly creeping up on a good opportunity ahead of me.

It was late, so I was lucky enough to spot him, especially on these streets.

When I was close enough, I scanned my surroundings to be sure no one was aware of what was about to take place. Like a predator with new-found prey, I made a run for the motherload.

Running past him, I skillfully snagged his grocery bag without slowing, and continued running. I heard him shout incoherent curses as I turned the corner and stumbled into the woods behind the store.

It felt like forever-- running this path like I always did when I had to stoop this low for food to feed the greedy drunken mouth of my father's.

When I felt I was at a safe distance, I slowed and gasped for air. Then, I sped-walked the rest of my way home. I heard rock music blasting and beer bottles being thrown and drunken male laughter throughout the house.

I quietly foraged through the stolen goods to find bread, eggs, apples and a jar of jelly.

Sighing with relief , I smiled to myself.

Enough for a few days.

Ever so carefully, I opened the door to see broken glass scattered, smeared makeup on the floors and walls, rotting food and empty boxes of garbage throughout the living room. A few roaches immediately retreated after my entrance.

Five built men were leaning against the couch next to my seemingly uncomfortable mother and grinning father. His eyes locked onto mine and his malicious smile only grew.

"Vincent, about damn time you've returned. Did you find anything?" He laughed.

I came forward and nonchalantly tossed the bag to him. "Yep. It'll last two days if you actually conserve it instead of eating it all in one day."

He glowered at me, his mood changing rapidly. "Don't test me, you little bitch. I didn't ask you for food and your two sense. We have a household, ya' hear?"

His buddies snickered and I turned to the kitchen. Ignoring his insults was the wisest decision. "C'mon, mom."

She carefully rose and my dad, Jorge, shoved the stolen goods into her shaking hands.

Mom followed me and started up the burner. I grabbed the plates and set them out onto the filthy counter. I couldn't understand why it was so difficult to keep a place decent. "His friends getting to you?"

She let out a breath and her lips trembled. "Just a little. Can you get me a butter knife, Vivi?"

Vincent was my real name. I was a seventeen year old ( almost eighteen ) supporting the huge family we had. The only one supporting the family. My mom, as beautifully young and lively as she looked, was a dying corpse on the inside. She couldn't handle it. I used to think that all mothers were invincible and could handle anything-- until I watched her break.

Now it was just me, and it was awfully lonely.

I snorted. And talking to yourself doesn't make it better.