Hold Me Like a Breath (Once Upon a Crime Family - book 1)

Chapter 3

There was always a moment as I rolled down the long drive- way toward the high fence surrounding the estate when my breath caught in my chest and I doubted my decision to leave. Anything could happen to me outside the perimeter of our property.

Carter interrupted my thoughts. "I told Mother we're going to see a musical. You know what's playing and can pick one, right?"

Of course I did. I spent hours on NYC websites, blogs, and forums. Someday I'd go into a long remission. Someday I'd live there and walk the streets of promise, freedom, and opportu- nity they sang about in Annie, a play I'd seen with Father on Broadway right before my life turned purple and red.

"Really?" It made sense that Mother would agree to a play. It would be safe, a seated activity. The chairs would mark out defined personal space, and I'd be perfectly cocooned between the two guys. It made a whole lot less sense that Carter would voluntarily attend the theater.

He lowered his window and called a greeting to Ian, the guard on gate duty. Once his window was closed and the gate was shut- ting behind us, he snorted. "No, not really. That's just what I said to buy you some extra time."

"You should at least listen to the score then," I countered. "You know she's going to want to discuss it. Or, if she doesn't, Father will. He'll probably perform it if I ask."

"Then don't ask," said Carter. "Fine. Pick a show and Gar- rett can download the soundtrack. We'll listen to it once, then I get the radio for the rest of the drive—no complaints."

It was more than I'd expected; he truly felt guilty about being so MIA. "There's a revival of Once Upon a Mattress that's get- ting great reviews."

They snickered.
"Once Upon a Mattress? That sounds like—"


I cut my brother off. "Don't go there! It's a fairy tale, gutter-brain."


"Of course it is," laughed Garrett.
I'm pretty sure the subtext of that laugh was you're such a child. I swallowed a retort. Freedom was too rare a thing to waste arguing. And I'd never had Korean barbecue. I'd never even heard of it. There were so many things I'd never seen, tasted, experienced . . . Tension melted into giddy anticipation, bubbling in my stomach like giggles waiting to escape.

"So, how'd your super-secret errand go?" I asked. "Was it something exciting? Something illegal?"

Garrett met my gaze in the rearview mirror and shook his head.

But it was too late. Carter's expression darkened. "Everything we do is illegal. It's not a game where you get to pick and choose which crimes you're okay with."

"So it didn't go well," I muttered under my breath.

I knew it wasn't a game, and I knew the Family Business was against the law. I'd known it for so long it was easy to forget. Or remember only in a vague way, like knowing the sky is blue without paying any attention to its blueness.

Only in those moments when things went wrong—when lazy clouds were replaced by threats and storms, when someone got hurt or killed—only then did I stare down the reality of the Business through a haze of grief and funeral black. My fingers tensed on the edge of the seat.

"Ignore him," said Garrett. "He's just pissy because the people we were supposed to meet with stood us up."

"Someone dared to no-show for a meeting with the mighty Carter Landlow?" I teased, hoping to break the gloom settling in the car like an unwelcome passenger. "I assumed it was a Busi- ness errand, but if someone stood you up, it must be a girl."

"No offense, Pen, but you don't have a clue what's going on in the Business."

"No offense, Carter, but you're being a—"