The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Halfway home, two things hit me at once.

First, I was no longer being followed; somewhere between my ridiculously shameful fumble and Justice's intervention Creepy Guy had disappeared. What a relief. As shitty as my life was at the moment, adding a stalker to the mix wasn't something I looked forward to. Second, and more importantly, I was missing two very crucial things.

Frantic, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk under a street lamp and patted at my waist.

Nothing.

No wallets, they were gone.

Cursing so violently it would have made a sailor blush, I wrenched my jacket and shirt up like maybe I'd missed them and they were just hiding there in the waistband of my jeans. Yeah, no. Replacing my clothes, I frowned in thought.

I remembered both wallets biting into my spine as I'd fallen onto the subway floor. Then Justice had hauled me to my feet –

Justice.

"No," I breathed, putting two and two together.

The only person who'd touched me had been Justice. I hadn't bumped anyone on the way out, and for the last half hour I'd been walking the streets alone.

"Son of a bitch!" I screamed into the night. My voice echoed shrilly, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked.

I gripped my hair and let out a bark of sardonic laughter. That I couldn't believe he'd boosted the stuff I'd stolen was the most absurd part of the entire evening. Of course he would. I'd made him look bad in front of his friends, and this was his payback.

I still had the money I'd scored from selling Teresa's smokes. Twenty bucks was a weak consolation prize, but beggars couldn't be choosers and it would at least tide us over until tomorrow.

Bracing my hands on my knees, I took several deep breaths to regain my composure. I wouldn't let Justice be the reason I cried. Instead I redirected my focus to where it needed to be and headed left towards the supermarket. The wind picked up, battering the hair around my face and turning my nose and hands into icicles. I sniffed loudly, shoved my icy fingers into my pockets – and jumped in alarm at the feel of something in the left one.

What the hell?

I never put anything in my jacket pockets as a rule because they had little holes in them. Retrieving the mystery item I gasped in shock. Make that items.

In my hand was seven hundred dollars.

Seven. Hundred. Dollars.

Dazed, I looked around, certain someone would jump out of the bushes and cry, "April Fool's!" or "You've been Punk'd!" When nothing happened and my brain reengaged, I experienced a twinge of guilt.

Justice must have traded the wallets for cash, and it had probably been in my pocket the entire time I'd been yelling myself hoarse at him. Not that he didn't deserve it after what he said, but if I'd known I might have been a bit more civilized.

Okay, maybe not.

Heaving an exhausted sigh, I pocketed the money. Every fiber of my being protested the action, demanding I rip it up and set it on fire. But dignity and pride came second to putting food on the table; if I could steal from upstanding citizens, I could use the money Justice had given me. At least this way I was able to pay back the debt – and I'd be paying back every last cent if it killed me, the sooner the better.