Page 1 of My Monster’s Keeper

Becky

M y first day as one of Effusion City’s finest is not going to plan. In fact, it’s going very, very wrong. A bead of sweat runs down the side of my temple as I stare down the barrel of the gun and my imminent death.

I don’t want to die like this.

My brand new partner has his weapon aimed at my forehead from less than a foot away.

He’s fucking smiling at me. This piece of shit, corrupt, dickless excuse of a man is smirking like this is a game.

The only reason I can tell is because, under the thick caterpillar bush of a mustache he has, I catch a glint of his tobacco-stained teeth.

He just told me how I’m going to die to a very elaborate and gory soliloquy that was so enthusiastic I think he must have spent hours practicing in front of a mirror, patting himself on the back in sheer rank joy of his absolute manliness.

“Packwell, you don’t want to do this,” I breathe out in a hushed whisper of sound.

I’m trying to recall negotiations class, but these are freaking cops.

They have the same training. My hands are shaking, but the world is crystal clear.

Adrenaline, I remember distantly, adrenaline is giving my body this boost to the system, trying to help me stay alive.

I’m a live wire, ready for movement, paused in real time as I weigh my options.

One distraction, that’s all I need, and I’m gone.

The night is cold, the wind burns my cheeks. I’m hyper aware of the dark shadows and the flicker of a streetlight in the distance. There is no moon and no stars, just a car park and these assholes.

Six more cops stalk out of the shadows, which just adds insult to injury. I dare to glance at them, then return my panicked stare back to Packwell. Their easy laughs are at complete odds with the situation.

They’ve done this before, I realise with horror. Rocklea holds money out that Lou Trance takes with a snort and a sick joke about dead homeless women.

Oh, that’s supposed to be me. Right, funny. Har-fucking-har .

“She’ll beg,” Rocklea mocks and casts a knowing smirk in my direction. “Little Becky Dawson will beg for her useless life. I got a hundred on it. Fucking women cops who think they’ve got big dicks, they’re pathetic, but they beg at the end, always,” he sneers directly at me.

I glance at him but don’t move a muscle, and I don’t fucking beg.

“One fifty says she doesn’t,” Tanner calls out. “She might look like a schoolgirl, but she’s got grit to get through training. She won’t beg. The omega whore was raised by the street, after all. She’s used to this.”

What the fuck is an omega?

Rage slithers in my veins, twining around the fear.

Fucking animals. I should have known better than to think that being a cop in Effusion city would change anything.

For a moment, I think of my foster brother, Grant.

I hope he survives my death. He’ll be okay, I think.

But, damn, I’ll miss him something awful.

There’s a whole lot of regret, but then I push it aside.

No! I’m not dying today. No fucking way.

But I’m staring down that barrel. His hand isn’t even shaking. The bitter night air should evaporate his sweat, but instead, his nerves give him a sheen on his forehead that he wipes off with his uniform sleeve. Or maybe it’s the drugs he snorted half an hour ago.

“Packwell, what the fuck are you doing?” I hiss again.

He ignores me, instead laughing at something Trance says. Fiedlstein and Lee lean against the walls of the building and watch.

I don’t know these guys, I think in a hysterical rush. Oh, god, I just started today, but they seemed like nice cops. I can’t believe this is happening.

No one is bothered that a senior cop is holding a rookie at gunpoint. Lee pulls out a bag of powder, and he and Fiedlstein lean over a damned garbage bin and snort it. I’m disgusted by the lack of hygiene more than anything.

I hope their fucking noses fall off. I’ve seen it. It can happen.

I seethe. “So, is the whole department filthy, or is it just you six?”

“Goes to the top,” Packwell says with a triumphant laugh. “It’s been like this forever. Nothing new about it. There’s an entire army of us erasing your kind. You just don’t fit in this world, Omega. You should have picked another job.”

“Why?” I hiss through my teeth. “And what is an omega? What are you even smoking? I’m Becky Dawson. I worked hard to get here. Fuck, Packwell, I’m just a normal person.”

Lee spits on the ground. “Ain’t nothing normal about you fucking omegas. ”

“That report you did on the judge this morning, the DUI, that was your final fuck-up. It’s the perfect excuse to take you out and blame it on his supporters.

You should have let it slide. I told you to let it slide.

You’re one of those cops who just won’t be missed, and, really, it’s better to get rid of you now.

Saves time and hassle. Besides, no one's going to miss you.”

I gape at him. “You’re a cop. A bloody cop. You have to protect this city. This is our whole lives.”

Packwell starts to laugh. The others join in, and I finally get a clear view of the last man. It’s a rookie from another station. Wait, I know those shoulders. I recognise that jawline.

“Grant?”

He’s pale and sweating, staring at me with enormous eyes.

Oh, god. I can see the exact moment he realises we’re both fucked, and we need to go down fighting.

I see in the next moment that he realises we can’t both get away.

He’s close to the building with all the cops between him and freedom.

I, on the other hand, am on the outer edge, near the squad cars and in sight of the corner of the building which could be my ticket to escape.

He’s working it out the same way I’m working it out.

Then he makes the decision that I would have made if our positions were reversed. I know it because we think the same.

He reaches for his gun, and I shake my head. My movement catches the attention of Rocklea, who turns. The fat rolls on the back of his head protruding and making him look like he’s got no neck.

“Rocklea!” I shout, but it’s too late. He’s turned and seen Grant’s fingers near his gun.

I watch in slow motion as he pulls his weapon and smoothly shoots my brother. The bang is louder than I could have imagined. Grant stumbles back, gripping his chest. He blinks a few times and looks at me.

He opens his mouth, and blood pours out.

“You stupid piece of shit!” Rocklea spits. “You son of a bitch. Dumb cunt.”

I stare at Grant, who has slid to the pavement and is lying there, his chest moves up and down frantically, faster and faster, and then it just stops. There’s no movement. I stare, leaning towards him, willing his chest to rise.

Oh, god. Oh, shit. Grant.

I bite my cheek; I curl my fingers into my fist and dig my nails into my palm, but it doesn’t erase his body or make him get up.

“Grant, please. ”

Grant’s dead. The pain threatens to tear my mind apart, but I shove it deep into a box.

I turn on his murderers.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I promise Packwell.

“Not a good attitude for a cop,” Rocklea taunts. He grabs a bottle of beer from Lee and drinks deep, keeping his eyes locked on me.

I glance at Grant and feel my throat close over. I tear my eyes away and focus on Rocklea.

“You’re not a cop,” I snarl.

The others are standing around Grant’s body, but Lee comes back over to us with another beer in his hands. He’s tall and thin and always has this expression like he’s smelled something unpleasant. He’s got this arrogant countenance that is almost like he thinks he’s a god.

“Well, shit’s in the fire now, Packwell. What are we gonna do?”

“Kill ‘em both. We’ll call it a banger hit.”

I gape at him. The callousness of killing a cop and planning the murder of another is mind-boggling.

I look around the deserted car park. There have been no cars in the twenty minutes we’ve been here.

No people walking past. It truly is a forgotten, deserted end of town.

The abandoned mall down on Seventh used to be crime central, but a year ago, something happened, and now even the hardest thugs wouldn’t step foot here in daylight or dark.

So, why are we here?

I flinch when thunder cuts through the chilly air. On the back of that sound, a stiff, icy wind blows, bringing the temperature down further, and the scent of rain dances in the air. I shiver and ease onto the ball of my back foot.

Lightning turns the world purple and white.

I throw myself to the left, rolling and then getting up and low.

I run, aiming for the corner of the building.

If I can make it to the other side, I might have a chance.

My lungs burn, my muscles stretch. Everything in the world is moving in slow motion.

I can see the first drops of rain, the flutter of a hamburger wrapper.

Bullets fly past my head, slamming into concrete and spitting up chips.

My heart screams in my chest, pounding as I force myself to run faster.

Anticipation prepares me for the bullets that will slam into my body, rip me apart, and take me to an early grave.

The corner is right there when I see something that makes my mind revolt.

I slam to a halt, losing my footing and going down hard on my ass .

The big, dark shape on the wall turns its head, watching me as I scramble backwards. My eyes open wide to the point of pain, staring, unable to look away, my mouth opens to scream, but no sounds come out.

I can hear the call of the dirty cops. I can hear their footsteps slamming into the ground. The rain turns icy and soaks me instantly. I shiver, and when I blink the water out of my eyes, the black shape is gone. I glance around and spot something stranger.

Am I dead? Is this hell?