Page 2 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

Niall, the alpha of the mischief, perches on my knee, as if wanting to know more.

It’s pretty badass that a group of rats is called a mischief, which fits because these guys are sneaky.

I rub his chest with the tip of my finger before giving him some more.

I probably should be worried about eating from the same hand that touches my rats, but I haven’t gotten sick yet and they’ve never bitten me, so why should I care?

Usually being with them is calming, but I’m too worked up today. Energy builds inside me, making my leg shake and my jaw tighten. “I should just disappear on her. Then she’d know how it feels to get kicked out of your own damn house when she comes up empty for the rent.”

Niall squeaks his understanding, and I shred another piece of meat for him. One of the does, Lucinda, appears carrying something in her mouth. There’s some light overhead, but it’s not very bright, so I can’t quite make out what it is.

“Whatcha got there, Lu?” I ask, my mood changing as I patiently wait for her to climb onto my lap, where she deposits something small and pink. She lifts to her hind legs, looking proud as fuck. The little thing wiggles, and I realize what it is. “Is this your baby?”

She runs off, leaving me with the tiny, hairless thing. Seconds later, she’s back with another one. This continues until there are ten sightless pups in my lap. They crawl around, bumping into each other as they search for their mother. She curls up next to them, allowing them to nurse and play.

“Look at that. What a good momma you are, Lu. I wish mine was more like you.” I offer her a bigger piece of chicken, knowing she needs the calories.

“She’s not, though. She’s a bitch who’s done nothing but confuse me.

My whole life, I never knew which version of her I’d meet when I came home.

I walk on damn eggshells all the time, and for what?

” I pound my fist to my chest. “I pay the damn bills, I cook and clean, and I take care of her ungrateful ass. All because she fucked some asshole and didn’t bother with an abortion, which is what she should’ve done.

Then I wouldn’t be here dealing with this.

The only reason I’ve put up with it for so long is because she’s all I got.

Lately, though, I’m thinkin’ that’s not good enough.

I’m thinkin’ I need a fresh start. And I’m thinkin’ that should start now. ”

I always said I’d leave when I turned eighteen. Well, I’m eighteen now and fucking tired of getting kicked out of the home I pay for. Maybe Mom is all I have, but I’m all she has, and she doesn’t treat me with half the respect I give her.

Something has to change, and I only see one way out. By the time she realizes I’m gone, it’ll be too late. She’ll have no one left to save her from her addictions, from Dad, and from herself. Then she’ll regret it and wish she’d have done things differently, but I’ll already be gone.

“All right, guys. I need to get up. I got something to do.” When I pull out the plastic tub, Lu begins the task of moving her pups from my lap back to her home. I wait patiently before packing everything away, putting the cardboard back, and making it look like I was never there.

This time when I open the door and hear Mom crying, my chest burns with something other than the usual resentment—excitement. I climb into bed with her and hold her, whispering reassurances because the only way I’ll make it out is if she doesn’t know.

“I just get so lonely, and you’re all I have,” she says.

“I know.”

“That’s why we need to stick together. It’s just you and me, Lucas.” Her sobs subside, and soon, she’s asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Slipping my arm out from under her, I tuck her in and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

With her asleep, I can finally grab a shower.

There’s only a sliver of soap left to wash my hair and body, just enough to get through my last time in this bathroom with its moldy tiles and rusted faucets.

I rinse off in lukewarm water, the hottest our tank goes, imagining the new life I’ll have. No more dealing with Mom’s rollercoaster of emotions. No more letting her beat on me because even though I don’t know much, I know it’s not okay to hit a girl. And no more paying her way.

I know there’s something wrong with her brain, like depression or some shit, but it’s not like I didn’t try to get her to the doctor. She wouldn’t go, and I couldn’t make her.

I walk across the hall to my room, a towel around my waist, when doubts suddenly creep in.

What if Mom’s right and I can’t make it on my own?

What if I change my mind? I’ve never lived alone, and I’m always good with change.

When things change, it messes up my whole schedule.

I’ll forget what day it is and not show up for work.

I’ll get fired and not make rent on my new place.

I pound the side of my head once, twice, three times, jerking away from those thoughts. I can’t spiral. There’s too much riding on this. If I want something better for myself, I have to leave to make it happen.

And I can’t do it with her around because fuck her, and fuck this disgusting trailer.

I get dressed and pack my meager belongings. Most teenagers have a room full of mementos and pictures, but all I have are some clothes and toiletries. Everything else in this house is trash.

Walking into Mom’s room, I shake her awake. She curses at me groggily, telling me to let her sleep, but I stay strong. Eventually, her eyes open, and her lips purse in a way that tells me she’s about to get creative with her insults, but I speak first.

“I’m leaving.”

“Knock it off, Lucas. Go to bed, and we can talk about it in the morning.” She slurs her words—not just from sleep, but also from the booze and pills she’s addicted to.

“You’re not fucking listening. I’m leaving.”

She sits up. “Don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash. Get the fuck outta my room.”

That darkness living inside me that everyone in my life has been feeding since the day I was born, turns into a ball of rage.

I tried to push it away, learning early on that fighting back got me nothing but backhanded or kicked out.

Now, I realize that’s what I got when I shut up and took the abuse too.

“It’s not a threat,” I say lowly, hoping she hears the seriousness.

Lying back down, she fluffs her pillow and closes her eyes. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Fury takes over, and before I know what I’m doing, my hands are around her throat, and I’m squeezing.

“You’re a liar, just like everyone else.

I thought I could trust you because you’re my mom, but I was wrong.

” Her face turns red, and her hands claw at my skin, making me bleed. “You never loved me.”

The first thing that strikes me is how quiet choking someone is. She can’t argue or even gasp for air, since I’m not allowing any to pass. The only sounds in the room are the insults I spew as I watch her eyes bulge and her energy drain. Sooner than I’m ready for, she goes limp.

I killed her. I killed my mother.

Pushing off her lifeless body, I fall to the ground, exhausted from the exertion. I wait a minute for any remorse to fill me, to feel sad, but there’s nothing. The only thing I feel is freedom.

A fractured mind doesn’t come back from everything I’ve been through.