His Kitten
Author
Michelle Torlot
Reads
4.5M
Chapters
42
Rosie Ryan always knew her fatherās line of work wasnāt exactly ālegal,ā but after her mother died it was the two of them against the world and she didnāt care. That was all fine and good, until she came home from school one day to see the FBI taking him away. Now, sheās on the run and having to rely on the only other person she thinks she can trust, her Uncle Daniel. As bad as things are now, she has no idea how much worse they're about to getā¦
Age Rating: 18+
CHAPTER 1: Running
ROSIE
I walked out of the school building, another boring day behind me. I couldnāt stand this place, but my dad was adamant about me attending. No matter what I said, he wouldnāt budge.
Even the old āyou didnāt graduate, so why should I?ā argument didnāt work. Heād just laugh it off. He never let me in on his business dealings, but I knew they werenāt exactly on the up and up.
I think he knew that I knew. We just never talked about it.
But he always took care of me. I never lacked for anything. We werenāt rolling in money, but we had enough. It was just him and me, and that was all I needed.
My mom was never in the picture. She died giving birth to me. My dad always said thatās what made me special. I was his little princess.
Now, with my eighteenth birthday just a few months away, Iām still his princess, just not so little anymore.
Growing up with just my dad made me tough. Especially considering the kind of people he hung around with. He taught me to stand up for myself, but he always warned, āDonāt start something you canāt finish.ā
Which brings me to the jerk on the motorcycle.
āHey, Rosie, let me give you a ride home,ā the boy shouted.
His voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I never liked the Irish accent. His green eyes sparkled, and he brushed his red hair out of his face.
āFuck off, Patrick!ā I shouted back.
His groupies, all girls, sat on the steps, shooting me dirty looks. They were mostly cheerleaders. I figured Patrick was some kind of athlete. Probably basketballāhe was too skinny to play football.
āCome on, Rosie, donāt be like that,ā he shot back.
The idiot never could take no for an answer. He was a player. Heād been with every girl in school. Every girl but me. But that didnāt stop him from trying.
I rolled my eyes.
āGo bother one of your groupies,ā I snapped. āOr better yet, go back to Ireland.ā
I shoved my hands in my jean shorts pockets and started the fifteen-minute walk home.
I could have accepted Patrickās offer, but it would have come with strings attached. I could have taken the bus, but I didnāt want to be stuck with the losers who rode it.
As soon as I graduated, I was getting out of this place. I needed to talk to Dad about working with him.
He wouldnāt be thrilled. I knew he wanted me to do something legal, but he made more in a day than most people made in a week.
Lost in thought, I looked up and realized I was almost home. Then I froze, staring at my house.
My houseāsurrounded by cops. Not just any cops, but feds. FBI agents in their labeled bulletproof vests. What the hell was happening?
I quickly ducked behind a neighborās car, trying to figure out my next move.
Then two FBI agents walked out of my house with my dad, his hands cuffed behind his back.
He saw me. How he saw me when the feds didnāt, Iāll never know. But he gave me a look. Heād always said if I ever came home and there were cops outside, I should run.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I didnāt know if Iād ever see my dad again. Unless this was all a big mistake. But something told me it wasnāt.
The feds must have noticed something because suddenly, they were all looking at me.
āHey, you!ā one of them shouted, starting to run toward me.
I took off. I hated sports at school, but I was good at them. I could run fast and I was a good hurdler. I never thought Iād be using my school training like this, but here I was.
I sprinted down the street, then down a side alley. I climbed over a fence and down another alley until I was a block away. But I didnāt stop. I kept running like the devil himself was after me.
If my dad was going down, Iād be on my own. Iād end up in foster care, or worse.
When I finally stopped, I was about five or six blocks from my house. It had started to rain.
All I had were the clothes on my back, five dollars in my pocket, and my phone. I didnāt even have a jacket. What was I supposed to do now?
I didnāt have any close friends I could call for help.
I couldnāt go back home.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stay warm as the rain came down harder.
Think, Rosie, I told myself.
Then I remembered what my dad had said. Uncle Daniel.
Uncle Daniel wasnāt my real uncle. He was a friend of my dadās. My dad trusted himāor at least he used to. Iād seen him a few times growing up.
The first time he came over for dinner, I was only five. My dad called me his little princess, but Uncle Daniel called me his kitten, and the nickname stuck.
I hadnāt seen him for about five years. I wasnāt sure why he stopped coming over, and I didnāt ask. My dad started doing business with other people, and when they came over, he always told me to stay out of the way.
He never did that when Uncle Daniel was around.
Then, a couple of weeks agoā¦
***
Something seemed off about my dad. I couldnāt put my finger on it. When I asked if he was okay, heād nod and smile. But the smile didnāt reach his eyes.
Then he looked at me seriously. āIf anything happens to me, princess, I want you to contact Uncle Daniel.ā
He took my phone and put a number into it.
āIs everything okay, Daddy?ā I asked.
He smiled again. āOf course. Now, letās go get some ice cream.ā
I gave a nod and a grin. Ice cream was always a good distraction.
***
Everything went back to normal after that. Until today.
I yanked my phone from my back pocket and scrolled through my contacts. My eyes landed on the number my dad had saved in there.
It had been five years since I last saw him. Would he even remember me? I was a sweet little kid back then, but now Iām just a moody teenager. I sighed and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Now wasnāt the time to call someone who was practically a stranger. Iād figure something outāI always did.
I shoved my hands back into my pockets, feeling the crumpled five-dollar bill. I could at least grab some grub, find a place to crash for the night, and reassess my situation in the morning.
I spotted a mini-mart nearby and made my way there.
Ten minutes later, I emerged with a bottle of water, a sandwich, and a chocolate bar. I still had a few dollars left. I figured Iād save that for emergencies.
Maybe the feds would be gone by morning. For now, I headed towards the residential area. There were always houses up for sale, many of them vacant. Iād just find one to squat in for the night.
It didnāt take long to find a small property with a For Lease sign out front. It was in pretty rough shape, which made me think itād be a safe bet for a break-in.
Some of the windows were boarded up, so I hopped the fence and made my way to the backyard. The back door was typical, with glass panes on the top and bottom.
I found a rock in the yard and used it to shatter the glass in the door. I reached in, flipped the lock, and pushed the door open. No alarm went off, which didnāt surprise me. The place was too rundown for that.
I quickly surveyed the place. It looked like I might have hit the jackpot. The place was a dump. No one had bothered to clean up the previous tenantsā junk.
I turned the faucet in the kitchen. There was a clunk, but no water. They mustāve disconnected the utilities. At least it was dry.
Next, I checked the bedrooms; all were empty. Iād hoped for an old mattress or a blanket, but no such luck. I guessed Iād be sleeping on the floor.
I sat down and ate the food Iād bought, keeping an ear out for any signs of trouble. When all remained quiet, I laid down on the floor. Using my arm as a pillow, I tried to catch some sleep.
