PART ONE: Josiah and Mateo

Chapter One

August

Josiah

The guy looked like he wanted to rip someone’s head off.

“Josiah, this is Mateo. He’s going to be staying with us.” Mateo didn’t look at Josiah as his foster mom introduced them. His arms were showing, long and muscular with a few tattoos here and there. Josiah didn’t want to study them too much. He figured the best thing to do was not draw attention to himself where Mateo was concerned—not that he ever liked to draw attention to himself.

“Hi.” So he didn’t have to look at Mateo, Josiah studied Molly, the wall, the door, the bed he sat on but didn’t call his own. He got shipped around too often to call anything his.

Mateo didn’t reply, just ran a hand through his coal-black hair.

“You two are around the same age. Mateo, Josiah is sixteen. And Josiah, Mateo’s seventeen. I bet you have a lot in common. I’m sure you’ll love hanging out with each other.”

Mateo groaned, the sound penetrating the armor Josiah fought so hard for. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of not letting things in. He was good at not getting close to people. Being quiet came naturally, but he still felt things on the inside. He hated that about himself. Hated being vulnerable to the things others said and did.

“Mateo, Josiah is very sweet. I know the two of you will hit it off. Why don’t you get to know each other a little before dinner?” Molly smiled as though she’d just said the greatest thing.

Yeah, because that’s what he wanted Molly to call him in front of the guy who looked like he was probably a gang member. Sweet.

“Sure thing, mamacita.” Mateo winked at her.

Molly frowned. While Mateo paid attention to her, Josiah took a minute to let his eyes take the other guy in. Yeah, he was definitely stacked. And tall. Between his neck and shoulder, a thick, raised scar marred his brown skin.

Holy shit. This was bad. So, so bad. He’d seen kids like this—dangerous looking, who obviously hated the world. He’d lived with other kids like this, and they all made Josiah’s life hell. Finally, things were okay with Molly and William. He’d been here all summer with no problems. They were nice and smiled and treated him well. If he could let himself feel safe and comfortable anywhere, it would be in this home.

Things were all going to change now.

“William and I expect certain behavior, Mateo,” Molly told him. “One of our most important rules is respect. You must respect us, and we’ll respect you in return. At dinner we’ll talk more.”

With that, Mateo walked into the room. Josiah’s eyes never left the doorway as Molly stood there and smiled at him before she closed the door, leaving them alone.

“This is such fucking bullshit.” Mateo fell onto the twin bed on the other side of their small room. Josiah figured it was hardly bigger than a dorm room in college would be, with a desk between their beds. Mateo picked at the blue blanket.

“They’re nice people.” On the one hand, Josiah regretted the words. The last thing he wanted was to piss this guy off, but then he thought about how kind Molly and William were to him and he didn’t wish he could take them back.

Mateo laughed. “I bet they’re real nice. Does Mama Molly sneak in the room at night and show you just how nice she is? Or maybe it’s William. Gets his ass on the side because his wife won’t give it up to him.”

Josiah’s stomach churned, nausea slamming into him. “They’re not like that.” He’d heard stories about homes that were that way, though. He’d been around some real assholes, but luckily he never had to deal with the kind of abuse Mateo spoke of.

Again, the other guy laughed. “Must be nice to live in the perfect world. You might not realize it now, kid, but everyone is some shade of fucked-up.”

Annoyance snaked around Josiah that the guy would call him “kid” when they were so close in age.

“I wish I’d ever been lucky enough to see shit positive like that. Why you here?” Mateo asked.

Josiah wrung his hands together. He hadn’t expected Mateo to ask him this—to ask him anything that mattered. “My parents...they died. Car wreck, when I was young. Don’t have any family.”

“Ah, then you’re lucky. See, I know the truth. My dad didn’t give a fuck about me. It’s because of him I have this scar.” He pointed to his neck. “Everyone lets you down at one point or another, pretty boy, and these people will, too. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”