Page 1 of End It All

The weightof my backpack slammed against my spine as I panted. I vaulted over a gate, fell over it, and nearly rolled my ankle. Hissing, I picked myself up and kept running. My lungs squeezed and I cursed myself for smoking so much weed when I should have been working out these past few years. Sweat dripped from my forehead, my heart pounded in my chest, and I felt a wave of nausea as lightning tore down both legs.

"Fuck, give up already," I growled.

"Los Angeles Police. Stop running or we'll be forced to open fire!"

I skirted a corner and ducked into another alley. Yeah, that was a firm fuck that. If I let myself get caught, I was going to prison. Not jail. Prison. Ripping off a bank wasn’t exactly a misdemeanor. I couldn't stop.

My knees hit concrete as I found the spot I needed, dropped down, and shoved the dumpster away from the apartment building. It was mid December and LA was determined to rain on my parade and freeze me out. Go figure. Chill nipped at my flesh as I shoved the garbage can more until it revealed the hole I was looking for. I dove through it, my pants ripping as I skittered inside and dropped down. Reaching back up, I pulled the dumpster into place just as I heard footsteps on wet cement and yelling.

"Where the hell did he go?" a voice called.

"I don't know! It's like the kid goddamn disappeared!"

Panting, I grinned and pushed off the wall. Discovering that busted window to the basement had been a godsend. After waiting for another minute, I scrambled up the stairs, navigating my way through the dark before I found the door and let myself inside. The hallway was empty, one single flickering bulb welcoming me home. I gently shut the basement door and kept it pushing.

Seven flights of stairs later, and I stood at my apartment door. Number thirteen. Was it kismet that I had an unlucky number on my door? It sure fucking felt like it. Everything that had ever gone right in my life had suddenly gone wrong again. That black cloud hung over my head, dooming me.

Come on, Blake. Stop being such a pussy and go inside.

I unlocked the door with my key and turned to shut it. When I wheeled back around, something hard hit me in the center of my chest. I grunted, and stumbled against the door, my eyes going wide.

"Ma," I stuttered out. "What are you doing up?"

She stood in the middle of the dark living room, one lamp burning away on the nearby table. Her black hair was all over her head, her usual pristine and made-up face was covered in tear-streaked mascara and smeared red lipstick. The tight black dressthat hugged her body was hanging off one shoulder, and she only wore one silvery high heel. I could see the bruises on her fair skin, and it made the rage ignite in me all over again.

"What did you do?" she hissed. "You tell me right now, Blake Moreno. Right now!"

I blinked at her. "You been drinking?"

She reached down, snatched off her second shoe and sent it sailing my way. This time, I was prepared. I stepped out of the way, my muscles tense as I tried to determine if I would get anything else hurled at me tonight.

"What did you do!" she demanded.

"The East LA Financial Bank was the site of a robbery tonight. Not only did the thief get away with cash, but I'm also told they hit several safe deposit boxes, robbing the owners of jewelry, diamonds, and priceless heirlooms. As if that wasn't bad enough, a massive fire was left behind to destroy the evidence. Police say they are still in pursuit. We've been given a preliminary sketch at this time. If you see this man, please call the police immediately. He's roughly five-foot-nine with dark hair, blue eyes, and?—"

Mom muted the television. "Tell me this wasn't you, Blake. Cuz it looks a lot like you."

"What? How the hell would I ever rob a bank?" I asked.

"I don't know, you tell me," she said as she shakily grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the side table and lit one.

Frowning, I took a step toward her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I definitely didn't seduce the security guard and sleep with him to get the codes. Didn't time my entrance and exit perfectly to when I knew the power would be off, courtesy of me. And I definitely did NOT steal whatever I could get my hands on before I ran out of there like my heels were on fire. But not before starting that glorious blaze.

My eyes were drawn to the television where I watched my five alarm inferno rage. It was perfect. Fuck that bank. We'd tried so hard to get help and they had turned their noses up at us. As if my being a mechanic and my mother being a seamstress wasn't good enough. Everything we had, everything we owned, was lost when we were kicked out into the cold after my father abandoned us.

She snapped her fingers, dragging my attention back to her. "Blake."

"Ma," I groaned. "Seriously, I didn't do anything!"

She looked me over, the same blue eyes I possessed staring right back at me. No, through my soul. The woman could read me better than anyone else ever could. I watched her calm herself before she offered me the smoke. The muscles in my shoulders unbunched, and I walked over to grab it.

As soon as I was close enough, she ripped my backpack down my arm and tossed it to the floor. I panicked, dove for it, and missed it by an inch. She ripped it off the ground and upended it, dumping the contents all over the cigarette-burned, stain-covered carpet.

Cash popped out, landing on the floor along with several pieces of expensive jewelry. She turned around to look at me, horror written on her face. I tried to tamp down the hurt that emotion caused, but it refused to be swallowed.

"Don't look at me like that," I whispered. "I did this for us."