Chapter 1: Nowhere Left to Run

With nowhere left to go, I ended up at the tattoo shop on the corner of the alley. The neon 'OPEN' sign buzzed in the half-light, flickering over rain-slicked pavement.

Word was, the owner was the kind of guy you crossed the street to avoid—a real hardass, the kind who left dents in bar stools and faces.

Pushing open the door, I fumbled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from my pocket. My hands trembled, knuckles scraped and raw—God only knew from what—but this was all I had left in the world.

Mustering every ounce of courage, I blurted, "I heard you keep people safe—for a price. Can you... keep me safe, too?"

Amid swirling cigarette smoke and the low thump of a classic rock song from a battered radio, the man curled his lips into a sneer.

"Whose kid are you, bold enough to come here?" His voice was gravelly, like he'd spent too many nights chain-smoking and fighting off the world.

Later, because of that ten dollars, he protected me for ten years.