Bad Decisions

**MYLES**

I gripped the marble sink, glaring at my reflection. The image of his smug smile wouldn’t leave my head. He’d looked at me like I was some kind of snack.

*Snack?* Was that the best I could come up with?

Christ, Myles. What the hell have you done?

I staggered back until I hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. Never in a million years would I have guessed he was the one. Now that I knew—and had a clue where the money came from—there was only one option left: leave the country.

I clutched my hair, frustration boiling inside. But that wasn’t possible. The next choice? Return the money and tell the bastard to back off.

But I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him yet.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, followed by my mum’s voice.

“Myles, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting strange.”

I raised my head, catching my pale reflection again.

“Yeah... I’ll be out in a minute,” I called back, the words sounding distant even to me.

There was a long silence before she whispered, “Okay, bebé.”

I waited for her footsteps, but there was nothing. She'd always been a quiet walker, scaring the hell out of me as a kid when she’d suddenly appear in the dim living room, petite and motionless, her dark hair cascading down her back.

Hair as dark as his.

My breath hitched as the memory brushed my mind.

Strong hand gripping my hair, yanking my head down as he growled against my ear, *"Loosen up for me."*

I flung my jacket at the mirror. “Christ, get out of my head!”

Another knock came, soft but insistent.

“Cariño, sabes que puedes contarme cualquier cosa, ¿verdad?” (“Honey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”)

Except I couldn’t tell her about this one. It had to die with me, just like his damn offer would end with him.

I rose to my feet, straightened my shirt, cleared my throat, and walked to the door, opening it quietly. I fixed a smile on my face.

But on the other side, it was empty and quiet. It seemed she was gone, which was weird—Mum never left until she got an answer.

I stepped into my room, my gaze dropping to the bed, my thoughts running back to the money. The worst thing I could ever do was not give it back. It would be like chasing a storm.

"Hey, back OFF! What do you think you're doing?" My stepfather's voice echoed into my room. Four more angry voices joined in, and with knitted brows, I narrowed my gaze to the window.

"I warned you, Diego, one more week without my rent, and I’m kicking you out." That sounded like our landlord—the old guy with the long white beard who seemed like he’d stepped out of Hogwarts.

"Diego, get your family out of my house."

That was weird, I thought as I jogged out of my room toward the exit, where my mother stood. The landlord had always liked Mum because she paid for a whole year. Was there a reason he was being so mean?

Why were we getting kicked out?

Nearing the exit, my mum turned to me, and the blood drained from her face.

“No.” She shook her head, reaching out to stop me. “Go back inside, Myles. I'll sort this out.”

I slid past her hands, and immediately I was standing before the group of men, my stepfather already wielding a gun, daring anyone unfortunate enough to walk in.

The old man—our landlord—stood behind four men, his thin lips pressed in annoyance as he glared at Diego.

Then, quietly, he shook his head and reached for his pocket.

“I can't deal with this any longer. Voy a llamar a la policía.” (I'm calling the police.)

"You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Diego spat, waving the gun. “Everyone knows this house was stacked with dirty money.”

"Shut up, man," one of the goons groaned. I shared in his frustration—I didn’t want to be here either.

The chaos had invited a small audience, mostly of little kids.

"What's going on here?" My uncertain voice was like a thin thread trying to make its way through a ball of chasm.

The landlord looked at me, then behind me, and his face softened.

"Son, get your mother out of here. I don't want her hurt."

He meant it.

I turned to my mother, and seeing her shrink into herself, I figured she knew what was wrong—and somehow, it was her fault.

“What’s going on?”

But instead of answering, she dropped her gaze to the floor, rubbing her arm like she was being interrogated. She did this all the time, keeping me in the dark about everything.

“Two years’ rent, son,” the landlord answered behind me. I turned to him, watching him dial and place the phone to his ear. “I haven’t received a penny for two years, and I’ve had enough.”

I staggered back.

Two years? Holy fuck.

How the hell could we have gone two years without paying rent? I’d seen Mum hustling, scraping by, making sure we had food on the table. She’d always been so careful. Where did the money go?

"Mum?" I whispered. "Mum, what’s going on?"

"Oh, please," Diego snarled, walking over to stand beside my mother and placing his hand across her shoulder. "Don’t fucking use that tone on her. You don’t know how hard she toils for you."

Mum’s jaw clenched, and she narrowed her gaze, avoiding mine.

Something twisted in my stomach, and it dawned on me.

She gave it to him. She gave the rent to him.

Not the first time she’d done something like this.

"I'm sorry, son," the landlord said as the phone began to beep. "But I've got a retirement to plan for too." Right before my eyes, he gestured to the entrance and to the men, ordering, “Get it all out.”

Diego clicked off the safety on the gun.

“I fucking dare you…”

It was all happening too fast. I watched on, feeling the weight pressing down on me and, most of all, the urge to throw up.

Throw up at the realization of what I was thinking.

*Use his money*. But… but… I couldn’t. I knew what that meant. There was a sharp ache in my head. I shut my eyes. Touching that money was the same as holding a live grenade and praying it didn’t explode on me.

But... Mum... the house... two years' rent. Approximately nine grand. My stomach twisted.

I felt like I was drowning. What to do…

But just as two of them stepped onto the terrace and the others wrestled with Diego for the gun, I found myself blurting, “Wait! I have the money.”

And as eight pairs of eyes turned on me, I felt my world shatter into a million tiny pieces.