Chapter One

Hope

When I was little, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I loved our dog and at the time, taking care of animals sounded great. That idea lasted all through elementary and middle school. Then high school happened. I found a new group of friends and suddenly college went on the back burner. My parents didn’t say much since I was still getting good grades. They hoped I’d eventually find my way.

At the age of nineteen, I decided to start researching colleges. My friends had moved away and were no longer bad influences on me. I was back on course. That is, until one November night when a police officer showed up on my doorstep. I knew from the way his sympathetic eyes looked at me that something bad had happened. Plus, it’s not like cops show up at your house to tell you good news. My parents had been killed in a car accident, and he was there to deliver the horrible news. I was their only child. I’ll never forget that police officer, or that day.

I didn’t cry or scream. I didn’t go into denial or do some of the other things I hear people do when they lose loved ones. No, I went numb. I felt nothing. Not when the attorney told me I’d be inheriting their house, money, and a check from their life insurance company. Not when I had to pick out the clothes they would be buried in, nor when their caskets were lowered into the ground. Everyone kept asking me how I was. I’d say I was fine, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to mean it.

The money was placed in the bank. Well, half of the money. I would receive the other half when I turned thirty. With the help of a financial advisor, I invested some of the money and paid off the house. My parents didn’t have any other debts. They were both doctors who had very profitable careers.

The money I was left with, I spent. I was still numb and didn’t care about blowing it on whatever I wanted. My parents were gone, and there was no one to tell me I shouldn’t be doing what I did. It was how I was coping, or not coping, as it were. Suddenly, all I had left was the house, my parent’s possessions, and enough money to buy food. The investments remained untouched. In truth, I forgot about them.

By the age of twenty, I was broke. It was less than a year since their deaths, and I didn’t have any cash left. Sure, I could have called the financial advisor and asked for some money from the investment, but then I’d have to admit I blew through everything I had. I had a roof over my head, but there was no food. All the utilities were shut off when the bills became overdue.

I didn’t start to gain feeling again until I was lying on the living room couch, staring at the ceiling with my stomach cramping from lack of food. I felt. I felt it all at once. It might have taken almost a year, but that pain finally caught up with me. The sorrow and grief were more than I could bear. The stomach cramping from hunger turned into sourness and nausea. Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe if I had more money, I could numb the pain again. Maybe the two were connected. And maybe, just maybe, I could go back to not giving a fuck about anything. Well, that and having electricity.

Most people would get a job. Not me. I stole a car and robbed a convenience store. I laughed as I ran from the building with a wad of cash in my bag and a man chasing me with a bat. I smiled like a fool by the time I was in the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

No one caught me. I was dressed in all black with a ski mask on my face and leather gloves on my hands. Once I dumped the car, I jumped on the Ducati I had stashed behind a building, in a nicer part of town, where people weren’t looking to steal your shit. When I got home and parked my motorcycle in the garage, I glanced over to where my car used to be. I traded it in on impulse for the Ducati. But that was nothing compared to how much I still wanted my parents back.

Inside the house, I counted the money. One bill at a time. I had over a thousand dollars in cash, thanks to the store owner opening the safe. I didn’t put a loaded gun to his head. Well, he might have thought I did, but it was a toy gun that was completely harmless. Looked real, though. He didn’t notice any difference. I’m not sure if I could use a real gun. I would never want to accidentally fire it and take someone’s life. I might be a criminal, but I’m not about to kill people just to numb my pain.

The euphoria I felt after that first robbery was amazing. It was a high like I had never felt before. I was happy. Really fucking happy for the first time since my parents died. But it didn’t last. When the buzz wore off and the money was spent, I found a new target. I needed to feel alive again. I was an addict—high on the rush of stealing.

My name is Hope Hayes, and I’m a thief.

“Riele, come dance with us!” Alicia calls from the dance floor. She isn’t really a friend, but I call her one. It’s easier to pretend she is than looking at her as a target.

Her long, blonde hair sways as she moves on the dance floor. There’s a guy behind her, pressing his crotch against her ass. I hate clubs. The dancing, sweaty bodies, the lights bouncing off the walls as the music thumps through my body. It’s all awful. I can pretend, though. I can blend in with the rest of the people here and fool them. They don’t need to know this is the last place I want to be. Or what I’m really doing here.

I sit back and sip my drink, careful not to get drunk. I need to be alert—always paying attention to my surroundings. My friend’s father owns the club as well as four others across the country. They’re the kind of clubs where celebrities go dancing and party. Where only the beautiful get in and the line wraps around the building. There could be some celebrities here tonight. I wouldn’t know. I don’t follow them or tabloid news.

Without my friend, no way would I have been allowed inside. My eye makeup is dark, my nails are painted black. I look more goth than anything. That is, except for my skin. I spent a lot of time covering the tattoos on my arms with heavy makeup and concealing the holes from the piercing I have under my eye. If I let all that show, I’m easily recognizable. All it would take is one person to remember a specific tattoo and I could end up in prison. No, thank you.

There are thousands of dollars’ worth of tattoos on my body. But my look isn’t the norm, and most don’t consider me beautiful. I don’t care what they think. I like being me and having no one to impress. Except when I’m working. I need to impress my target. I need to gain their trust. Okay, so maybe I don’t blend; however, I lay low because I need to.

Robbing someone isn’t an easy task. Correction: robbing someone who has become attached to me isn’t an easy task. Slipping into a building in the middle of the night and strategically removing checks from their ledger, which they won’t notice for a couple of weeks, that’s easy as long as there are no alarms to trip, or you know how to disable them. Being in their house is much easier. They usually have alarms, but they are to keep people out. Once I’m in, game on.

Tonight, I need to steal checks from my pretend friend. The plan is to get her drunk and for her to hand me the keys to her car. I’ll take her back to her house, and once she’s asleep, I’ll find her checkbook, take what I want, and leave. Easy, right? Right.

I could have gone for the company’s checks, but getting access to them would prove more difficult. I’m sure whatever room they keep them in will have cameras and ones that won’t be easily disabled. I’ve been seen with her a number of times. My hair is always tucked under a wig along with a strategically placed beauty mark. She won’t suspect her friend would steal from her. At least, not until I’m long gone—cash in hand.

Sure, anyone can have checks. I don’t need to target these financial heavy hitters. There’s no fun in stealing a few hundred bucks, however. I’d rather take twenty or thirty grand from someone who has a ton of money—so much in fact, they don’t know what to do with it.

It took me years to figure out which was the easiest, most profitable, way of being a thief. Lots of trial and error. However, one thing remains the same—I don’t get caught.

Alicia comes over to me once her dance with the stranger ends. “Why didn’t you come out there? I could have been dancing with you instead of that sweaty guy.”

I smile. “The sweaty guys are the reason I don’t dance. I prefer sitting here and watching everyone else. Sometimes it can be more entertaining than television.”

She looks down at the table, grabs the drink I bought her, and takes a sip. “This is sweet. What’s in it?”

“Fuck if I know. The bartender said it was his specialty. I saw others lining up to buy it so I figured we could try it.” I asked the bartender to give me something strong. I lied and said it was my friend’s birthday and we were celebrating all night. He didn’t see I was with the boss’s daughter.

She swallows half the drink in seconds. “Okay, that was good. I’m going to have to find out who’s working tonight and ask him.” I’ll be sure to keep distracting her and getting her drinks. I doubt the bartender would be happy to see who I’m feeding his drinks to all night. That’s another red flag I need to avoid.

I tried to convince her to go to another club, but she insisted on coming here since it’s free. Like she needs to worry about money. She bought our first round of drinks, but after that I dragged us to a dark corner away from the bar. What I’m really surprised about is that no one has bothered us. They know she’s here. Maybe it’s that she’s an adult and isn’t new to the club scene.

She’s been happily dancing all night. Only coming back to the table for drinks and to try and drag me out to the dance floor with her. Currently, she’s tipsy as hell, bordering on drunk. I just need her to be drunk. Not to the point that she’ll be sick. I don’t want her like that. I also don’t want to be cleaning up puke.

“You’re crashing at my place tonight, right?” she asks.

“Sure.” I smile. I have a rental car I’ve been using. It’s currently parked at her house. I don’t drive my actual car when I’m with a target.

“You live too far away. We need to move you closer.”

I laugh. “You know I like it out in the country.”

“Yeah, in a house I’ve only seen pictures of but never visited. One day you’re going to have to make me dinner so I can see the place.”

“One day.” She’s never coming over to my house. The pictures I show her are ones I found on a real estate site. My house is hours away. I rent an apartment in the city. I don’t steal near my home.

She rolls her eyes. “Evasive as usual.” Then she swallows the remainder of the drink. “I’m going to get another one. Do you want one?”

I stand quickly. “Let me. Besides,” I say, looking behind her. “There’s someone on the floor who’s been eyeing you the past few minutes.”

“Really?” She turns her head. Thank God there is a guy who has actually been staring at her. He’s not the hottest, but in her current inebriated state, I’m sure she’ll think he’s cute. “Oh, he’s not bad at all. Okay, you get me a drink while I go find out if he has all the right moves,” she says, winking.

Two hours and four drinks later, tipsy becomes drunk. She finally pries herself out of the guy’s arms she’s been dancing with and makes her way over to me. Her eyelids have drooped down to cover half her eyes, her smile is lazy, and she’s swaying as she walks.

“I think it’s time we head home before you end up doing more than dancing with one of these guys,” I say.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” she slightly slurs. The scent of alcohol on her breath is almost enough to knock me on my ass from breathing it in.

I slide my arm around her waist and grab her purse. “Yup, time to go.”

She kisses me on the cheek. “You’re such a good friend.” Uh huh. If she only knew.

The moment the night air hits my skin, I’m reinvigorated. The club was getting way too stuffy, and the beat of the music had worked its way into a dull ache in my head. I’m glad to be free of its confines.

We reach Alicia’s car, and I safely buckle her inside. Just because I plan to steal some of her checks doesn’t mean I want her to get hurt or die, in case we get in an accident.

The drive to her house is short since she lives right on the outskirts of the city. Close enough to get to anything downtown in less than a half hour, but far enough away that the constant city noises aren’t her nightly backdrop.

Once I get her inside, she sheds her clothes faster than a stripper on stage and slides into bed. In under two minutes, she’s fast asleep, and I’m in her office opening drawers, looking for what will sustain me until I find my next target. What I don’t expect to find is a picture of a woman, who looks identical to the woman passed out in the next room over. A picture that is easily ten years old with tattered edges and a note on the back that reads: Last photo of Mom.

Emotion builds within me as my heart aches for her loss. With that, I place the picture back in the drawer and close everything up. She knows the same pain I do. I can’t steal from her. Not when she’s already lost so much.