Predator Girl (A Paranormal Romance) by S. B. Roozenboom Read Free Book Online

over.
    “Jared, you always tune me out when the topic of Dad comes up. You can’t just bottle this up, don’t do this to me today—”
    Mom rambled on, but I did the usual: I zoned her out. There was nothing left that I wanted to hear or say. She couldn’t convince me to like her slimy boyfriend—not in a hundred years—and there was no use in talking about someone who no longer existed in my world. Plucking a twenty dollar bill from a pocket in my backpack, I chucked the bag in my bedroom and shut the door.
    “Jared, what is that for? I just made dinner.”
    “Going out. Be back later.”
    “Jared, damn you,” was the last thing I heard as I jogged back down the stairs, slipped on some flip-flops, and slid out the front door.
    I hopped down the porch, taking a deep breath as I started through the neighborhood. I lived in the suburbs, in a housing development named Markson. It was one of those ugly developments where the houses are all similar in shape and painted tan, cream, or light blue. We lived a ways from town, but the sidewalk hooked up with the main drag eventually. I passed the bus stop, too impatient to wait. Plus, if another freaking person got in my way, I would end up in juvie with attempted murder on my permanent record.
    Forty minutes later, I came into Loralin’s Old Town. Three in the afternoon to six at night were Old Town’s busiest hours, mostly because everybody from New Town—the place with all the big office buildings, grocery stores, and strip malls—came this way from work.
    I didn’t like New Town. Too crowded, too new and clichéd. Old Town had spunk. Stores here were in single-floored buildings, usually small and family-owned. White lights twinkled in many windows year round. We had a Pink Ladies Coffee House instead of Starbucks, owned by this group of chubby ladies in their fifties who wore poodle skirts and boomed Elvis music throughout the café. Every block had some kind of funky junk shop to pick through (my favorite was Joe Billy’s, owned by a beer-bellied redneck who watched Larry the Cable Guy at the front counter). Almost every brick wall had some kind of spray-painting, whether it was a heart with some couple’s names in it, or a detailed Chevy Camaro with a girl on the hood.
    Yeah. Old Town was my kind of place.
    Now, what to eat ? I searched for restaurants. Since my last meal had been from the gruesome pots and pans of the school cafeteria, I was ravenous. Everything sounded good right now.
    A few tables and chairs came up on my right. Fact: where there is outdoor furniture, there is food. A glass door appeared, a sign with a cartoon sandwich hanging above it, with Heavenly Subs written in bold letters. Good enough for me. I slid into an empty table, not wanting to go inside. Seconds after I picked up the menu, a middle-aged gal with poufy hair and leggings from the eighties asked me what I wanted to drink.
    I hogged down a huge BLT. Traffic stopped backing up around five, which was about the time I ordered a slab of chocolate cake to finish off my dinner. The hot orange, evening sun rested on the shiny skyscrapers of New Town. Shops turned on their lights. I began to relax, the incident with Mom and the devil somewhat behind me.
    It wasn’t the first time we’d fought. It wasn’t the first time I’d walked out on her, either. Mom and I didn’t really get each other, and a long time ago that wasn’t such a problem. We’d had Dad, the mediator. Then he left and things fell apart. Part of that was my fault, too, but I just couldn’t admit it for some reason. Maybe because Mom never owned up to her half of it. I don’t know. I just knew that I couldn’t wait to have my degree and do Finding for a living, making me enough money to move out.
    I had just paid my dinner bill inside and was coming out the door when a spot of black caught my eye. Not sure if it was intuition, or just me randomly turning my head, but I glanced across the street.
    I froze on the