The Collector Book One: Mana Leak by Daniel I Russell Read Free Book Online Page B

could picture it: her pleads, her struggle, the first touch…
    “Yeah,” Jake said, and laughed. “I’m joking.”
    “Good. You know we’re being kept under surveillance after the whole burglary thing.”
    Adam glared at the McGuire house, memories of the break in running past his eyes like scenes from Crimewatch.
    That convertible looks pretty slick. Alloy wheels, metallic blue finish…
    He quickly dismissed the idea. Stealing a car from the house they’d burgled only weeks before felt reckless, even for them.
    “Fine then,” he said. “We’ll go to Smithy’s, but on two conditions.”
    “What are they?”
    “You pay, and I drive.”
    “Fuck off!”
    “Take it or leave it, bro.”
    Jake chewed his lip. “I don’t have much cash left, but if his gear’s as good as you think…fine. Get the bike.”
    Adam grinned. “That’s more like it.”
    With a final fleeting glance at Anne over at the Harper house, Adam strode through the open gate at the top of the drive.
    The gate hung in disrepair, rust eating away the metal bars between patches of aging green paint. Their mother had long ago given up asking the brothers to do the simple chore of repainting it. Adam failed to remember the last time she’d asked either of them to do anything.
    Adam recalled the hot summer day their father had originally painted the gate. He and Jake had only been four, maybe five years old, kicking a fly away plastic football around the small lawn. Their father had sat on the baking driveway armed with a tin of paint, a small brush and a handkerchief for mopping his sweaty brow. He painted in long and always downward strokes, not allowing a single drop of paint to be wasted. Jake had kicked the ball straight at the tin, and it tipped and spilled paint in a spreading puddle on the driveway. Their father had erupted. After a good smacking, he’d sent them to their rooms for the rest of the day.
    Dad was such a stickler for order…and punishment.
    Adam glanced at the long faded patch of green on the flagstones.
    All that stress over us didn’t help your heart, did it Dad? Jesus, how many years is it now? Ten? Something like that.
    He walked the rest of the way down the drive, stomping the weeds growing in abundance in the cracks and gaps.
    The garage stood at the side of the overgrown back garden. The paint, once so bright and flawless over a decade ago, had faded and peeled. Large chunks had flaked away with constant weathering, revealing the rotting wood underneath. The small windows in the double doors were covered in accumulated grime, allowing a tiny amount of light through. The roof, made of corrugated sheet metal, had done a good job of keeping out the rain thus far, but had paid a heavy price for its lengthy battle with the elements. The thick screws that held it in place were now mere clumps of rust. Moss and lichens of various shades of green and yellow gathered in the nooks and crannies where rain water had accumulated.
    For all its faults, the garage had become a special place for Adam and Jake. It was theirs , a den, a sanctuary and sometimes, a hideout. Their mother might have a fragile grip on the control of the house, but the twins had established the garage as their own kingdom.
    Adam swung one of the doors wide open and the welcoming smells drifted out: cigarette smoke, stale beer, oil and old joint stubs.
    The scent of home.
    He didn’t bother to turn on the light. The motorbike stood a few feet away.
    Jake had bought the small bike from a bloke down the King’s Crown pub, a steal at three hundred pounds. With 125cc they could really tear up the road.
    Now comes the hard part.
    He hoped his mother wasn’t in the kitchen. He had neither the mood nor the time for a lecture…especially one about the bike.
    Adam wheeled it outside, propped it against the fence and dashed back to close the garage. Returning, he grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike up the drive, breaking into a run. At the front gate, he