The Prey by Allison Brennan Page A

ready in four minutes. No, the kind where you put oil in the bottom and butter on top of the lid and heated up the kernels until they filled the bowl. Like his mother used to do.
    The portrait of a perfect family
, the book said. Perfect? What a joke!
    He thought back to his own pathetic family. His father could be strong, but most of the time had been a weak fool. Letting his mother run the roost when she was nothing but a whiny bitch. Always demanding this and asking for that. His father worked hard to put food on the table and had given them a nice house in the suburbs, and his mother just bitched bitched bitched and asked for more more more.
    Money. That was all the bitch thought about.
    He heard his mother’s high-pitched voice like it was yesterday.
    He’d been going through his mother’s purse for money when he heard her coming down the hall. So he hid in the closet, keeping the sliding door slightly ajar so he could see if she came toward him. It was night and she thought he was in bed.
    He was eight, but he’d been taking money for as long as he could remember. Today he needed more ammunition for his BB gun. He remembered when his dad bought it for him—it was the coolest thing his father had ever done. When the bitch protested, his father just told her if he wanted to buy his son a BB gun, he damn well would.
    He smiled, knowing why he needed the ammunition. It had taken thirty-six of those little pellets to finally kill Mrs. Crenshaw’s stupid, whiny cat.
    For his next birthday, he was asking for a .22.
    His mother went about doing all those girlie things at her table, taking off her makeup and brushing her hair, when his father walked in.
    “Hi, honey,” his mother said. “You’re home late.”
    “I have children to feed and clothe,” his father said, mad about something.
    “I—I know, I just missed you, that’s all.”
    She stood and walked over to him, kissed him. Yuck. They always did that kissing thing and it made him sick.
    His father sighed and patted her stomach. It was starting to grow big. Another baby. Why did they have to have another one? Weren’t there enough brats in this house?
    His father loosened his tie and his mother said, “I looked at beds today for the girls. Since they’ll have to share a room, I thought maybe getting them matching beds would be nice.”
    “Why didn’t you ask me first? You didn’t buy anything, did you?”
    “No, no, I just looked. I thought—since you got that bonus—we could afford to get a few things around the house that we’ve been needing; you know, nothing extravagant, but—“
    “Is that all you care about? Money?” His father slammed his fist so hard on the dresser that bottles of perfume and other girlie stuff crashed to the floor.
    “No, honey, you know that—but with the baby coming I thought—“
    Slap!
    “Shut up about the damn baby!”
    His mother sobbed. “You said you were happy.”
    Time seemed to stand still, and his little heart beat so fast from fear and a sort of excitement he didn’t quite understand. What was his father going to do?
    Finally, after a minute or two, his father ran a hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—I’m just under so much stress at work.” He bent down to kiss her red cheek.
    “I know. I know.” She was sobbing, clinging to him. “It’ll be all right. I can go back to work and—“
    He pushed her away. “Work? Never. We made a deal. You have the kids and keep the house and I earn the money to support us.”
    “I know, and I love being a wife and mother, really, but if we’re struggling, if we’re going to lose the house, if—“
    Slap!
    “Why do you want to go to work? Does this have anything to do with George Claussen’s visit last week?”
    “George? I—he said I could have my old job back if I wanted it. Part-time, while the kids are in school. And when the baby comes—“
    Slap!
    “You and George are screwing around behind my back,