Between the Cracks and Burning Doors: Book 2 of The Extraction List Series by Renee N. Meland Page A

faced me, never taking her eyes off mine.
    The polite thing to do would have been to look away. The polite thing to do would have been to cover her back up and insist that I leave the room, or bring her some new clothes.
    But I didn’t do either.
    I’d never seen a woman’s breasts live and in person before. I’d never seen many, period. Somehow, I knew her round, milky breasts were absolutely perfect. Maybe everybody thinks the first breasts they see are perfect, but hers actually were. The fire crackled next to us, and there was still a dead man lying on the floor across the room, but all I saw was her.
    She opened her mouth as if to speak, but her lips just hung loosely parted from one another. My whole body tingled, waiting for my brain to tell me what to do next. Despite the cool basement, I felt sweat glistening on my forehead.
    The brave thing to do would have been to sweep her up in my arms and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before, throw her on the floor and give her my virginity right then and there. The romantic thing to do would have been to admit that in that moment, not before, and not after, I was in love with her. The heroic thing to do would have been to tell her I wanted to be there and protect her always.
    Again, I did none of those things.
    Suddenly she ripped her skirt down the rest of the way and slowly glided toward one of the girls’ rooms. I could only watch her hips sway away from me as I watched my opportunity for—I don’t know what—slip through my fingers.
    She seemed to take her time rustling through one of the girls’ drawers, dragging her hand through the mounds of lingerie, nylons, and shirts several times before she finally pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Silently, she made her way back to me and the fireplace and tossed her dress into the flames.
    “So what do we do with him?” She nodded her head toward the dead man on the floor.
    “You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you? Don’t you have people who handle this stuff?”
    She scoffed. “Yes, Cain, my ten-year-old sellers are going to come down here and help us bury a guy. That’s exactly what’s going to happen.” She rolled her eyes.
    “What about your supplier? You can’t tell me you make this shit upstairs in your kitchen?”
    Maureen turned away. She stared at the dead man for a silent moment, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t know who it is.”
    “Come on, you have to know.”
    She’s bullshitting you again, walk out now.
    “I don’t, I swear.”
    “Tell me the truth or I’m leaving right now.”
    She just stared at me. I turned toward the stairwell. I got about halfway up when she spoke. “Fifteen minutes.” I turned to hear what she was saying. “I missed my parents by fifteen minutes.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I had just turned fourteen. I was on my way home from school early to celebrate my birthday. When I got there, I couldn’t find my parents. Neighbor said they had been there fifteen minutes earlier. I found a note in my dresser from them. They said somebody was after them and they’d contact me when it was safe for us. The note called me sweetie and said they loved me.” She took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen them since.”
    I reached out and took her hands, the same way she did mine when we’d first met. “I don’t know why I did it. When a delivery guy came with their next supply of heroin, I took it. I decided to hand it out to the sellers as if everything was fine. Normal. The supplier always gets their cut so they never ask questions. Been doing it ever since.”
    She laughed nervously. “Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any magical body-disposer connections. Fresh out.”
    I paused. “Well, how about a car?”
     
    It took us awhile to get him in the back of her blue Ford Focus. Maureen covered the back in plastic while I had one of the stronger girls help me get him up the stairs and into the garage. We heaved him into the back like the