Foolish Games

I didn’t have an easy life. Waiting tables for a function centre was about as good as life got for me. There were no tips—unless telling me I had a great arse could be considered a tip—but it was enough for me to live on, barely. Everything else I needed, I took. And I was never caught, except that one time when these brothers and some weird chick busted me for stealing their car. It was their fault I took it. They shouldn’t have left their keys where I could find them. And it was a sweet ride; I chucked a couple of donuts in that thing and it smoked up like a charm. Good times. 

Anyway, those guys took the car back, turned my boyfriend into a pussy and ended up making me homeless. When I saw that same car again in the function centre parking lot, I couldn’t resist. I pulled out my keys and started scratching. C… U… busted. I should’ve known it was a bad idea, but I never was one to listen to my conscience. Suddenly I was locked in a room while a family of five ridiculously hot brothers argued over what to do with me. Their mother wanted me dead, but they were insisting that stealing and vandalism weren’t necessarily grounds for a beheading. I was on their side. I quite liked my head—even though it seemed like I’d just gotten myself in way over it. 

But do you know what was crazy? The brother I’d stolen from, the one who’d caught me defacing his car, was now watching me like a lion watches a big juicy steak. Hmm, maybe I could spin this in my favour after all….