DC ICONS SUPERVILLANS Erin McKillen The Crimson Curse

Chapter 1

She tried ignoring the hunger in her tummy. It was gnawing at the corners and pestering her constantly. She pulled the edges of the scruffy coat around her shoulders. True, it was once an ermine fur coat, but it had fallen into a sad heap. Stains, thin and threadbare to barely keep the warmth in, and a deep slit in the side up to the thigh. She shivered, pressing her legs against her chest to keep most of the warmth she could create in her.

Every day was like clockwork. The Rules of the Clock, Ma called it. Five a.m. Get out of bed (and try to stay awake.) Wash with buckets of collected rainwater. Dress. Six a.m. Collect Ma's clothes from the laundromat. Not enough for her own. (Try not to sneak an extra cup of coffee from the vending machine.) Take Ma's coffee home. Six-thirty a.m. Set the alarm clock to a five-minute timer (and take awake the snooze button.) Seven a.m. Breakfast. Pick up Eggs Benedict for Ma. Two hash browns. Baby spinach. Four pieces of thick bacon. Two poached eggs. Benedict sauce. Fresh parsley. (Check the change if there's enough for an extra hash brown.) Seven-fifteen a.m. Walk with Ma to work. (Sneak eat the hash brown. ) Eight a.m. Wait. (Waiting, and being bored, bored, bored.) One a.m. Ma finishes work. Go home to sleep. And we repeat all over again.

"Ya poor soul."

Erin barely moved. Bradán levered himself onto the steps beside her. The backdoor of Lucky 8's was safe for her. Safe with Bradán on guard from the brawlers and troublemakers. Garret made sure of that. As long as Ma worked; he'd provide the safety of her daughter, seated on the wooden steps and lean-to of rusty metal. The wood creaked as the bulk of the bouncer's seat combined with Erin's bent the wood almost to a snapping point. No customers passed, except for a staggering drunk. The day was young. Business would strike at night. That's where his fists would come out and he'd earn his stripes.

He reached into his jeans and took out a sandwich, unwrapping the top plastic. Thin slices of ciabatta. Thick-cut bacon. Tomato, lettuce, garlic mayo, and melted butter oozing between the layers. He split the BLT in half. "Hungry?"

Erin was always starving. Ma got the best of everything. 'Its our living, honey bun. Everything I earn is for our living." While not dropping a scrap for her daughter. What Garret paid her disappeared into mink fur coats, plunging dresses with eye-catching necklines, Jimmy Cho heels, and food that would make Erin drool. Her Ma had once clamped her mouth shut over Chicken schnitzels, making Erin bite through her tongue.

Erin shoved the half sandwich into her mouth, smearing garlic mayo over her cheeks with greasy bacon, not even chewing an ounce of it.

"Jesus Christ, Joseph, and Mother Mary." Bradán had barely peeled off his portion of plastic covering the sandwich. "Ya pig."

"I only got one hash brown for breakfast." She licked the glob of mayo. The BLT wasn't the best. The bacon was lukewarm, but it was far better than waiting ten whole hours until she could eat anything.

Bradán handed her the remaining sandwich.

"You not hungry?" she asked.

"I'll live." Garret gave each employer thirty percent off everything he provided his clients. Food was better than the slop she had at home, if you didn't pig out the caviar, fifty thousand dollar bottles of champagne, Wagyu steaks, Caffè mochas, and buffalo fried chicken wings.

The sandwich curbed her breakfast cravings. She could hang on until midnight.

What kinda' Ma leaves her daughter in the cold until she's finished? Bradán thought. Poor girl.

Erin had been waiting here outside Lucky 8's since she was three. As a baby, a tenant had offered to look after her, for price while her Ma was at work. Thirteen dollars a day. It had been too much for Ma to pay, so she approached Garret. He'd hammered out a deal. "You work for me seventeen hours a day and your pretty lass will be safe."