Mariska Hargitay Novels & Stories

HUNCHING my shoulders against the cold, I watched my breath mist out in front of me. It was either that or head into the convenience store opposite and grab some cigs, which I couldn’t do. Ma’d already threatened to lop off my head if she caught me stinking of smoke, and while I wasn’t averse to a clipped ear, what with being twenty, I didn’t give much of a anymore. My wrist was , thanks to how many times Da had broken it, and I’d been shot at twice. I could cope with her pulling on my ear like it was stuck on with Velcro. Dealing with Mariska’s repugnance, however, was another matter entirely.