Excerpt of Greek Gods Bearing Gifts by Cheryl Harper

“What do we know about owning any kind of business,
pawnshop or otherwise? This is the kind of place we used
to hit, Frank.” Or the kind of places she used to hit,
mainly to keep him in food and clothing while their
father was enjoying his life without them.

Resenting him for his mistakes was a waste of time.

He’s your brother, Liberty. Family sticks together.

Her mother’s voice was clear, more than a decade later.

“So, we’re experts. We made a good living off of shady
businesses. We ought to know every trick in the book to
make this one work. Come on.” Frank wrapped his hands
around her arms and shook. “You can’t help but see the
opportunity here. I need you. Jail made you nervous. I
get that, but this is our chance. Your chance to start
fresh.” He turned her to look down the street. “We’re in
the best location in town. All we need is luck, and this
could be what we’ve been waiting for.”

Liberty stared hard at the lopsided DEAD END sign hanging
on the barricade that marked the end of the sidewalk in
front of the shop and back at Frank.

“Plenty of parking.” He shrugged like everyone could see
the benefit of being literally the last stop before the
dead end. “And the rest of the businesses are nice.”
They were. The street could be a beautiful movie set,
perfectly clean and ready for its close-up. From here,
she could see a statue of Kate and Leo, Titanic king-of-
the-world style, a squeaky clean pie shop, two upscale
dress stores, a glitzy gym, a florist, and what seemed to
be a bookstore. All of them were painted in bright colors
and well lit. They also seemed to be leaning as far away
from the pawnshop as they could get.

The shoppers wandering the sidewalks were dressed well,
selfies with movie scene statues and the Hollywood sign
were flowing freely, and no one was casing the shops for
the easiest target. Liberty wished for a single afternoon
of being that carefree.

Her father had never quite forgiven her for moving to
Olympic View to get a job after her mother died. Jobs
were four-letter words to Art Smith. His escalating
crimes made it clear Liberty had to find her own way and
take Frank with her. Since she’d been seventeen, it had
taken some ingenuity.

And larceny.

The pawnshop’s gray paint, malfunctioning neon sign, and
general air of surrender of the front window discouraged
people from getting too close.

How had ugly Titan Pawn escaped a visit from the
Fourteen, the force the gods used to police each other
and the gifted while keeping their existence secret from
the rest of humanity?

“What’s the worst that could happen, Lib?” Frank’s
question was familiar. She could predict his irritation
if she answered it. “I’ve got no money in this. If we
walk out with none, what have lost?”

He had a point. He usually did. That was what made him so
dangerous. Blaming him was easier than dealing with the
fact that, even though she knew better, she still
followed him. Tried to save him.

“Don’t you know what kind of people come into pawnshops?”
Liberty said and towed Frank farther away from the door.
“Criminals. People who’ve stolen stuff and plan to dupe
upstanding citizens into buying it. People like us,
Frank. We’ll be arrested in less than a week. Or worse!”

“What could be worse?” Frank asked.

“Death. Dismemberment. Those would be worse.” But not by
much.

Frank cocked his head to the side like he was considering
her point. “Okay. Death and dismemberment would be worse.
You definitely need to watch less true crime TV. I can’t
figure out what you think will happen. Surely with your
special talent”—he tapped the end of his nose like that
talent was a nose for… She had no idea what—“we’ll have
no problem keeping to the straight and narrow.” He didn’t
turn his head but he looked out the corner of his eye to
direct her attention behind him. “And did you miss the
giant guarding the door? We’ll hire a few more.”

Liberty leaned around him to stare at the statue man
standing next to the shop’s glass door. His hands were
clenched at his sides, his shoulders square. She wasn’t
sure he was breathing. Black ink trailed down his hard
bicep and muscled forearm. Grim face. Nerdy black glasses
that did little to distract from his dead stare.

“Okay, so that guy looks like he eats broken glass and
shattered dreams and then craps machetes.” She ignored
Frank’s strangled laugh as the giant’s head turned.
Nothing on his face changed. His lips didn’t quirk. His
eyebrows didn’t arch. But he blinked twice. She was going
to take that as surprise. Then he tipped his chin a
fraction, gave it a small shake, and faced forward again.

It would be a much nicer thing to sign his paycheck than
to meet him a dark alley…without a paycheck, so Frank had
a point.

“You have quite a way with words.” Frank frowned. “Be
careful not to alienate our best employee.” Our? Was he
doing it again, talking her into going along with his
plan?

She should have refused to get out of the car.