Alright Evelyn, don't fuck up now, I thought.

I was on a flat roof, pulling the last screw out of a swamp cooler. Unscrewing the cooler was easy, but I was breathing hard and sweating as if I was working my ass off. In my head, I knew the chances of someone spotting me were pretty much zero, but in my gut I felt like SWAT was hiding out in the dark, waiting until I got inside so they could fuck me with breaking and entering charges.

I pushed the cooler aside as slowly as I could, but its metal base still grated against the roof, and the scraping noise seemed as loud as a fire alarm.

Fuck! I thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I pressed myself flat against the roof and listened. I heard bugs chirping and some traffic sounds, but no voices.

Good enough.

Now that the cooler was out of the way, I could get in through the vent. I tied one end of the rope to the leg of the cooler and lowered myself into the duct. It was a bit tight, but swamp cooler vents are ridiculously large, so I wasn't too cramped. My feet landed on something, and I looked down to see slits of a darkened floor through vent bars. I was on the inside of a ceiling vent.

This was the part where a stupid thief would get fucked. The vent was screwed in from the other side, so they'd have to stamp it free, which would send it crashing to the floor and make enough noise to wake up Charles after he got smashed. Thank Leonardo Dicaprio's beautiful ass I planned ahead.

I tied the rope around one of the slats and then kicked it in. There was a dull clank, and the vent swung a few feet over the floor, suspended by the rope. I slid down after it. I was in.

The first thing I noticed were the burglar alarms – little red lights around the edges of the windows. I was glad those were there. I'd assumed they would be, but I would've felt like a dumbass if it turned out I could've just smashed in a window instead of doing this whole swamp cooler thing. The rest of the room was dark. I could see the outlines of shelves and boxes, and a door at the back.

Through the door, a light clicked on. I heard footsteps.

Fuck, I thought. I'm fucking up after all.

I crouched by the door and waited to see what kind of asshole sleeps at his shop. My hand jumped to my hoodie pocket for brass knuckles. My mouthguard was already in, hidden under the T-shirt I'd tied around the lower half of my face.

A man in his boxers wandered into the room. His calf was within punching range, but he was too busy yawning to notice me. I heard his hand fumble at the wall, and then the lights came on. My eyes squeezed shut. That light fucking hurt.

"What the…" the man said.

Fuck, he saw me.

I forced my eyes open and saw him staring at the vent hanging from the ceiling. I let out a soft breath, blinking hard against the light. It was tough to keep my eyes open, but from what I could see this guy had badass abs and a pair of pecs that wouldn't look out of place on a bull. Any other time I would've tried to get his dick, but tonight his gorgeous muscles meant I was in deep shit.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw me, and did a double take.

Let's do this shit.

I sprang toward him and slammed my brass knuckles into his jaw, throwing him back.

"God damn it!" He said.

I went for a spinning kick, but the blinding light was still fucking with my aim, and my shoe only clipped his shoulder. He staggered away. I charged after him, smashing his face, his neck – his solar plexus, until he crashed into a pile of boxes and toppled. I took a step closer, ready to straddle him and beat his lights out, but I paused at the last second and circled instead. If he'd been a chick or a dude my size, I would've jumped on him, but this guy looked fucking powerful. If he got ahold of me, I'd wake up tomorrow in juvie. I had to keep my distance.

The man got to his feet. He was reeling and bleeding from his face, but his eyes were sharp, sizing me up.

His jaw set. "You should'a brought a gun, little fellow," he said. "Get out of here. I'm calling the cops."

If this were a corny movie, I'd seduce him and knock him out while we were fucking. I didn't think that would work in real life though, and besides, I'd rather he kept believing I was a guy.

I flipped him off.

Sure you're big, but look who's bleeding.

I rushed him. His fist jammed into my teeth; my feet flew up, and my back hit the floor. My wind was gone. Something was stopping my breath, like a belt clamped around my lungs. I managed to roll away and get back to my feet, but I was too fucked up to attack. I just hunched and protected my head while he pummeled me, pushing me back toward the windows.

I growled – shook myself. The room was spinning, making the guy a moving target. Good. I always practiced on moving targets.

I punched his throat. His Adam's apple bounced aside, and then his hand locked around my wrist. There was no way in hell I could break that grip.

If we're gonna wrestle, I'd rather be on top, I thought. I looped my leg around his and tackled him, throwing all my weight on his pecs. As soon as we were down, I snatched his neck with my left hand, pressing his main veins. He grabbed one of my shoulders and lifted me off him, moving me toward the windows.

What the fuck is he doing? I thought.

Then I saw the lights – tiny, red lights. He was pushing me toward the alarms. I struggled, but he was way too strong, and I couldn't see any good place to hit him. One of my hands was on his throat, the other one was trapped, and his legs were together, so I couldn't get in a nutshot.

I felt the blood in his veins hammer beneath my fingers, trying to reach his brain. I saw the red lights getting close to my back. I grimaced and arched my spine to keep away, hoping my hoodie wouldn't drape low enough to trigger the alarm. The guy released my shoulder. His hand fell past my tits to my stomach, ready to shove my body flat into the beam. I felt his hand tremble against me, and then it slid off and hit the ground with a thud.

The guy was out. I kept my hand on his throat for a few more seconds, then got to my feet.

I was shaking. The adrenaline was still in my blood. My eyes were wide, and I was grinning under my T-shirt mask. Whatever shit came with being an Eyeshorne that made us the way we are was making me love this moment. I loved the shit out of this moment – this second. This one, right now. Fuck yes.

Now I just had to pack up what I wanted and haul it out to Charles a few blocks off. That would've seemed tense a minute ago, but after the fight it sounded easy as soaking Gage's cigarettes in lighter fluid. I might've killed the dude I'd fought, but cops chase murderers harder than thieves. I definitely would've raped him, but then he'd know I was a chick.

What the fuck ever, I thought. I've scored enough shit to drown Cop Bitch in red paint tomorrow. That's what matters.

Swamp coolers really do have huge ductwork that goes directly into the house. I'm surprised I haven't heard of anyone doing what Evelyn did in this chapter. Maybe it's too difficult compared to smashing a window. Real thieves are direct folk, I suppose.

Evelyn mistakenly refers to the carotid arteries as veins. She's not a doctor – thank god for that.