Page 2 of The Feeder Legacy

Once the bill is paid and we’ve agreed on a time and place for brunch, we make our way outside and say our goodbyes.

“You coming with me?” Tara asks Cat. She lives in Burwood, so Cat’s place is kind of on her way home. They usually travel into the city together, especially when Tara’s driving, like she did today.

Surprisingly, Cat shakes her head. “I’m going with Adz. He’s going to stay over with me tonight.”

I… am? “Uh⁠—”

Tara exchanges a look with Kade, and if Ladi wasn’t busy scowling at his phone, I bet he would have got in on it too. It’s no secret that Cat and I aren’t exactly besties.

“Yep,” my cousin insists, grabbing my arm and winding hers around it. “You don’t have to go to work tomorrow, so you’ve got no excuse.”

“Okay, but⁠—”

“No. Excuse,” she repeats, waving to the others and dragging me down the street toward the tram stop. “I might have an idea about a job for you.”

That gets my attention. “Really? That’d be awesome. Wait, it’s not dog walking, is it? Because I love dogs, but not so much with picking up their shit.”

“It’s not dog walking,” she promises.

“Great. So… why couldn’t we have let Tara drive us?”

She stops dead. “Fuck.”

We both turn back, but the others are long gone. “We could call her,” Cat suggests. “She probably hasn’t even got to where she parked yet.”

I consider it, then shrug. “Fuck it. It’s not cold. The tram won’t kill us, and this way you can tell me about this job on the way.”

It’s only another block to Swanston Street, and there aren’t many people waiting at the tram stop. Hopefully they’re there for another tram, and ours won’t be that full. I’m feeling lazy and want a seat.

It’s nearly ten on a weeknight, but the city is still alive, especially here in the hub of it. I can’t help smiling as I look around at the lit-up building facades, the people strolling along, and the still-open fast-food places that are perfect for before and after clubbing. The post-theatre crowds are starting to thin out as those people either go home or find somewhere for drinks and food. When I was little, we lived out near Hamilton, and while I loved growing up in the country, it didn’t take me long after we moved to Melbourne when I was ten to discover that I’m more of a city person. Plus, it’s easier to avoid my parents in a city of more than five million people than it would be in a small town.

The tram stops in front of us, and only one other person gets on with us. It’s half-empty, which means we have our pick of seats—looks like things are finally going my way!

It’s so sad that an empty seat on the tram is enough to make me happy. I really need to find some joy in my life.

“Tell me about this job,” I demand when we’ve both sat and the tram lurches into motion. We’ve got about twenty minutes until we get to Cat’s stop.

“It’s perfect for you,” she assures me, her gaze focused out the window. “Great pay, plus you’d be able to get out of that crappy house.”

I blink. “It pays that much? What would I be doing?”

“No—I mean, yeah, it pays enough that you’d be able to move, but it’s a live-in position, so you wouldn’t be spending your own money on housing.”

Some of my excitement trickles away. “Yeah, I don’t know. I think I’d rather have some separation from work.” What kind of job could it be? Housekeeper? Nanny? Gardener? Who the fuck needs a full-time live-in gardener in this day and age? It doesn’t matter—I know sweet fuck all about plants, and I’m not qualified to work with kids. That leaves vacuuming floors and washing underwear, and since I barely do that for myself, the idea of doing it for someone else isn’t a fun one.

“You’d have your own space,” Cat assures me. “And plenty of free time. Like… way more than you have now.”

That’s… weird. I was thinking it could be a job like hers, though I doubt anyone would hire me to be an executive assistant—and if they did, they wouldn’t keep me long—but free time? What kind of well-paying full-time job has free time?

Maybe this job isn’t legal. Does knowing about illegal activity and doing nothing make me an accomplice? I’m pretty sure taking the job definitely would, but I’m running out of options.

Chapter 2

“Here you go.” Cat passes me a mug that does not contain the coffee I asked for. She made hot chocolate instead, claiming that it’s too late for caffeine. Sometimes I wonder if we’re really related. Maybe one of us was adopted? Or maybe the reason my parents don’t have contact with the rest of the family is because of strongly opposing caffeine habits.

“Thanks,” I say, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as I feel. There’s a time and a place for hot chocolate, and it’s not when I want coffee. She’s got a whole-ass fancy Nespresso machine on the bench, the kind with the attached milk frother and everything. What’s the fucking point of having it if you’re only going to drink coffee in daylight hours?

I’m more appreciative of the Iced VoVos she offers, though it does make me suspicious. Cat and I really aren’t close. Inviting me home with her so she can tell me about this job makes sense, but giving me hot chocolate and bickies? That’s totally sus. I’m definitely starting to think that this job is dodgy. Maybe her boss’s title of “entrepreneur” actually means “underworld kingpin” and she needs someone to be a drug mule or something. She wouldn’t say anything else on the tram, and I’m practically bursting with curiosity.