by S. M. Shade
Violent Circle Boxset
S.M. Shade
Contents
Scarlet Toys
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Frat Hell
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Clean Start
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Don’t Miss Out
Acknowledgments
Slut Shamed
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Don’t miss out
Note to Readers
Free Books!
Where to find S.M. Shade
More by S.M. Shade
Scarlet Toys
Violent Circle: Book One
Copyright © 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Cassidy
Have you ever had a day where it feels like you’re holding a stick and everyone around you looks like a piñata? That pretty much describes my attitude today. After two years of working at the Crunchy Time Cookie Factory, I’ve been let go. Well, the word they used was terminated, but it boils down to the same.
Fired.
Canned.
Tossed out on my narrow ass.
I didn’t do anything wrong and it’s not just me. They’re moving the whole operation out of the country so a good portion of our small, southern Indiana town is now unemployed. Which means finding a new job will be even harder since I’m competing with about four hundred other newly unemployed former coworkers.
Fantastic.
I have a small amount of savings to see me through the next two months at most, but at the moment I’m relieved I was able to save that much.
My car chugs and wheezes into the parking spot in front of my apartment. It takes a few seconds for the engine to stop when I turn it off, and I shake my head. Yeah, my car runs so well it doesn’t want to stop. Unfortunately, it doesn’t want to stop at lights or stop signs either, but that’s another problem.
Two of my neighbors sit outside in lawn chairs, and they give me a wave as I walk by. “I heard about the factory. They’re bastards,” Samantha calls.
Samantha has lived beside me since I moved in. She’s about ten years older than me and we get along well. She’s nice, but she gets a lot of crap from others—mainly women—because she…how can I put this? She has a very popular vagina. Seriously, if penises had wings, her crotch would be an airport. I’m not a fan of slut shaming. If men can sleep around, I don’t see why women can’t. Besides, it’s not anyone’s business anyway.
“Thanks. I guess I’ll be job hunting on Monday.”
“Check out the old dollar store building. They have a now hiring sign up,” Neal says.
Neal lives across the street with his ten-year-old daughter. He’s the only single father in our shitty little neighborhood and it’s hilarious to watch the women go after him. So far, he hasn’t shown any interest in anyone.
I pause to ask, “What kind of business is opening up there?”
“No idea. They have the windows blacked out. The sign says open interviews tomorrow, though.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it out.”
“Don’t forget about the bonfire tomorrow night!” Samantha calls as I head inside.
“I’ll be there.”
I’ve lived here in Orchid Apartments on Violet Circle for a few years. It’s far from a typical neighborhood. More like an insane asylum poured out into the street. Someone has written an N on the street sign in between the e and t, so it reads Violent Circle, which isn’t altogether false. We have our share of violence, as most poor neighborhoods do, but it’s not like drive-by shootings or anything. These are the cheapest apartments in town and are also subsidized by the government, so those who don’t have a job or who live on disability stay for next to nothing.
It’s not a terrible place to live once you get used to it. The people are eccentric at best and petty criminals at worst, but we’re all in the same boat and generally have one another’s back. I’ve heard the talk through town. They call it the slums, but what the hell do well off people know about struggling? I’ll take honest flaws over fake smiles any day.
I’m met by a wall of heat when I let myself in my little one bedroom apartment. I’ve put off turning on the air conditioning to save money and I need to do that now more than ever so I open the windows and crank up the fan instead.
Stripping off my clothes as I make my way to the bathroom, I turn the shower on and step under the cool spray, washing away the sweat of the day. At least I won’t be spending the day around ovens anymore or end up covered in sugar. Who knows what I’ll be doing next though? There are only two factories in town, a supercenter, a few gas stations, and a few fast food restaurants. Fast food is my last choice—the pimples alone aren’t worth it—but it may come to that.
Chances are it’s some kind of restaurant opening up in the old dollar store building too. I can’t count how many have tried to open little family run ice cream parlors, diners, and bakeries here only to have them close down again after a few months. I need something I can count on. Maybe the new liquor store? Our county only went wet this year so the place is pretty new. They may have an opening.
When I’m clean and cooled off, I hop out, wrap a towel around myself and head to my bedroom. Perk number one about living alone; you can walk around naked any time the mood strikes you. It almost makes the chances of slipping in the tub, cracking your head and being found naked, dead, and alone worth it. I’ve lived with roommates in the past. I’ll take the chance of posthumously mooning a maintenance man.
It’s still hot as hell in my place so I throw my hair up in a ponytail, dress in some cotton shorts and a tee, and sit out on my step. The air is beginning to cool down and the delicious smell of meat being grilled makes my mouth water. I should go make something to eat, but I’m exhausted, not just from work, but from the stress of being fired.
A patrol car rolls through like they do every night and the cop waves at me. They prett
y much know everyone and are aware of the troublemakers. Unless you’re hurting someone or stealing, they don’t pay any attention. Which is why I don’t hesitate to pull a joint from my pocket and spark up.
I don’t smoke weed often; usually once or twice per week at most, but tonight I need something to calm my nerves and distract me. There are some serious potheads living here, people who probably piss green, and the smell of weed will most likely attract them like a line of ants, but I don’t mind sharing.
As if they heard my thoughts, the neighbors who live next to Samantha—two doors down from me—pop around the corner. Dennis and his wife, Mallory, approach and Mallory takes a seat beside me on the step. When I talked about bleeding green? Yeah, these two are who I had in mind. I’ve known some smokers, but these two take the cake—or the brownie.
“I heard about Crunchy Time. Sorry you lost your job,” Dennis says.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking a puff and passing it to him.
“Any idea what you’re going to do?”
“Not really. I’ve only known for a few hours, though.”
“Well, let us know if you need anything,” Mallory says.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Just let me know if you get an opening at Rock Plastics.” I know it’s useless. It’s one of the easiest jobs in town and the turnover is almost zilch.
“Will do,” Dennis agrees.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, finishing off the joint. I watch the smoke swirl up in the evening air, taking some of my stress with it.
“Shit. I’m gonna burn the burgers!” Dennis announces, and Mallory and I burst into giggles at the sight of him trying to run his chubby ass around the corner.
“Would you like to eat with us tonight? We have plenty. It’s just hot dogs and hamburgers, but…” She shrugs.
See what I mean? There are people who avoid this place like the plague, but most of us are decent, caring people.
“I’d love to, thanks. Give me just a sec, yeah?”
“Come on over when you’re ready.” Mallory gets to her feet and disappears around the corner of the building.
I was raised never to go to someone’s house for dinner without bringing something. I don’t have a lot to choose from, but I grab a couple bags of chips and three cans of Coke. Between that and the weed, I don’t feel like a mooch.
We eat at the little plastic table in their backyard while they fill me in on the high jinx I missed in the neighborhood today.
“Mantrum was at it again,” Mallory says, and I smile around a bite of hot dog. Grilled hot dogs are absolutely amazing when you’re stoned.
“Yeah? Cops get called?” Mantrum is the nickname someone came up with for the man who lives across the street. He’s in his thirties, but throws tantrums like a child, stomping around, throwing things, and slamming doors. Man tantrums. I can’t count the times the cops have been called, but they never take him, just warn him to get back inside and quit being disruptive.
“Not this time. His girlfriend drug him back inside.”
“He’s eventually going to get locked up if he isn’t careful. Cops will get sick of being called to their address.”
“I know. More than one of us has tried to reason with him. No one wants to see him get evicted when they have all those kids.”
Yeah, four kids under six years old. Five if you count Mantrum.
“Never a dull moment,” I reply, shaking my head. “You coming out for the bonfire tomorrow night?”
“Most likely. I get off work at five.” Mallory works at the local nursing home as an aide.
I polish off my hot dog and get to my feet. “I’ll see you there then. Thanks for dinner.”
“Anytime.”
I wouldn’t usually go to bed so early on a Friday night, but I’m worn out and I want to be up early to job hunt in the morning. A lot of my former coworkers will probably wait until Monday to start looking, so maybe I can beat them to something. I guess the old dollar store building will be my first stop.
The sounds of the neighborhood filter through my open window as I try to doze off. Mallory and Dennis are discussing something, their voices climbing. It’s likely to turn into a full scale argument since they generally have a screaming match once a week or so. Samantha is talking on her cell, her occasional laughter flowing into the night.
At least the neighbor right next to me, the only one I share walls with, isn’t home. He likes to sing gospel music late into the night sometimes.
The clang and bang of the nearby train yard continues as usual, along with the occasional dog barking. When I first moved here, the noise drove me crazy, but now it’s become normal and just lulls me to sleep.
The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is Mallory shriek, “Like I give a shit, you limp dick motherfucker!”
Ahh. The sounds of home.
The patter of rain against the roof wakes me, and I reach over to close the window before the floor gets soaked. A rumble of thunder tells me it probably isn’t going to stop anytime soon so I rush to close the rest of the windows.
A giggle escapes me when I see a pile of clothes in the yard in front of Mallory’s. They must’ve really went at it after I left last night if she tossed Dennis’s clothes out again. Sometimes, I’m really glad to be single. All I have to do is look around me and be reminded that relationships suck. I’d much rather watch the drama play out than be a part of it.
The rain lets up a little by the time I leave, but there’s a small river of muddy water streaming down the street to the sewer drain. Some of the neighbor kids are splashing in it and I have to slow down to drive around them. Damn, what I’d do to have those carefree days back.
As Neal said, a sign advertising open interviews hangs on the door of the old dollar store, with directions to come to the back door. It is a little strange to see the front window blacked out, but I don’t hesitate to head around back.
The door is open and a small table has been set up with a few chairs, all empty except for one.
My jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of the man who gets to his feet to greet me. He towers over me, easily six foot five, and his broad shoulders and chest flex beneath his suit, clearly outlining muscles that must take endless work at the gym.
Bright, copper colored eyes meet mine and he smiles, extending his hand. “Good morning. I’m Wyatt Lawson.”
I’m frozen in place, taking in the glorious piece of man meat standing in front of me. I guess karma decided to cut me a break. Losing my job at the factory was totally worth being in this man’s presence. His lips press together and one of his eyebrows begins to journey up his forehead. “And you are?”
Why is he looking at me like that? Does he think I’m attractive? Is he imagining throwing me down and ripping my clothes off? Because that’s all I can picture. Clawing his back while he grabs my ass…
Oh, he asked me a question, didn’t he? “Ass!” I blurt, and feel my cheeks fill with fire. “Cass,” I correct. “My name is Cassidy West.”
Please let a sinkhole open under me, or a tornado show up to suck me out of a window. Anything to get me out of this room right now.
Amusement is stamped on his face, his gorgeous, stubbly face, as he gestures toward the chair across from him. “Nice to meet you, Cassidy. Please, have a seat and tell me about yourself.”
Trying to resist the urge to give him the real information I want him to have about me, like how I’m on birth control and can give one hell of a blow job, I take a seat and proceed to stammer like a nervous teenager talking to a crush.
“Okay, um, I’m 21 years old. I have a high school diploma and I’ve worked the past two years at the Crunchy Time cookie factory. Before that, I was a cashier at the supercenter for almost three years. Um, no criminal record and I’m not crazy or slow, regardless of how I might appear at the moment,” I babble.
His smile morphs into a laugh as he sits back in his seat and crosses his legs, resting his ankle on his knee.
<
br /> “That’s good to know.”
“Sorry, I guess I’m nervous.” Maybe because I didn’t expect to be interviewed by a fitness model.
“No need to be nervous. Why did you leave your last job?”
“They laid me off along with about four hundred other people. You’re probably going to be drowning in applicants.”
Getting to his feet, he grins down at me. “We should move this along then. I’m sure you’re curious what position you’re interviewing for.”
Missionary, doggy, whatever, I’m down.
“Yes, of course.”
“Follow me.”
He leads me through the stockroom and out onto the sales floor where boxes are scattered from hell to noon. “I’m looking for a full time manager, though I’ll also be hiring a few hourly employees as well.”
He opens a box, and my mouth falls open when he holds up the contents. A giant purple dildo, packaged in a thick plastic case.
“Um, if that’s part of the interview, I might be in the wrong place.” The whole thing makes me feel like I’m on one of those stupid hidden camera shows. He’s setting up a sex toy store? In this little backward town that couldn’t even sell alcohol until recently? No way.
