GUY: A Graveyard Girl Spin-off Novel
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GUY
A Graveyard Girl Spin-off Novel
Bry Ann
Guy
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are
products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is dedicated to my dad. Although my books deal with primarily romantic heroes, you’ve always been mine. I love you so much.
I miss you with all my heart.
Thank you for saving me and, more than anything, thank you for loving me.
Love- Aubs
You’re always in my heart. Even on the days I don’t know how to show it.
Copyright © 2019 by Bry Ann
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
GUY
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
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Guy
Seven Years Old
“You know Mama loves you, right, baby? You know?” she pleaded with me.
“Why—why are you making me leave?”
“I'm saving you, baby. Run. Run far away from Richard—” my dad “—and maybe you’ll survive him.”
“But—but what about you?”
She gave me a sad smile. Her reddened eyes didn’t even crinkle. The white powder she loved took away her real smile a long time ago.
“It’s too late for me, baby. But not for you. Run… and—and live for me, little guy. Love you.”
“Mom?” I begged.
She cocked the gun and aimed it right at me, hands shaking from the glass-bottle drink she drank.
“Run, Guy, and don’t ever come back.”
“Bbbbrrrr…” My teeth chatter as I hug my knees in tighter to my chest. Mom told me to run. She didn’t tell me where to go or what to do or how to eat. I don’t know what’s louder: my tummy or my teeth.
“Brrrr.”
It’s so, so cold. I sniffle once. Not ‘cause I'm cold, ‘cause I'm sad. I wanna go home. Dad’s fists didn’t hurt as bad as this.
A gust of wind blows, making my jacket flare open. I choke out a sob. I wanna go home!“Fifteen bucks you stole from my boss,” a deep, accented voice growls. “He doesn’t like thieves.”
My sniffling stops and my ears perk up. There are other people here under this bridge with me?
They must be right around the corner since this bridge goes straight and then turns to the left.
“You have three seconds. One, two—”
“Hey, man, I—”
“Three.”
Thwack!
I know that sound. I sigh. He’s getting punched. My dad loves to do that. I curl myself in, trying to block out the sound, when another gust of wind blows and this time, the sniffle that escapes is from the cold. And it’s loud, loud enough to make a deep voice yell stop. He stopped beating that man because he heard me. Not good.
Click, click, click… I hear footsteps heading my way, so I jump to my feet and stand tall. Not even a minute later, a teenager with slicked back, golden hair and dark eyes appears.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest.
The teenager’s lip twitches. “I'm Frances, OX5 leader. Your turn, kid.”
“OX5?” I question, eyebrows creasing.
He shakes his head and mutters, “Street bait,” whatever that means.
“A gang,” he offers.
That’s… bad, I guess. Unless…
“I'm real useful for a gang.”
This time, he laughs. “You don’t even have hair on your balls, kid. Go home.”
“I don’t have a home.” I step closer to him. “You need your $15 back, right? If I get it from him, can I join?”
The angry teen rolls his eyes. “You can’t.”
“I can.”
“I'm not arguing with you. Get the fuck out of here. The big boys have business.”
“Give me a fucking chance.”
“Get, kid.”
He spins on his heel to leave and, naturally, I follow. Once he’s gotten a bit ahead of me, of course. I use the pillars to keep myself out of sight as much as possible. Ignoring the cold now, I take the left turn that boy took, making sure to keep my small body behind the pillar when I get to a spot where I can see them.
I peek around the corner in time to see a black-haired teen go toe to toe with a shaking, angry dude being held by the collar. Right as I’m getting ready to attempt an army crawl to get the fifteen dollars, the black-haired teen slams the guy against the front of the pillar I’m behind.
Bingo.
Being extra careful, I slide my hand around to the bottom of the thief's cargo shorts. That’s where I’d keep the money, at least. He doesn't look like he has a home either. Since my hands are small and he’s getting his face beat in, I easily undo the button and slide out the two green bills.
Gotcha.
Sliding my hand back quickly, I keep the majority of my body behind the pillar in case I need to escape quickly, but my head pops out.
“Hey, dudes!” I lift the money in my fingers. “Looking for this?”
I smile and lift my chin when I see all their jaws drop then quickly fall into a scowl… all except for Frances. He cocks his head and looks me up and down with scary eyes. I would never tell him that, though. I'm scared to die here and he can help me. I know he can. He likes me. I can tell. Even if he’s scary.
“The fuck, you little shit!” the black-haired kid roars.
He charges at me, but quickly and efficiently, I twist to run. I could just leave the money before I go. I'm not a thief or nothin’.
“Stop, everyone. Kid, you stay.”
I freeze and turn back to look at Frances. “Told you I could do it,” I gloat.
He shakes his head again and rolls his eyes.
“If you die, you die, kid. This ain’t no family. This is the street. This is a fucking gang.”
“I'm super smart for seven. I promise.”
“Fuck,” Frances hisses.
“Fine. You’re not a part of my gang yet, but until I figure you out, you can chill with us.”
“Thank—”
“But stay out of my way,” he warns.
“Easy, dude. Easy.”
He scoffs, but it sounds kinda like a laugh, too.
“Ramero, handle the shit that stole from me. Kid, tell me your name.”
While Ramero, I think his name was, drags the thief off, I look at Frances, the gang leader. Scary.
“Guy.”
“Guy? The fuck kind of name is Guy?”
“A good one, dude. A real, real good one.”
“You’re a punk,” he laughs.
“You’re a shithead.” I lift my chin even higher, pouting my lips, trying to sneer like him.
“Unfortunately, I think I’ll like you, Guy.”
I grin, but I turn a little so he can’t see me.
Gotcha.
Guy
Thirteen Years Old
Frances looks over at his shoulder at me, lifting his eyebrows.
“Want a drag?” He smirks, offering me his cigarette. I scrunch my face and look down at the bridge we are currently seated on the edge of.
“No, thanks.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
He says shit like that, but after six years living on the street with me, he knows exactly why I'm still alive.
I'm smart.
I got my ass kicked on purpose, over and over again, from many different people, so I could learn how to fight. Now I'm good. Fucking good. And I'm not even big. No one expects me to be able to lay them out flat. But I can.
Then there’s the fact that I explore. I’ve learned languages. More than just English.
I utilize the library to learn tech stuff. Sometimes the librarians even give me cookies. Only Frances knows that, though. He’s the only one who wouldn’t take advantage and get me kicked out of the place I love so much.
“Bullshit, dude. I can’t believe you’re still alive. You’re the one who’s out there getting on everyone’s shit list.”
He glances over at me, eyes empty. His eyes have been empty for a long time. Maybe even before I met him. The street will do that to you. Frances is not a good person, but he’s good to me. He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t be alive today without him.
“I keep you fed, don’t I?”
“Oh, don’t insult me. I could do it. Fuck, I could help if you’d let me join your fucking gang.”
“You’re not joining my gang,” he snaps.
“But—”
“Kid, I swear to fuck, I’ll throw you over this bridge and not think twice about it.”
I push to my feet, well aware of how pathetic I look with my lanky limbs and oversized clothing.
“You’re full of shit. Prove it, then.” I extend my arms on both sides.
“Sit the fuck down, Jesus. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“‘Cause you like me, dude.”
With a growl, Frances pushes to his feet, grabs me under my arms, and hoists me up in the air so I'm dangling over the side of the bridge. His eyes glimmer with the evil I know he loves.
“How’s this for liking you, you little shit?”
Even though I'm shaking all over and I know he feels it, I grin.
“You haven’t dropped me yet and your muscles are straining.”
He sighs as he brings me (thank fuck!) back to earth.
“I should kill you. It’d be best for both of us.”
“Not for me. I wanna live.”
“Why?” Frances grumbles, brushing off his shirt. It’s baggy, too, even though he tries so hard to look like he’s not homeless, you know, with running the gang and all, but we’re starved. We’re hungry. We try and try, each in our own way, but there’s never enough damn food.
“‘Cause, if I live, there’s a chance that one day I’ll never be hungry again, man.”
He stares at me with a dark smirk, but doesn’t say anything.
* * *
I just have to turn on 76th Street to get over to Dove. That’s where all the rich people stroll mindlessly, looking at items that are so stupidly expensive, I can’t fathom buying them even if I were rich.
I scoff at what idiots they are.
Whatever. Easy cash. My fingers can slip in and out of their pockets and purses in a heartbeat. But first, I have to get through 76th Street, where all the roughest folks on the street hang. It’s dangerous coming out here, especially for a smaller guy like me. I’ve gotten pretty good at fighting, I can speak to people in several languages and all that, but as of right now, that doesn’t change the fact that I weigh about fifty pounds less than them and am at least three years younger than most of this crowd.
I can do it, though. I’ll be fine. I gotta believe that. Frances won’t admit it, but he can only rob, steal, and hurt so many people for money before he has to lay low for a while. He says he runs the streets, and that’s true; anyone who’s anyone around here knows him. But in equal measure, the streets run him. And right now, the streets have the upper hand. He has to lay low and we’re hungry. And cold. Always so fucking cold. I swear to fuck, one day I'm gonna invent a heater I can wear.
Anyway…
I stay close to the left side wall where very few can see me. My feet shuffle to match the sounds of the low hums of misery escaping the lips of the men around me. There are no women on 76th Street. They don’t dare come here. Their size alone would put them in danger. Fuck, I shouldn’t be here. Only a little longer…
I'm about three doors down from Dove when a hand comes out of fucking nowhere and latches around my throat, tugging hard so I'm forced into a small alley between two buildings. I know this is bad. Even as I feel my heartbeat hammer in my air-deprived throat, I know this is really fucking bad.
I'm scared. Truly, deeply scared, like I have been every day for six years, but this time, it’s not fear, it’s terror. The kind that causes you to lose focus and not think rationally.
A makeshift knife is thrust up against my lower back, not quite piercing the skin, but enough to be sure I can’t fight without getting myself stabbed.
“Who are you?” I stammer, tripping over my feet as I'm shoved inside a building.
“Shut up!” he hisses.
Click. I hear the door swing shut. And I freak. I charge forward, but he’s faster. His hand reaches out and easily slams into my forehead. Enough to stun me, not enough to leave a mark. While I'm temporarily disoriented, he snags me by the hair, forces my jaw open by pressing his smelly fingers into my cheeks where my jaw connects, and stuffs a gag in my mouth. I screech, but it’s useless. I'm scared. I'm so scared. I want to start crying, but I won’t, ‘cause I learned not to cry a long time ago. More than anything though, I want Frances—my only family, my only friend, a truly badass, older friend—to come save me from this.
“Mmm! Mmmm!”
I wiggle against the table he now has my stomach pressed up against. What is he gonna do? What is he gonna do to me?!
“Help…” But it comes out in mumbled screeches through the gag.
I wiggle harder, but get nowhere since his hand is holding the back of my neck down. I don’t know how to get out of this. I don’t know how! Frances, please… I know my mom won’t come to save me.
When his hand slides around my body and undoes the top button on my pants, my eyes pound with tears. Don’t cry. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t cry.
Cold air washes over my legs. My pants are off. My. Pants. Are. Off.
My thoughts scatter in a million different directions.
No. Please. In my head, I'm crying. I'm crying like a little kid.
I'm lucky this hasn’t happened to me before, but no one has dared because of my friendship with—
Thunk!
His hands fly off my body. I'm still shaking as I try to stand up. I hear the unmistakable sound of a fat body slamming onto the ground. I'm disoriented, not looking around, when another pair of
hands urgently yanks the gag from my mouth. I look up with eyes I know are wide and terrified to meet a pair of dark eyes I know belong to my best friend, and now my fucking hero. Even if he’s a villain. He’s my life-saving villain.
“He’s dead,” Frances states, eyes blazing with fury, like he wishes he could kill the man who scared me all over again. “Sick fuck won’t be coming near you again. You good? Nothing… happened?”
“No… I…” I splutter, on the verge of either crying or raging. “As soon as I can, I'm getting out of here and never coming back,” I find myself saying.
“This town?” he questions, cocking his head a bit.
“Society. All of it.”
Frances looks at me, trying to figure out if I mean what I'm saying or if I said it out of trauma.
“Whatever you need, kid. Whatever floats your boat.”
His eyes roam over me, trying to subtly search for injuries. He’s trying not to piss me off, but I feel angry. I feel so angry I could slam a block over Frances’s head and I really think the only thing I’d feel is relief from this… this feeling eating me alive inside.
“Why don’t you pull your pants up, kid,” Frances says, again carefully, head cocking to the side.
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” I snap as I angrily yank my pants back up my legs.
Frances snatches my shoulder in a bruising grip and jerks me forward.