GUY: A Graveyard Girl Spin-off Novel

by Ann, Bry

  “I know you’re embarrassed. I know you’re scared. But don’t ever use that fucking tone with me. Clear?”

  I jerk out of his hold, working quickly to secure my belt in place.

  “What are you gonna do, kill me?”

  “Guy,” Frances demands in a stern tone. I glance up, but barely. I'm so embarrassed. I want to run. I want to run far away and never show my face here again.

  “This will be forgotten. That’s why you’re not in the fucking gang. This is between us. Alright?”

  “Alright?” I scoff. “Fuck you.”

  “Guy,” he warns.

  I start to charge off, but he stops me. He snatches my shoulder and turns me around.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Somewhere the fuck away from this awful place. I hate it here. I fucking hate it!”

  “Where do you propose you go, huh? Your mom threw you out of your house at gunpoint. Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but you’re just as stuck here as I am.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “Now you’re just throwing a temper tantrum.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Give me two years. Two years, kid, and if I can’t get us out, I’ll let you run to your own death wherever you want.”

  I pause. Not just physically, but mentally, ‘cause it’s my newfound demons that are making my blood buzz with the desire to run.

  I pause because he’s right. I’d die. I run, I die. But I still want to.

  “Two years,” he repeats. “You’ve made it six. Two is nothing.”

  “You don’t need more pressure,” I mumble.

  I can almost feel him smirking, even though I'm not looking at him.

  “I thrive under pressure, kid.”

  “In a bad way.” I meet his eyes.

  He shrugs. “Blood will be spilled, people will die, hearts will break, but we’ll be free. What do you say?”

  I take in my best friend’s expression and slowly nod.

  “Only if you teach me to fight. Only if you find a way to make me the best fighter on the street. Better than you, even. Then I’ll stay.”

  “Is that what you need to get past this?”

  “Yes. And your deal.”

  “Punk,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  “Well, do we have a deal?”

  With a sigh, Frances extends his hand.

  “Tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, empty threats.”

  He knocks me on the head with the side of his fist. I grin up at him. He just grumbles and rolls his eyes, but I know he cares.

  “I would,” he adds, mumbling. I think he’s trying to convince himself.

  Mmmhmm, sure.

  Kiki

  Present Day

  “Katrina. Katrina, stop!”

  I glance over at my best friend, but immediately regret it when she winces and her eyes fill with pain.

  “It’s Kiki, not Katrina. That’s what he calls me.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles as she steps closer to me. Gently, she places her perfectly manicured hand on my upper arm. “Ragazza, I said run, not pack your bags, find the nearest abandoned island, and become a survivalist.” (Girl)

  “He won’t hurt me again, Rain. He won’t. I won’t let him.”

  “Kiki,” she murmurs. “I don’t wanna lose you. You’re my best friend. Please think this through. You don’t know the first thing about surviving in the wilderness. This is insane.”

  My eyes harden. “Are you gonna turn me in?”

  “You know I won’t, so don’t look at me like I'm gonna turn you back in to the piece of shit who gave you two black eyes.”

  With that, Rain crosses her arms over her chest, making her admittedly awesome tits almost push up out of her very expensive, very classy dress. Rain is always dressed so beautifully—elegant, yet sexy. Always. With her full lips, big brown eyes, crazy voluminous, shiny hair, she really is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. I have to work not to be jealous of her. I’ll be honest. I'm mediocre; I’ve got blue eyes, but my lashes are far too short. I’ve got long brown hair, but the ends are frizzy no matter how much product I put on them. I mean, okay, my body is pretty good. I have that hourglass shape that people seem to approve of. But yeah. Right now, there’s nothing beautiful about me. With a cracked rib that makes me wince every two seconds, two black eyes, and a few other sporadic bruises, I look like the victim of domestic violence that I am.

  That ends now. That title of victim will soon be survivor. Mark my words. I don’t do anything halfway.

  “I'm sorry. I know you’d never turn me back in to Anthony. I just… I have to do this, Rain.”

  “You don’t know how to survive on an island, Kiki!” she screams, finally losing the control she was trying really hard to hold onto. “You’re gonna die! You’re gonna die and leave me alone just like my mother!”

  “I'm not leaving you, Rain,” I whisper softly. “And your mom didn’t leave you. She, um…”

  “Died. Yeah, I know. I was there,” Rain says flatly, unimpressed. “Just like you will on this island. Are you sure Anthony didn’t give you brain damage or something? This idea is that dumb.”

  “Rain!” I gasp.

  “I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “That was really mean. I'm just scared, Kiki. I think you’re actually gonna do this.”

  I frown. “I am.”

  “Oh my God.” Her entire body curls inward and she starts to make a sound that’s something between a sob and a scream.

  “Rain, I’ll be okay,” I try to soothe her. “It’s not forever. It’s just until this whole thing with Anthony blows over. I don’t wanna be on the run. I don’t want to let him do that to me. Once he stops looking, I’ll relocate to an actual US city and you’ll follow me there once you figure out how to get your dad to ease up on his need to protect you at all times.”

  “I don’t need my trust fund, Kiki. If he wants to coerce me into staying by keeping that from me, I’ll leave without it. I won’t be the first woman to run away broke. We’ll be broke together.”

  I chuckle and take an exaggerated look at her outfit, from her classy black heels to her blow-dried hair.

  She swats my arm. “I don’t need this stuff! I like it. It’s a want, not a need.”

  “Uh-oh, your therapy is showing, Rain.”

  She smiles, but it’s sad. “I'm gonna miss you so much.”

  I run and wrap my arms around her despite the twinge of pain it causes.

  “I’ll miss you, too, but I’ll be back soon.”

  “I just want it said, officially, I don’t approve of this. At all.”

  “Got it. But my outfit, though…” I take a step back and spin in a slow circle.

  Rain laughs and shakes her head. She looks at my skin-tight camo cargo pants, black v-neck, and thick hiking boots.

  “You look hot,” she whispers. “Kiki, you have thirty days. Then I send an entire search team after you.”

  All my fun vanishes in a flash. “If you alert Anthony to my presence, this friendship is over.”

  “Agh!” she growls. “Why are you such a psycho extremist?! There are other ways to avoid a crazy ex. Even in that rough initial month. God, why are you like this?!”

  “My mom is that way.”

  “Your mom is a workaholic who still doesn’t know you’ve been in a relationship the past year. Let alone an abusive one.”

  I ignore that truth. “My dad, too.”

  She gives me a flat look. “He left you when he fell in love with his blonde bimbo secretary.”

  “Thanks for that. Yes, but the trait is there in both of them. We’re all extremists.”

  “God, you need a handler. This is insane. This is insane.” She seems really distressed. “I know your dad’s a dick, bastard, fuckface.” I smirk. “But tell him. He’d let you stay with him ‘til you’re safe again, Kiki. He would. I know he would. He does love you, he just—”

  “Loves sexy, young, beautiful secretaries and
fancy New York apartments more.”

  “True, but he’d keep you safe in his fancy-ass apartment and his young plaything would probably buy you all sorts of shit with his money while you hide away.”

  “I’d rather die on the island, thanks.” I hurl my knapsack over my shoulder. “I'm doing this, Rain. I feel good about this. It’s thirty days.”

  I meet her hesitant, fearful, pretty brown eyes.

  “What could happen?”

  * * *

  Guy

  Three Days Later

  “Go left on Magnolia. Then take a quick right off Sire Street, sir. Sir!” I demand his attention. “You have exactly five minutes and thirty-three seconds ‘til this bomb goes off with your oldest son inside the building. Quit fucking around and slam on the gas!”

  Jesus Christ! I wipe the sweat from my brow as I watch this whole thing from my video feed like some kind of real-life action flick.

  “Good, turn left here off Dead End Drive. Nice. Now you need to climb in through the bottom window. He’s being held under the sink, in the cabinet.”

  “I can’t get over that,” the poor kid’s dad mutters. Poor kid’s dad, ha! The kid’s dad is a big-time dealer in the arms trade. I don’t always work for criminals, but today, I do. I mean, he may be guilty as fuck, but his kid’s not. “No wonder I couldn’t find Milano. They have him under a fucking sink.”

  “It’s twisted,” I agree, giving him an inch when I usually don’t get personal at all. “Just crawl back out through that same window. You should be fine from there. I’ll keep my video feed up and I have my earpiece in. If trouble arises, say Milano’s full name. I got you.”

  “Thank you so much. I—”

  “You paid me. Don’t worry about it.”

  Like I promised, I keep the headset in my ear and the screen on full display as I make my way to my kitchen. The faint sound of birds echoes outside my private bunker. The one I built.

  Frances kept his promise. Less than two years after that fucking awful day, Frances joined the mafia. He made money, helped me get on my feet, then from there, I established myself in the tech world. I have a natural gift at all things technology. Whether that’s finding people through GPS and hacking into cameras or getting private information eradicated from various systems to a million other possible jobs, I can do it. Because of that, my name got around.

  Fast.

  The fast money combined with the awesome portability of tech work allowed me to do what I always promised myself I would.

  Run.

  As far from society and its corrupt, brutal heartlessness as I could.

  After a lot of searching, I found an island off the coast that, yes, the government was aware of, but for whatever reason, they never capitalized on it. No one lives here. No one but me, that is.

  I set up all my computers, my bunker, found a source of water and food, and all the boring shit no one cares about. I’ve lived here for years. Years with no real human contact, the only contact I get being, one, my jobs, and two, talking to Frances regularly. He’s always been supportive of my isolated island living, but I know that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll want me to come back. When he deems my trauma excuse no longer viable. He’ll push back then. I know he will. That’s really the only thing that scares me about living here. Not the animals. Or the weather. Or the hunger. Or the isolation.

  It’s losing my mafia capo/enforcer best friend.

  But yeah, other than that, I mean, island life is way less scary than street life. Nature is straightforward. You’re in danger. Be prepared. Done.

  The streets are more tricky than that. Humans are more tricky than that.

  Fuck all that. I'm here now. Home.

  I chop up a couple of apples and top them with a few chopped berries. The audio from the son and his father is still playing, but they’re good. They’ll make it out fine. I wanna shut my camera off and relax a bit. Two jobs in a row is a lot for me, especially since I get six figures a job. Yeah, I'm that good. I get to charge that now. It’s pretty fuckin’ crazy.

  As soon as I get the all-clear from my buyer, I switch the screen from New York City to my beautiful, slightly haunting island landscape and take off my headset, placing it down on the keyboard. Then I switch the audio for my computer system to speaker, low volume. Now, for the perk of working for myself. Me time. AKA, hiking and wandering around the island and trying not to die.

  I'm smiling as I down half my apples and prepare to hit the trails. I have my knapsack over my shoulder and I'm heading out the door when the first boom of thunder sounds.

  “Shit,” I curse, trudging back inside. “Well, this sucks,” I mutter to no one.

  Then the lightning begins. Thunderstorms are a big deal here. It’s not like civilian life, where you go back inside and you’re fine. I have precautions I have to take. Things I have to be aware of in this kind of tropical storm.

  I'm shutting the doors, boarding the windows, when I first hear it.

  Crying.

  Unmistakable female crying.

  I drop everything and run to my computer screen that has views of the island from every angle and slam the headphones over my ears to hear the audio attached. I need to be extra sure I'm not confused or delusional, which is very likely at this point. I recently visited Frances for a little bit. He had some troubles with his girl, Marley—who’s crazy by the way, but that works for Frances. He’s turned into a fucking psycho, even if I love him like a brother. I can still say that.

  Anyway. Being there, with people, made me realize how totally unhealthy it is to not be around anyone ever.

  I still prefer it, but I know there are risks.

  Sniffling sounds. I crease my eyebrows harder and hit the button that gives me every shot of the island I can get.

  And that’s when I first see her.

  Huddled in a small ball under a tree. A long braid. Camo pants. A black short-sleeve t-shirt in this rain. And crying.

  A woman. Why is a woman here? What the hell?

  I try to figure out why the hell some woman would be on a deserted island in the wilderness in the middle of a dangerous storm alone, but I come up empty.

  “Oh well,” I whistle, sliding the knapsack back on. I guess the reason doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s in trouble. And this is my island.

  I gotta go help her.

  Kiki

  What am I doing here?

  I sob harder as the thunder booms again, followed by lightning. I'm soaking wet. I'm cold. The frigid temperatures make my injuries, new and old, hurt worse, but above all, I'm scared. I'm so scared. I need to go back. I think about the small boat I took out here and wonder if I could make it back; even without the transport I got ¾ of the way here.

  Rain was right. Rain’s always right. I'm so stupid. So, so stupid.

  Maybe Anthony was right, too. I'm just a naïve, young—

  Crickkkk. I freeze. Every single muscle in my body tenses. I'm gonna get attacked by an animal. I know I am. This is it. A bear or something is gonna come out and…

  “Sweetness, what the hell are you doin’ way out here?”

  My trembling increases as my body temperature drops, but my eyes widen. A person. There’s another person here.

  A man.

  I glance over slowly, wide eyed, to see a man with long blonde hair and a thin but muscular physique standing in front of me. He kinda looks like a hot surfer except with the style of a man who, well, is stuck in a thunderstorm on a deserted island.

  “I-I…” Am I unsafe? Is he gonna hurt me, too? Oh God. I'm sorry, Rain. I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you. You’re always right.

  “Shit, your lips are blue.”

  He doesn’t comment on my black eyes. If he’s not awful, I think I love him. He comes over, approaching cautiously, like I may bolt at any moment, and crouches down.

  “I know you wanna run. That’s fine, but not in the storm.” He leans in closer to my face as my heart thunders in my ears. �
�You hear me?”

  I squeak. Squeak. Like a freakin’ mouse.

  “I'm gonna wrap my jacket around you, ‘kay, doll?”

  “What about you?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth the rain picks up, making it hard to hear anything but my own thoughts.

  “I can’t hear you over the rain,” he yells, sliding his jacket off to reveal two long, toned arms. “Put this on.”

  He wraps me in a warm jacket. See, it’s my job to put my arms through the sleeves, but I think I'm in shock. I just sit here, not moving.

  “Hey!” the man yells. “I need you to help me here. Can you walk?”

  I nod a little.

  “Good girl. Can you put your arms in the sleeves for me?”

  He asks, but he’s hurrying now. Even as he poses the question, he’s taking my ice cold, bruised limbs and stuffing them in the sleeves of his black hoodie.

  “Good job,” he kinda mumbles once I'm wrapped up. I only know he said it ‘cause I can read his lips this close.

  “Look, sweetness, um, you gotta walk or I'm gonna attempt to carry you. It’s not safe out here right now.”

  Is it weird that I'm offended by his use of the word attempt? I mean, first, who cares what he thinks of my body right now and, second, carrying a human being is no easy task. I know this. It doesn’t matter what that person weighs.

  “I… um…”

  “Can’t hear you!” he yells, extending a hand out to me.

  Thank God he can’t. He’d probably think something was wrong with me. Well, something more was wrong with me than what very clearly already is since I'm in this predicament in the first place.

  Slowly, I reach out and slide my hand through his. He doesn’t waste a moment tugging me to my feet and dragging me along. Like, not one freakin’ second. I don’t even have my footing yet before he’s pulling me through the brush and over and under the landscape. He knows exactly where he’s going.

  How?

  All I see are trees. Never-ending trees.