by Summer Rose
The Brotherhood–(Redwood High) Series Books 1-5
A Dark High School Romance
Summer Rose
.
Copyright © 2020 [Summer Rose] – All rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
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Table of Contents
TRANSITION: The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
OBLIVIOUS: The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 2
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
UNFOLD: The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 3
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
GUILT: The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 4
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
TRANQUILITY: The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 5
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
TRANSITION
A Dark High School Romance
The Brotherhood- (Redwood High) Book 1
Summer Rose
CHAPTER ONE
I leaned forward, earbuds in place as I peered out the car window watching the trees and hills go by. There has always been something about nature that spoke to me. Whether it was the serenity, the pure beauty, or the calmness that came with it, I just always felt at home around nature. That said, something about this particular scene irked me.
Perhaps it was the fact that my mom and I abandoned our home in Los Angeles to move to a small town in Virginia called Redwood. As someone who was born and raised in a big, thriving city, it was a little hard for me to accept the fact that we were making a move to somewhere so much smaller and quieter.
Then again, I had never really been social, nor did I have a lot of friends. I was sort of an introvert, always finding social interactions awkward; the world of social interaction was reserved for the likes of my parents.
My mom, Elena Dawson, was a social butterfly, thriving in society and everything it had to offer. She was always attending parties, events, charity galas, and so on. Yet somehow, she still found a way to manage to be a great wife and mother. My father complimented her since he reveled in the fame that came with being a millionaire businessman. They always attended events together, throwing parties of their own, but I never felt neglected in any way. It was no wonder my mom decided to leave LA after my father’s death. She just couldn’t handle staying in that world without her “partner in crime.”
The death of Grant Dawson, my father, was something I couldn’t yet grasp, and it had everything to do with the strange circumstances surrounding his death.
He had woken up from his nap on a Sunday evening, and we had all sat down for dinner. After some banter and a romantic dance with my mom by the fireplace, he had planted a sweet kiss on my forehead. He announced he was stepping out for a meeting with a business partner of his. Of course, my mom had been hesitant to let him go so late in the evening, but he managed to convince her and put her at ease.
When he didn’t return that night, my mom called the cops, who said they could only declare him missing after 24 hours, but we didn’t have to wait that long. A few hours later, my father’s car was found at the bottom of a lake. There was no saving him, he was dead.
Investigators wrote off his death as an accident, blaming it on the massive storm that had reaped havoc that night. But, something in my gut kept telling me that there was something strange about my father’s death, but how could the words of a 17-year-old sway anyone?
It had been two months, and even though my mom was all smiles as she drove us to our new home, I knew she missed him, and that she was broken inside.
“Oh, Katrina, I can’t wait to start this new job. You know I’ve always wanted to be in fashion, right?” My mom’s calm, angelic voice flowed into my music-free ears.
I rolled my eyes at her attempt to make it seem like everything was fine. I could see through her, but I just turned to her with a small smile.
“Yes, Mom, I know,” I replied.
“Don’t give me that look, Katrina,” she coaxed. “I know you’re not as excited as I am to move to Redwood, but I promise you it’s going to be amazing there, okay?”
Her assurances meant nothing to me. It wasn’t that I hated the move; it just felt like we were running from everything that reminded my mom of my dad, but I didn’t dare say that. It would just hurt her, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do.
“I know. It will be amazing, Mom. We’re going to be together after all.”
I smiled genuinely this time.
“I love you, Mom, but you really should start calling me Kat now. New town, new life… remember?”
I had been trying to get her to call me Kat since I was five, but she never budged. Hopefully, she would do it now that we were headed toward a fresh start.
She chuckled instead, her beautiful brown eyes shining with a twinkle and her brown skin glowing underneath the sun. “You are always going to be my Katrina, bebé. It’s such a beautiful name, I don’t know why you insist on shortening it,” she said. “You know, your father chose that name…” Then she went on and on about my father, and I immediately put on music to tune her out.
It wasn’t that I hated listening to stories about my father. It was the fact that she spoke of him like he had been dead for years when it had only been two months. The fact that she seemed to be over it got on my nerves.
Maybe it was her way of coping - acting like nothing was wrong - or it had been long enough for us to move on with our lives. I wasn’t in that place yet. My father’s death was still so raw in my mind, and the vast hole his absence had left in my heart wasn
’t going to be healed anytime soon.
Memories of him flashed in my head as we zoomed past the sign that said Welcome to Redwood, and, instead of letting them go, I embraced them.
Sounds of his boisterous laughter rang in my head. Images of him caring for me, dropping me off at school, kissing my forehead, and messing up perfectly combed hair flickered through my mind.
As I listened to The Pine Ridge Boys’ “You Are my Sunshine,” I felt hope bloom within me. Maybe, just maybe, this town would make a difference in my life, and things wouldn’t be so bad.
I leaned back and basked in the warmth of the sun as I tried to look forward to a new start.
CHAPTER TWO
“K atrina, dear, wake up. We’re here,” came a sing-song voice that roused me from my disturbing sleep.
I woke from a weird dream where an unknown masked man was chasing me while continually repeating the words, “you are next” as I ran for my life.
When I heard my mom’s voice, I was happy that I had somehow been released from the grasp of that horrible nightmare.
Opening my eyes to my mother’s perfect teeth and megawatt movie-star smile, I peered out of the car to look around my surroundings. I was met with the sight of a house with a porch, white picket fence, rocking chair, garage, the works. A small garden peeked out proudly from the side, and I would have bet my entire trust fund that there was a swing set in the backyard. It was the ideal American home and a far cry from the mansion we had lived in, but I had always thought the mansion was simply too big for the three of us anyway.
I opened the door to the car and stepped out, breathing in the clean air of Redwood while my mom joined me.
“Oh, I have a good feeling about this place,” she gushed, clapping her hands in excitement while I lugged our suitcases out of the back seat.
If I hadn’t seen her break down in tears with a bottle of vodka clutched tightly underneath her arm the night before my dad’s funeral, I would have sworn that she didn’t care about his death. However, I had seen her that night, and I was also a firsthand witness to how much they had loved each other, so there was no doubt that she was devastated. What amazed me was how fast she seemed to have gotten over it. Maybe she was just doing it for me?
We explored the house while waiting for the moving truck to arrive, and when it finally did, I was stationed inside, making sure the boxes were being taken to the correct rooms. Then I heard my mother yell for me.
There was something in her voice that I hadn’t heard before, and I was suddenly worried. I hurried out of the house, my Vans squeaking on the floor. I could see my mom staring at something behind the truck, but I couldn’t see what it was, so I jumped off the porch and ran. By the time I got to her side, I was breathless and had to crouch, hands on my knees and head bent to catch my breath. I finally raised my head and my breath caught again at the sight before me.
Standing before my mother was a boy that seemed to be around the same age as me or a little older. He wore a baseball cap, but I could see a mop of dark hair peeking out from underneath, and he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking me over with interest.
I instinctively put up a hand to tame my long, curly mass of blond hair, feeling a little self-conscious about the fact that my nose was slightly crooked from falling off a friend’s treehouse in middle school. I dusted the dirt off my clothes, painfully aware of the sweat that glistened on my forehead from arranging boxes. The mom jeans and wrinkled band T-shirt I was wearing did nothing to build my confidence.
Next to this six-foot-tall Adonis, I looked like a scruffy ten-year-old tomboy. I had never felt the urge to dress up like other girls do until this moment. Suddenly, my subconscious began to chastise me for not smacking on at least a little lip gloss and a dab of foundation when we’d woken up this morning.
I threw a reproachful glance at my mother, trying to convey the message: A warning would have been nice.
She was completely oblivious. “Katrina, bebé, I wanted you to meet Jake Grayson. He and his mother are our next-door neighbors.” My mom beamed as if she had just told me Christmas came early and I loved Christmas.
“Kat, Mom,” I mumbled. “I prefer Kat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be rude, dear. Shake hands,” she said.
Alarmed, I turned to look at the boy, Jake, and realized that his arm was outstretched, something I hadn’t noticed before. I felt my cheeks redden as I took his hand, and I could swear I felt a jolt.
Maybe he did too, because his smirk got even more prominent, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Katrina.”
He drawled my name, ignoring the fact that I had openly said I preferred it shortened. I glared at him, but he continued, unbothered, “We are going to have so much fun.”
His grip on my hand tightened, his boyish smirk remaining in place. I was sure my entire face was now red while my mom simply stood there, beaming at our interaction.
It didn’t take being psychic for me to know that Jake Grayson was going to be trouble.
CHAPTER THREE
M onday mornings were my least favorite; at least I had that in common with the average teenager.
I stood before the mirror, trying hard to comb my usually soft blond hair, which, for some reason, had a ton of tangles this morning. That, and the fact that I had found my favorite Vans chewed on by a rat, probably increased my fear of this turning into a bad day for me.
I considered those two occurrences bad omens because I never had a problem combing my hair, regardless of the weather, and I had been wearing those Vans for two years now without ever having an issue.
I just knew being the new kid was going to suck. Not that I’d ever experienced it, but I had seen how awkward it had been for new kids at my old school to adjust.
A knock on my door made me turn. “Come in,” I said and looked at the mirror once again with a satisfactory nod.
“Bebé, are you done? You are going to be late,” my mom drawled in that thick Mexican accent of hers as she peered into my room, opening the door halfway.
“I’m done, Mom.” I strolled to the bed and picked up my brown leather satchel. “We can go now.”
She raised a brow at my response and wrinkled her beautifully pointed nose.
“That’s what you’re going to wear? Katrina, what happened to the clothes I picked out for you?”
I looked down at myself, wondering what she was talking about. I had on a plain white T-shirt and dark skinny jeans paired with my tan Chelsea boots. My hair, which I had managed to untangle into its soft curls, was up in a ponytail. I had on a silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant my dad had given me when I was twelve. In my opinion, I looked good and ready to go.
However, my mom, ever the fashionista, thought otherwise. “It’s your first day, darling, and I left you that cute little dress and those elegant heels I got you. It’s a good thing those Vans of yours got ruined. They were beginning to drive me crazy, and at least now you get to wear your designer boots. I bought those for you forever ago.”
I simply gaped at her. “Mom did you…?”
An eye roll followed my unfinished question. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything to your precious Vans. It was probably a rat, and I said I will call the exterminators, Bueno?”
“Okay,” I said, eyeing her suspiciously before I was satisfied that she hadn’t taken her frustration out on my shoes.
“Did you sleep well?” It was our first night in our new house, and I wanted to know how she was doing.
A broad smile graced her lips. “Oh, honey, I slept wonderfully. I get to start my new job today, too, so I couldn’t be more excited.”
I sighed. “Mom…” I just couldn’t believe she could be that happy, considering the circumstances.
She walked into the room and placed both manicured hands on my cheeks, her bronze skin a slight contrast from my cream-colored complexion. “I’m fine, mí hija. You don’t have to worry.
Like I said before, our life here is going to be simply amazing.” She kissed my forehead and pulled me into a hug.
“I love you, Mom,” I mumbled from being squished in her arms.
“Té amo, bebé,” she whispered, before stepping back and brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful, Katrina, and your eyes, my God, they shine so brightly, just like your father’s. You are all your father, my sweet girl.”
I beamed at the comparison, but deep down, I knew there were some similarities between my mother and me; they just weren’t as vivid.
Standing at 5’4”, I got my height from her, unlike my father, who had practically been a giant at 6’5”. Another feature I got from my mother was my figure.
Though not as fully developed as her mouth-watering curves, mine were still a little too daring for a 17-year-old, although they sat well with my frame. The rest of me was from my dad, except he had pale skin, while my creamy skin was a mixture of both parents.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She nodded, her smile still in place. “Come on, you have to eat breakfast before I drop you off.”
I groaned; I should have known. If there was anything my mom loved, it was cooking for people. So, instead of arguing - which I knew would get me nowhere - I trailed after her obediently and sat at the table to eat the perfect English breakfast she had whipped up.
“When do I get a car, Mom? I wouldn’t want you to get to your new job late because you have to drop me off every morning.”
I was watching her closely, so I saw the shadow that fell briefly on my mom’s face. “I’m perfectly fine with dropping you off at school every morning, Katrina. I think you’re going to be fine without a car for now,” she said, putting her smile firmly back in place.
“But Mom, we talked about this,” I protested. “You promised to get me one when I began my senior year.”
