The Eastwood Series

by M. E. Clayton

  Samson

  ∞∞∞

  Copyright 2020 Monica Clayton

  Published by M.E. Clayton

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author’s imagination and all names, places, businesses and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Formatting: Smashwords

  Cover: Adobe Stock

  Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.

  Table of Contents

  ∞∞∞

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. Mackenzie

  2. Samson

  3. Mackenzie

  4. Samson

  5. Mackenzie

  6. Samson

  7. Mackenzie

  8. Samson

  9. Mackenzie

  10. Samson

  11. Mackenzie

  12. Samson

  13. Mackenzie

  14. Samson

  15. Mackenzie

  16. Samson

  17. Mackenzie

  18. Samson

  19. Mackenzie

  20. Samson

  21. Mackenzie

  22. Samson

  23. Mackenzie

  24. Samson

  25. Mackenzie

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Contact Me

  Author’s Note

  ∞∞∞

  Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.

  That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked for commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. If not, my books are probably not for you.

  Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. One of the things about reading that hurts my heart, though, is when I fall in love with a book, but I have to wait for the additional books in the series to be released. Because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, I vowed that if I ever write a series, all books will be published at once. Nope-no waiting over here…LOL. So, if you are reading one of my books, but can’t find any other books on the secondary characters of that book, that means the book is a standalone project.

  That being said, standalones aren’t really working out for me because I have readers (and my beta) constantly asking for the stories of the supporting characters. If there is enough interest for the supporting characters, I will do my best to give them their stories, but I will make sure to have the remaining books that were requested out at the same time.

  Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! Thank you, for making this dream of mine come true!

  NOTE: This book deals with delicate topics. If you are sensitive to physical abuse, please do not read on.

  Acknowledgements

  ∞∞∞

  The first acknowledgement will always be my husband (unless we ever divorce, then probably not so much after that), but seeing as how I can’t imagine that day ever coming, I can’t ever put myself out there without thanking him for all his love, support and belief in me.

  Second, there’s my family; my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my sister, and my mother. They are the people who love me the most, know me the best, and love me dearly, despite all they know…LOL!

  And, of course, there’s Kamala. She insists that I don’t have to thank her in every book, but my love for her and gratitude for all her support and enthusiasm, claims otherwise. She’s the first person (outside my family) that I shared this dream with, and she’s been by my side every step of the way. Kam, you really are the best kind of friend!

  And, finally, I’d like to thank everyone who’s purchased, read, reviewed, shared, and supported me and my writing. Thank you so much for helping make this dream a reality and a happy, fun one at that! There are not enough ‘Thank You’s in the world.

  Dedication

  ∞∞∞

  For –

  Anyone who’s ever had to make the decision they never

  thought they were strong enough to make.

  Prologue

  I couldn’t do this anymore.

  My entire body protested as I sank to my knees and reached underneath my bed for the First-Aid kit that I kept hidden there. On my knees, I pulled the box next to me and my hands shook as I tried twice to open the damn thing, and I willed myself not to cry. Struggling to get the box open, I felt the punch of panic in my gut when drops of blood colored the box.

  I couldn’t do this here.

  Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the box and got to my feet. I felt the dizziness like a fog of uncertainty threatening to push me back down and leave me there. I closed my eyes and forced some strength into my legs. Once I felt steady enough, I made my way to the bathroom, thanking God no one was home.

  Hobbling into the restroom, I couldn’t stop the painful cry that fell from my lips as the mirror didn’t lie. The box dropped into the sink as I leaned forward to get a better look.

  Who was that girl?

  I no longer recognized the girl in the mirror and that frightened me.

  Badly.

  My eyes searched every inch of my face to see if I could find the girl I used to be, but I couldn’t see anything. There was a time when I was convinced I could still…save myself. But looking in the mirror, that time has come and gone.

  I made my way over to the shelves next to the shower and grabbed a face cloth. After making my way back to the sink, I turned on the hot water and held the cloth underneath the faucet until it was wet and warm enough to soothe the mistakes stamped all over my face.

  My hiss filled the silence as I pressed the damp cloth to my face just above my left eye. I was going to need stitches if I had any hope of keeping the scar to a minimum. I scrambled around in the First-Aid box to see if it came with butterfly stitches or medical glue because a trip to the emergency would bring about too many questions and unpayable medical bills. I found a sleeve of butterfly stitches and closed my eyes briefly in prayer for small favors.

  With the faucet still running, I rinsed the cloth out and the pink tinted water that circled down the drain pulled a whimper from my lips. I took a breath deep in my chest to calm the nausea threatening to make an appearance.

  I placed the cloth back on my face and did the scariest thing I’ve ever done; I looked into the eyes of the girl in the mirror.

  I couldn’t do this anymore.
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  But, more importantly, I couldn’t hide this anymore.

  I knew once I calmed down, I could probably come up with a believable lie to tell everyone, but I’d been doing that already for months. I didn’t know if I had any new lies to tell. I didn’t know what could be believable enough to make the mess of my face go away.

  My body was easy; I slept wrong. I pulled my back. I’m going to the gym. I slipped and fell. The lies where endless when it was just your body that ached. But a battered face was a different story.

  Tossing the cloth in the sink, I ripped open the package of stitches and read the instructions on the back. I went back to the linen shelves and grabbed a dry face cloth. I cleaned the gash one last time, then dried the skin around it. Starting in the middle, per instructions, I pulled the ragged edges of my skin together and placed the first stitch across the wound. I added another, and another, and another until there were five stitches in place. The First-Aid kit came with some antibiotic cream and I dabbed some on, then covered the entire thing was a sterile bandage.

  Having taken care of the biggest issue, I cleaned the rest of my face and all that remained, after my ministrations, was some bruising already forming around my left eye and down the side of my face.

  With my adrenaline crashing, I turned around and slid down the counter until my ass hit the tiled floor. The water still ran above me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care just yet.

  I sat on the bathroom floor wondering how I got here. How did I let things get so out of control that I ended up here? I never dreamed I’d become that girl; the one who let doubt and fear seduce her. But I had. I had, but I couldn’t be her anymore.

  Something had to change.

  And that something had to be me.

  Chapter 1

  Mackenzie~

  “You act like you’re headed to the guillotine,” Charlie chuckled. “I promise, it won’t be that bad.”

  I glanced over at my cousin as she laid sprawled out on my twin bed. “No,” I retorted. “It’ll be worse.”

  She rolled over and propped her elbows up, resting her head in her hands, and grinned. “Okay, so you might have been the girlfriend to the football captain of our biggest rival,” she replied. “But you aren’t anymore. In twenty minutes, you will be an official Eastwood High Tiger.” She rolled back over and threw her hands in the air. “Go purple and gold!”

  I rolled my eyes as I looked in the mirror and finished knotting my hair back in a french braid. Wisps of my black hair escaped to frame my face, but I didn’t care about those. All I cared about was that my layered bangs did their job and hid my scar.

  “I’ve only broken up with Ridgeview High three months ago, Charlie,” I pointed out drolly. “It’s going to take me a bit longer to move on from my love of white and green.”

  Three months ago, I sat in my living room, in the dark, and waited for my mom to come home from work. My mom had been a hotel maid and she had worked different shifts. That particular day, she had been working a swing shift that wouldn’t have had her home until past ten.

  When she had walked in, she had automatically gone to turn on the lights, but my desperate cry to leave them off had startled her into complying. I remember the fear in her voice when she had asked me what was going on. And I remember how cowardice had consumed me and how I had to admit that I needed the lights off or else I wouldn’t be able to tell her.

  Turned out Julie Kingston had been brave enough for the both of us.

  She had sat down on the couch next to me, and hadn’t said a word, as shame and remorse spilled out from my lips, landing at her feet. I hadn’t held back any of the painful details. I had told her everything and it had been as if, once I had gotten started, I couldn’t stop.

  I had confessed my sins and my fears.

  I had poured out my sorrow and my pain.

  And the most empowering thing she could have done for me, she had done. Instead of falling victim to her own turmoil and emotions, she had held it together and had let me make the decision of what to do next. Mom had gifted me with the power to control something, finally, and I had grasped onto it with both hands.

  As much as my mom had done to give us a good life since my father walked out on us when I was six, I still knew the drill. I knew all about political and social classes. I knew money talked and the rich were favored in both the social and legal communities.

  I knew that it would be my word against Brayden Mahoney’s. I knew that the police would come and question a girl who lived in an apartment with her single mother, and then go question a boy who lived in Mason Hills with both his upstanding, rich parents.

  I also knew Mr. Mahoney would fire my mom the second the police knocked on their pristine, untainted front door. Her job and our livelihoods had been the reasons I had kept my mouth shut for so long. The entire time I dated Brayden, his parents had politely tolerated me, but that was about it. I knew accusing their son of abuse would have ended up in a disastrous legal fight.

  When I had told my mom I just wanted to run away from Ridgeview and never look back, she had called my uncle Silas the next morning and told him we needed help. My father might have been a bastard that ran out on us twelve years ago, but his family hadn’t abandoned us like he had.

  My uncle, his wife, Erin, and my cousin, Charlie, lived only one town over in Eastwood, and so, I had been able to maintain a decent relationship with them over the years. With technology being what it was today, we had kept in touch a lot. We had an unspoken rule, though, and that was that we didn’t talk about my father. As far as I was concerned, Declan Harden didn’t exist.

  The same day my mother had made the phone call to Uncle Silas, he had driven to Ridgeview from Eastwood and asked for details, to which my mom hadn’t given him. She had simply told him that I was having trouble at school and I needed to start over somewhere else, and he had taken my face as proof of that. I remember how worried he looked, but he hadn’t pried. And Uncle Silas had us packed and moved into their home by the following week. And all without one phone call to my bastard of a father. It had made me wonder how both men could have been raised in the same household and turn out so differently.

  My mother had given her two weeks’ notice, and though it took about a month, Aunt Erin had been able to get her a job with the city of Eastwood as an office clerk. We were still living with Uncle Silas, but we were only two weeks away from moving into our own place. Uncle Silas had wanted my mom to save as much money as she could before moving out, so we could have an advantageous start in Eastwood.

  I was also starting my senior year at Eastwood today.

  The official story was that my mom had gotten a new job, and even though Eastwood was only a twenty-minute drive from Ridgeview, my mom thought if she was working for the city of Eastwood, we should live there too. Only Uncle Silas and Aunt Erin knew there was more to the story, but I knew I could trust them.

  As for my friends, I only kept in touch with Shondra and Ella. However, it was mostly through texts and phone calls. I had deleted all my social media accounts with a lame excuse that watching my ‘friends’-because they had all been Brayden’s friends-move on and have fun without me would be too sad to witness. However, to make the lie believable, I couldn’t change my phone number, so I just blocked Brayden instead.

  Brayden.

  My heart still throbbed when I thought about him, but not for sentimental reasons. It throbbed as a shameful reminder that I had let someone manipulate and control me because my eyes weren’t open enough to recognize what mattered and what didn’t. I had endured months of physical and emotional abuse because I thought my mom’s job was more important than her love for me. She didn’t know that I knew, but I heard her crying every night, for a week, after everything that had happened. We had to share a room when we moved in with Uncle Silas, but we each had our own twin bed to sleep in, and when my mom thought I was sleeping, I could hear her break down and silently cry out her pain and regret. We’ve come a long way
, but I knew she still blamed herself some.

  As for my face, Uncle Silas, Aunt Erin, and Charlie thought I had been jumped by a bunch of catty girls at school. That was the story we told, and we were sticking to it. If Uncle Silas knew the truth, he’d insist on calling the cops and that’s not a route I wanted to go. At least, not right now.

  I knew a lot of people would disagree with me, and even go as far as to call me a coward, but escape was more important to me than pursuing a justice that I knew I wasn’t going to get. However, the one thing my mom had insisted on was taking pictures. The next morning, I had stripped down to my underwear and had let my mom take photos of what it was like to date Brayden Mahoney. Maybe one day I’ll be strong enough to press charges, but today I just wanted to get through my first day of school.

  I examined my jeans and plain light blue shirt and grimaced. “Maybe no one will notice me,” I muttered.

  Charlie choked out a genuine laugh. “You are insane if you think no one is going to notice you, Mack,” she said. “You’re the only female in a hundred-mile radius that has black hair, purple eyes, and a body that belongs on a grown ass woman. No one is going to not know you’re you, no matter how many baseball hats, fake mustaches, and sunglasses you wear.”

  “Shut up,” I retorted. “My eyes aren’t purple. They’re blue. They’re just dark.”

  Charlie snorted. “They’re freakin’ purple,” she insisted. “And the only other living person in the world with eyes that color is Jase.” Jase was my older brother. He was twenty-two and a Marine. When Mom had asked if I wanted her to call him, I had made her promise not to tell him. Jase was a good man and even better big brother. If he knew, he would come back and kill Brayden, and happily spend the rest of his life in prison. I couldn’t do that to him. Besides, he was off on assignment somewhere and his safety was more important than my drama. I needed Jase to focus on staying alive over there in the Middle East, not be distracted by worrying about his little sister.