Mad as a Hatter (Sons of Wonderland Book 1)

by Kendra Moreno

  Mad as a Hatter

  Sons of Wonderland Book 1

  Kendra Moreno

  Please do not participate in piracy.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kendra Moreno

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

  Edited by Michelle Hoffman

  Cover art by Ruxandra Tudorica with Methyss Art

  Formatted by Nicole JeRee

  To my Husband, my Chiwwy, for tirelessly listening to all my crazy ideas. I love you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “You were supposed to be my friend!” Alice shouted. “You were supposed to be there for me! Where were you, Hatter? Where were you when I needed you?”

  “We didn’t know, Alice,” the Hatter pleaded. He was manacled to the wall, blood dripping down his arms to his bare chest. His hat and his long coat had been stripped from him the moment Alice had ordered him to be thrown in the dungeons. The manacles were covered in odd symbols, the likes Hatter had never seen before. They glowed with the slightest movement and sent needles of pain into his wrists. “Time moves differently here. It isn’t linear. You could have left yesterday, or tomorrow, or a year before. There’s no way to track it.”

  “I left twenty-five years ago,” she snarled. “As soon as I left Wonderland and started spewing stories of talking flowers and rabbits and Hatters, I was thrown in the asylum. My own parents paid them to take me away for fear of embarrassment. They thought I was crazy! Do you know what they do to mad people in my world?”

  “Please, Alice,” the Hatter tried again. “We were friends. This isn’t what you want to do.”

  Alice grinned, stepping closer to him. She ignored his comment, continuing on as if she never heard him speak.

  “Electroshock treatments. Lobotomies. Did you know they cut into my brain? Said they would fix the part that suffered from insanity. Ask me if it worked. Ask me if I screamed, and screamed, and screamed.” Rage dripped from her voice, coating every word.

  “You’re not my Alice,” he rasped, his voice already growing weak. Whatever was in the manacles was taking its toll.

  “This is exactly who I am, who I’m meant to be. The treatments didn’t work. They just made me angry. Angry at the doctor cutting into me. Angry with Wonderland for showing itself to me to begin with. Angry at you for abandoning me. Now, I want to see if you can die, Hatter.” She thrust her hand into his bare chest, her claws wrapping around his still beating heart. The Hatter screamed in agony, blood trickling from the corner of his lips and flowing from where her hand still lay nestled in his chest.

  “Alice,” the Hatter gurgled, his head slumping to his chest. “Alice.” His voice was barely a whisper, the pain shutting down his body.

  “No,” she sneered, laughing maniacally as she ripped his heart completely from the cavity. She brought it to her lips and licked the blood, letting it drop down her chin and onto her chest. “Not Alice. Not anymore.” She smiled, a deranged curl, as she crushed the heart in her hand. “I’m the Red Queen.”

  Chapter 1

  “So, how did you come by the research, Mr. Gregory?” I ask the man shifting uncomfortably on the witness stand. He has been lying through his teeth since the moment he sat down. I knew he was lying when his eyes shifted back and forth between the defendant and the ceiling. I’ve been slowly leading him to dig a much bigger hole than he’d already dug himself.

  “Umm.” He’s searching for the answer in his mind that he had been told to memorize. The poor bastard. He would lose his job after all this, something I could have helped him with if he hadn’t purposely tried to cover everything up. As it stood now, he would be a casualty of the big business he works for.

  “Answer the question please, Mr. Gregory,” the judge prompts, watching closely. He holds a pen in one hand, jotting down notes, his glasses slid to the end of his nose. I’m pretty sure the judge knows what’s up. The jury is another matter. Some of them don’t care one way or the other, but the few that are invested in the case are the ones we need to win over to our side.

  My clients had lost everything when the big company, Stanton Industries, had stolen their idea. All the money they had invested, down the drain. They had lost their house when they couldn’t pay the mortgage. All the while, Stanton Industries was making billions from their program and not once did they credit my clients’ small company, Jones Tech. Not many lawyers would have taken the case, deeming Stanton Industries too powerful to go up against. I wasn’t just any lawyer, though.

  “Someone brought it to my desk, one of the developers.” When Mr. Gregory finally speaks, his voice cracks. Sweat beads on his brow.

  “What was this developer’s name?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. There’s too many names to remember.”

  I flip through my notes. Each page flick makes Mr. Gregory flinch from the noise, like he’s dodging bullets.

  “There are six developers that could have been responsible for bringing the research to you. Six possibilities. You can’t remember six names, Mr. Gregory?”

  “No.” He’s visibly shaking now, the sweat pooling and staining the armpits of his shirt. “I’m bad with names.”

  “Okay. How about if I show you the pictures of the six employees? Would you be able to pick the developer out of the photographs?”

  “No.” He tugs at his tie before fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. “I didn’t see which one it was.”

  “Then how do you know it was one of the developers? Couldn’t it have been Mr. Stanton, the defendant, who left this research on your desk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was it not Mr. Stanton that urged you to come out with the program as quickly as possible, urging you to bypass normal procedures?

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know, Mr. Gregory?” I ask, my voice cold. I have no respect for people who sit in silence and pretend bad things don’t happen. He could have stepped up, reported the theft to someone, and he would have been protected for it. Now, he will go down with the ship.

  “I only know someone dropped the research on my desk, so I handled the launch. We didn’t steal any ideas. It was something our company has been working on for a while. The launch had nothing to do with the small company. I was only doing my job.”

  “Really?” I smirk. “You didn’t know the idea was stolen?”

  “No.”

  I turn to the judge, flipping my notebook again.

  “Yo
ur honor, I’d like the bring to the jury’s attention, evidence number fifty-three.”

  There’s a visible shift in the courtroom, everyone curious about what evidence I’m bringing forward. A portable stereo is brought out, a recording device hooked up to it. The evidence had been added this morning, hardly enough time for the defense to find a way to discredit it. Voices begin to fill the room when the court worker presses play.

  “They know. They know we took the idea. They’re onto us. What are we gonna do?”

  “Nothing. We do nothing. No one would dare take us on.” The second voice matches that of the defendant, and it’s low and gruff, speaking quietly.

  “What if they do? They’ll know we took the research and made sure to launch before they could act. Oh, God. They’re gonna know. I’m gonna lose everything.”

  “Grow a pair, John. Say nothing, and you’ll be safe. We protect our own.”

  The recording stops, and I meet the panicked eyes of John Gregory. The jury are mumbling amongst themselves. There’s chatter in the courtroom, excitement spreading. People always love a good show, and I’m nothing if not obliging.

  “Would you like to change your statement?” I ask calmly, fighting the need to curl my lips at his discomfort.

  He’s silent for a moment, clearly trying to figure out what to say. His eyes spin around the room wildly, seeking help. When there’s nothing, he springs to his feet quickly, pointing his finger at Malcolm Stanton, the man behind the operation, and the defendant. He is the man my clients are suing. Mr. Stanton had at first offered to buy out my clients, but when they refused, knowing they had a good idea on their hands, Stanton had taken their research anyways, stealing any hope of success from them.

  “He made me do it! I didn’t have a choice!”

  The courtroom erupts in chaos as everyone begins talking at once. The judge pounds his gavel, the THUMP, THUMP, THUMP echoing through the room, but no one is listening.

  “Order!” he yells. No one stops, too hyped up at the admission.

  I take the seat beside my client, a wide smile on my face as I look over at Malcolm Stanton. He had threatened me when I first agreed to take the case, telling me he’d make sure I’d never work again. But he underestimated the amount of people who have been wronged by a conglomerate. I watched my father lose his life savings when a big company stole his invention. It was an awakening for me as a child. I saw lawyer after lawyer turn him down, telling him he had no chance of winning, and that it was a pointless case. When no one agreed, it decided my career. Now, I fight for the underdogs, the ones everyone else is too afraid to represent.

  My clients, a sweet husband and wife team, had worked their asses off to design the program that had been swiped from right under their noses. All because someone they trusted had blabbed about it to the wrong person. They had three children at home to feed. Stanton’s company didn’t care one lick about that, only seeing the program for the gem it was. So, they stole it, not expecting any repercussions for their actions. People like him make me sick.

  The judge finally gets everyone to settle down before he starts winding down the courtroom.

  “Do you have any further questions, Ms. Ortega?” the judge asks me. The smile is still on my face.

  “No, your Honor.”

  “Then the jury will discuss the evidence, and you can be expected to be called back when they have reached a decision.”

  Everyone in the courtroom stands at the same time, filing out of the room. I smile gently at my clients to reassure them as I step out, heading for the coffee counter. I’m in serious need of caffeine since my sleep pattern is messed up from the high workloads. This case has been a difficult one, only because finding the evidence strong enough to prove malpractice has been trying. And then we had stumbled upon the tape. One of the other employees in the corporation found out the program had been stolen. She had gone through great lengths to get the evidence for us, giving us the final piece of the puzzle we needed, a direct confession of Stanton’s intent and involvement. The woman had remained anonymous—for good reason—but the husband and wife team already told me she has a job as long as she wanted it with their company. Any woman with the guts to take on the Stanton corporation and the morals to know she should was a woman they wanted on their team. I’d received word the anonymous woman has already accepted.

  “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.” The voice interrupts me while I’m taking my coffee from the barista. I throw a twenty into the tip jar, sharing my good mood.

  I don’t look up from adding cream and sugar for a few moments, focusing on the task. Finally, I meet the eyes of Malcolm Stanton.

  “Don’t you have better places to be? Like off licking your wounds somewhere?” I ask, my voice pitched between indifference and boredom.

  “You haven’t won yet.”

  I smile widely, but I don’t say anything further. His eyes fill with fury as I take a sip from my coffee and walk away. Men like him hate to be ignored. They also hate being revealed as the villain. I’d have to watch my back after this case.

  When we are called back into the courtroom, I take my seat beside my clients, shuffling the papers I have in front of me. There is always the possibility that the jury wants more information.

  A member of the jury stands from her chair as everyone settles down, a paper in her hand.

  “Please read the verdict,” the judge commands. The entire courtroom holds their breath, including me. No matter how many times I do this, I still stop breathing, the tension thick enough to cut.

  The woman nods and glances down at the paper.

  “We, the jury, find Malcolm Stanton guilty.” She stops talking as excited murmurs fill the courtroom. There are a lot of people who like to see the downfall of big corporations. The judge pounds his gavel, and everyone quiets again.

  “And does the jury have suggestions?”

  “Yes. We would like to recommend that eighty-five percent of the revenue from the program be paid to the plaintiffs in full. Fifteen percent is to remain among the defendant’s company, for the employees who had no part in the theft.”

  “Your recommendations are accepted,” the judge nods his head, pleased with the punishment. “Malcolm Stanton, you will be brought up on charges of fraud and theft. Future court proceedings will determine the extent of your crimes. Court adjourned.” The judge pounds his gavel.

  My clients jump from their seats, the wife wrapping her arms around me, tears running down her cheeks. The courtroom is a cacophony of sounds, my ears ringing from the screams of joy and surprise. Malcolm Stanton glares at me as his lawyer scrambles for purchase, trying to find something, anything to use an objection for. He will probably ask for a retrial, not uncommon for cases like these. But the verdict is solid. As the judge signs it into effect, the cheers triple in volume.

  I turn as I’m pulled into yet another hug, my eyes looking out at the people leaving the courtroom. There’s a man sitting in the benches, the only one not moving, his eyes fixed on me. He has blond curly hair down to his chin, the color so light, it’s almost white. He’s wearing a suit that seems out of place, like it’s from a different era. He glances down at a watch before locking eyes with me.

  This time, I stare hard. On his head, clear as day, stand two white rabbit ears. They move, one flopping down in the cute way bunnies do. I blink in disbelief. What is a guy wearing bunny ears doing in a courtroom?

  When I open my eyes again, the man is gone, no sign that he had even been there. I put it out of my mind when the judge calls me forward for my signature.

  Chapter 2

  I’m running, fast, through a phosphorescent forest. The colors are bright, pulsing to a beat I can’t hear, leading me to somewhere I have never been. Mushrooms break through here and there, giant beasts that tower over me and seem to be reaching, reaching for something. Maybe they’re reaching for me, great gaping mouths opening in their stalks. Something splashes against my face, and I wipe it away. I expec
ted water, the beginnings of rain. Instead, my hand comes away smeared with red. I look up and wish I hadn’t. Bodies, swinging, dripping, dozens. I have no idea where I am, what I’m running from, but I keep going. I ignore the wetness that begins to coat my skin. I don’t want to know.

  Laughter rings through the trees, reaching me as I stumble over roots that seem to rise up as I jump over them. Keep running, I chant to myself. The laughter comes again, closer. This time, it’s hard to miss the menace in that laugh, the danger. This is a game, nothing more. I’m the mouse, but who is the cat?

  I break through the tree line, stumbling at the suddenness of branches no longer ripping into my clothes. I look down at the fancy dress I’ve never worn before, the purple bright and flowing. It’s ripped where the trees snagged on the material, the skirt practically in shreds. In front of me, the man from the courtroom, the one with the rabbit ears, stands, his face solemn. He raises his arm and taps his wrist watch. The simple tink, tink, tink rings through the clearing, echoing and making me flinch each time it reaches my ears. Fear skitters across his face when the laughter comes again, its source right behind me. I turn.

  I shoot upright in my bed, gasping for air, the fear still sending goosebumps along my arms. My body is clammy, my hair wet from sweat. I push it away from my face, working to get my heart rate down. What an odd dream to have, I think, taking deep breaths.

  Thanks to the bizarre workings of my mind, my day starts with the feeling that something is off. Things are out of step, like everything in my life just shifted a centimeter to the right. Not noticeable but enough to drive me bonkers. It takes longer to get ready, my normally tamable hair refusing to straighten, so I have to leave it wavy. My heel snaps after barely putting the stiletto on; my favorite pair. I almost leave my apartment without my briefcase, then have to turn around again because I really do forget my phone. At the boutique, overpriced coffee shop around the corner, I order a Venti instead of my usual Tall. Today is an extra caffeine kind of day.