by Tiki Kos
Crave
Tiki Kos
Edited by Pinpoint Editing
Cover designed by crimson phoenix creations book covers & more
Formatted by Pinpoint Editing
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
Condemned
Also by Tiki Kos
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Tihana Kos
All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the Author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes). Prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the Author at [email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-0-9959111-5-4
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
― William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Chapter One
“We all know drugs are bad.” Mr. Smith’s protruding belly spilled over his tight belt. He pushed up the rectangular glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. His balding forehead twinkled from the fluorescent light overhead, while his polished shoes squeaked against the overly shined floor.
I wanted to yell out “No shit, Sherlock,” but instead held my tongue and kept the sass for my own entertainment.
“Especially this garbage that has been making the rounds on the streets. What do you guys call it again? H…I…J…K?” he mumbled, listing the rest of the alphabet off.
Someone yelled out from the back of the classroom. “Hybrid.”
“Correct, for $100.” He pointed his chubby finger in the direction of the answer. “If this were a game show, you would have won. Congratulations! But in all seriousness, H has the potency of at least 20 times that of PCP and morphine mixed together.”
Mr. Smith grabbed a pamphlet from a pile on top of his desk and began to read.
“The drug can be severely harmful, or even fatal, with death usually caused by respiratory failure. The death rate in users has risen, and as many as 400 people have died in the past year. I have extra pamphlets that I want each of you to grab at the end of the class.”
Waves of groans, snickers and mumbles came from the entire classroom.
“Just be more careful, and watch what you stick inside your body. Instead of drugs, why not volunteer with the school? Or get a hobby? Or, you know what, write me a report about why drugs are bad.”
A few people complained; others just ignored the lecture and went back to texting on their phones.
“Life is tough. Now get to work.” Mr. Smith hobbled off to the desk in the left corner of the room.
There was no way I would volunteer my free time. The classroom had a lingering smell of wet wood, dog, and dry erase markers. It was stuck in the 90’s with its bulky broken cubed computers stacked against the back wall. Vintage posters urging students to not do drugs and to stay in school were sprawled out against the bricks. A useless fan dangled from the ceiling and had never once worked in the past three years—even though the room could compare to a sauna during the summer months with its suffocating heat.
With a little effort to restore the bricks and tidy up the surroundings, the school could’ve been beautiful. The walls were run down, and the weeds unkempt. It looked more like a prison every day, especially with the six-foot high brick fence surrounding the property. In the winter time, the snow was left to pile into deep mountains.
I wouldn’t have to endure school much longer. There were only three months until graduation. I knew the drill: keep my head down, focus on the teacher, and no matter what, never ever speak up.
I tapped my pencil against the corner of the desk. The edges were warped from time, and the seat creaked in distress whenever I sat down. I couldn’t wait until the three months were done and I could apply to culinary school.
Each month closer to graduation, the days seemed to drag on and on. When I stared at the ticking clock on the wall, I swear time would freeze and prolong the torture.
A little thump hit the back of my head. I looked down on the yellowed floor to find a crunched up ball of paper. Real mature.
I rolled my eyes, thankful that this time it wasn’t anything wet. Or sticky. Last time it was a raw piece of steak. I didn’t know who the hell brought steak to high school, but my head was unlucky enough to be acquainted with it.
I turned to flip off the leather clad teens in the corner. My scumbag ex-boyfriend blew me a kiss, then winked. He sat with the other Disciples, Wolfmere’s sad excuse for a biker gang and nothing but a Hell’s Angels rip off in the middle of nowhere. The most they did was small time breaking and entering, dabbling in drugs, and fights amongst each other or the Nokado. The gang claimed they were connected to the Paganos, the Italian mobster family in Riverview, but that was dubious. They sure liked to blow smoke out of their asses. Ryan once tried to convince me that The Disciples founded this town, but I knew better.
The Nokado indigenous tribe had inhabited the mountains and surrounding valleys long before there was ever a town. They were the true mountain people and founders of this land.
There wasn’t much to do in Wolfmere but hunting, fishing and hiking. We were right in the middle of the protected Blackpine Forest, where after many years of court appearances, people were unable to go hunting or fishing without a special permit. The newest elected Mayor was part of the Nokado tribe, and within six months of his win, he went on to build the largest reservation on the western side of the country. The new laws made many people angry, but the indigenous tribe had suffered horrendously.
Other than the reservation, Riverview, the nearest city, was two hours away. It was another two to Twin City. The police force in Riverview handled the entire county, which made it easy for gangs like the Disciples to form.
“Attention!” a cranky voice buzzed through the corner of the speaker.
“Will Sunny Armstrong please report to Principle Novak’s office?” the monotone voice of the secretary called out. “I repeat, Sunny Armstrong to the office.”
“Someone’s in trouble! What did you do now, Sunny?” Ryan’s voice taunted. The hairs on the nape of my neck rose as my fingers dug into the cushions of my palms.
I wanted nothing more than to punch the bastard in his face, but I knew better.
Ryan didn’t look dangerous. He was pretty scrawny, actually, as if his body had completely lost the memo about filling in after puberty. The only things Ryan had going for him were his baby face, black hipster hair, and those deep green eyes. I could probably take him in a fight, but I knew his friends would make my life a living hell.
Not that it was that great right now.
“Maybe if you show the principle your tits, you won’t get in trouble...though I should warn him they’re nothing to get excited about.”
The snide comment was followed by an echo of laughter.
It was too bad about Ryan. He would have been delicious if he could only keep his mouth shut for a second and drop the whole tough guy act.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually dated the jerk for t
hree whole years. Ryan didn’t take it so well when I told him I wasn’t ready to be branded into the gang. That’s what they did to each member and significant other—branded their skin like cattle. Their logo was a grinning skull with a cross jammed through its head. There was no way I would ever do something so permanent. He really freaked out when I told him I was moving to Riverview after graduation. He called me a traitor to the town and an embarrassment to the Disciples.
Since that day, I’ve been made fun of, and shunned. Not like it mattered. Once I was out of this town, I was never ever going to look back. The only reason I’d stayed until now was my dad. He was the closest person I had to a best friend, but sometimes, you have to put yourself first.
My other ‘friends’ had smeared drunk pictures of me over the internet and even went as far as making flyers with ‘slut’ and ‘bitch’ printed all over them.
“Miss Armstrong?” Mr. Smith called out.
Mr. Smith barely looked up from his desktop computer, continuing to type. “You heard the announcement, Sunny. Better get a move on,” he mumbled, not making eye contact.
“Yes, I’m going…” I groaned in response.
I wasn’t surprised he hadn’t commented on what Ryan had said. I was used to it by now.
The teachers and principle wouldn’t do anything about bullying or hustling from the Disciples. Everyone in town was scared of them; no one dared say a single word to even the lower level members in fear of retaliation.
I shut the thick textbook and shoved it deep into my backpack before slinging it over my shoulder.
As I walked between the desks, a girl I didn’t know snickered and called me a slut under her breath. I kept my eyes forward, and once I was out of the room, I felt a wave of relief when I found the hallway empty.
There was nothing special about our school. The football team were once champions and now barely made it to the regionals, but we had cliques like nobody’s business. The jocks, the cheerleaders, nerds, drama club, and the Disciples. Then, there was me. I couldn’t jump around in a mini skirt if my life depended on it. My knowledge of Star Wars and MMO’s wasn’t up to par. I had no musical talent, and my time with the Disciples was done.
I did have one thing I loved to do, and that was cooking. I dreamt about culinary school, or becoming a food blogger. Every time I got the silly notion, the sly little devil of self-doubt came creeping in, and my mom would tell me to find a real job and become a productive member of society, because my ass was getting fat.
She swore up and down that men hated that, but I couldn’t care less. Most of them wouldn’t look twice my way, anyway. I was Ryan Shelby’s ex-girlfriend.
I was untouchable.
Mom loved to drink, and loved to smoke even more. That didn’t leave much room for food. We were polar opposites. She was tall and super skinny, with a blonde pixie haircut. She would have been beautiful, but the years of smoking had aged her face.
I was short, with long red, orange tipped hair and a couple of hidden tattoos. My thighs slapped together when I ran, and I had more than one roll on my stomach.
I never understood the attraction between my parents. Dad grew up Riverview and Mom was a fourth generation Grim Disciple, born and raised in Wolfmere. Dad ran a pretty legit accounting business, and Mom was the owner of a dirty biker bar called the Saloon. It didn’t work out so well with them. They divorced, and never looked back. I didn’t spend much time with Mom anymore, maybe one weekend a month if she was lucky.
I knocked on the glass paned door and was told to come in by Miss Aldridge, our very old and often grumpy school secretary. She wasn’t so bad if you knew what she liked—cherry filled donuts and trashy romance novels. I usually stocked up on books whenever I hit a garage sale. It was good to bribe to her, but only once in a while.
“Hello Sunny dear. Your father is here to pick you up,” her gruff voice said, flashing me the shadow of a smile.
“Miss Aldridge, did you finish Riders on the Bay?” I asked.
Her wrinkled cheeks flushed. “I did. That was quite a gem you found.”
I nodded in agreement. I did read it before giving it to her. It was pretty steamy. I didn’t know how those romance authors could write such spicy books.
A little cough interrupted my train of thought.
There he was, sitting against the wall in the corner of the room. Dad’s salt and pepper hair was slicked back to the side. He wore his signature dress jacket with hobo patches—his description, not mine. Dad looked amazing for someone on the edge of fifty. He only had tiny crow’s feet in the corners of his blue eyes. If he worked out even a bit, he would be a dead ringer for Timothy Dalton as James Bond. But Dad wasn’t the athletic type; he would rather sit around listening to music or reading speculative sci-fi.
“Hey, my little sunshine.” He grinned and gave me a hug.
God, I wished he’d stop calling me that. At almost eighteen, it was getting embarrassing.
“Hey Dad,” I muttered.
I could feel the apples of my cheeks burning, but when I looked around, Miss Aldridge wasn’t paying attention.
“What are you doing here?” I usually only saw him after work each day. Dad was not someone who did things on the fly. He was probably the most 9-5 person I knew, never once leaving his little box of scheduling comfort.
He curled his finger and bobbed his head towards the door. “We’re playing hooky today, kiddo.”
“No way.”
“Let’s get going,” Dad whispered, as if someone could hear us, even though the only other soul around was Miss Aldridge, and she was nose first in a new novel.
“What…really? Why?” Not that I was complaining. I would take any excuse to not have to sit in those classrooms for even a second longer.
He looked down the hallway, then back towards me.
“No reason, but we should hurry and not look too suspicious. We wouldn’t want Novak to find out what we’re up to.”
I knew full well that Principle Novak would hear about this from Miss Aldridge, who happened to be his aunt.
“Okay. I need to drop of my stuff into my locker and grab my jacket.”
“No,” Dad snapped sharply, his black eyebrows furrowed. I jumped at the harshness.
His face quickly recovered as he grabbed my elbow and walked towards the main entrance. “It’s no problem. I have a jacket for you, and you can bring your stuff.”
“Are you s—”
“Absolutely.” He sounded almost out of breath, and slightly nervous, which was a little out of character for him. He usually had a quiet and cool demeanor.
Once we reached outside, the chilly air wrapped around my bones. Goosebumps ran up my arms and down the center of my spine. The sky was a light grey with dark, looming clouds; it looked like it was going to snow.
The cold lasted a lot longer here. We pretty much had only two seasons: winter and summer. Spring in Wolfmere was usually a battle between the two. It was the most indecisive time of the year; one day it would snow like the North Pole, and the next it would be tank top weather. I dreamt of living somewhere with more than two seasons—especially fall. I wanted to know what the obsession was with pumpkin spice and sweater weather, where you wouldn’t have to worry about a jacket.
Dad’s white SUV was idling in the teachers’ parking lot, warmed up and ready to go. I pulled open the passenger door and slid onto the seat.
A pile of luggage and bags in the back seat caught my eye. What was going on?
He hopped into the driver seat.
“Dad?”
He hummed but didn’t say anything, pushing the keys into the ignition.
“Dad?” I repeated, a little louder. My leg began to tremble. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“Sorry sunshine, what did you say?” He turned out of the parking lot.
“Why are there bags in the back seat?”
“I’m just taking some things we don’t need to the cabin.”
My mouth f
elt bone dry.
In all the years of me being alive, we’d never gone to the cabin in the wintertime. Not only was it dangerous, but it was too damn cold. The temperature always dropped a good five to eight degrees the higher you went into the mountains.
“I’m not stupid. Just tell me what’s going on,” I pleaded. “I’ll keep asking you until you tell me the truth. I can be really annoying if I want to be.”
“You know, sometimes you’re too clever for your own good.”
I wanted to shoot back something snarky, but it would be better not to push his buttons. If he got angry, the chances of me finding out the truth of this impromptu getaway were slim.
A tickle brushed against the side of my leg as my jean pocket began to buzz. I pulled out my cell phone to check the text message.
Mom: Have you seen your dad?
“Why is Mom asking me where you are?”
I prayed he hadn’t done anything bad. If he had, Mom would be out for blood.
“W-w-what’s going on, Dad?” My stomach felt heavy, like someone had filled it with stones.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Just tell me the truth!”
He sighed. “We’re leaving, and not looking back. I’ve had enough of this town’s secrets.” His voice turned harsh as he heard my phone buzz again. “Don’t tell her anything.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know, kiddo.”
I trusted him, and knew in my heart that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I loved my dad, no matter what. He was the one constant good thing in my life.
Mom: You’d better not be lying to me.
Me: I’m not. See you later.
