by Nia Arthurs
Every Tomorrow
Nia Arthurs
First published in Belize, C.A. 2018
Copyright © Nia Arthurs
Cover Design: Oliviaprodesign
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue: One Year Later
A Word From The Author
Other Books by this Author
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter One
Amaya
“I’m gonna kill him.” My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as I swerve through evening traffic. Every nerve in my body tightens. “Tyron is gonna die today.”
“So will I if you don’t slow down!”
I shoot Diandra a look. My best friend is sitting in the passenger seat, one hand gripping the handle above the door like it’s the only thing tethering her to sanity.
“Don’t look at me,” she shrieks. “Focus on the road!”
I whip my head back toward the windshield. My nose flares. “Why’d you come along if you were going to be this noisy?”
“Because murder is illegal, but murdering your own family is inhumane. I don’t want you to go down like that.”
My fingers readjust on the steering wheel. She has a point. “Fine. I won’t hurt him. Too much.”
“You don’t even know where he is.” Diandra throws her arms to the roof of the car in frustration. “Tyron could be anywhere in Belize City by now.”
“It doesn’t matter. If he’s with those thugs, I’m gonna find him and then I’m going to ki—” I feel Diandra’s glare and amend, “I’m going to scold him to death.”
We fall into silence after that. I head deeper into the south side of the city.
The scene outside my window is a humanitarian commercial come to life—piles of garbage mounted to the sky like Babel’s tower, wooden shanties built on shaky stilts. Even the dogs have big, pitiful eyes and ribs sticking out of their torsos.
“You see anything?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have laser vision.” Diandra purses her plump lips and flounces on her side to look at me. “Exactly what is your plan here? Are we just gonna drive around until you run out of gas?”
“If that’s what I have to do.”
“Amaya—”
“Dee, those boys are dangerous and Tyron’s gotten into trouble every time he’s with them. He’s crazy, young and stupid, but he doesn’t deserve to go to jail. Which is exactly what will happen if he gets arrested again.”
“Stop!”
I shake my head. “I can’t stop. He’s my little brother. If anything happens to him, I’ll…” My throat chokes up at the thought.
Diandra shoots forward, one manicured finger pointed to the windshield. “No, I mean stop the car. I think I see him.”
“What?” I yank the steering wheel and park against the sidewalk.
The sunlight is dying and streetlights are popping to life one by one. As night descends, every shadow takes on a creepier edge. A dog howls in the distance, causing goosebumps to skitter over my arm.
I shake the fear and climb out of the vehicle.
“This way,” Diandra says.
I follow her into a narrow alley where four boys are beating on a man curled up on the dirty street. The victim’s grunts intertwine with his oppressors’ laughter. The stench of garbage taints the air.
My heels clop against the pavement, each sound a deliberate warning to stop even before I’ve opened my mouth. The kids don’t even bother turning around, so brazen in their torture.
I spot Tyron on the outskirts of the group, counting a wad of cash. His dark skin glistens with sweat and, maybe it’s my own imagination, but fear shimmers in his eyes. “Guys,” he says, “we’ve got the cash. Leave him alone.”
His familiar face drives a spike of disappointment through me, but his words give me hope. That’s the reason I’ve been chasing him around for hours. My brother’s a good kid. I’ve just got to remind him of it.
After I give him a proper butt whupping.
One of the thugs finally notices me. His cocky, white smile is a sharp contrast to his dark skin. Fat twists fall over his face in a messy hairstyle. His shirt is seven sizes too big and his jeans hug his thighs.
Seriously, who gives this guy his fashion advice?
“Look who’s here,” he says with a voice that’s far too hardened to belong to a sixteen-year-old.
“Julius, always a pleasure.” I dip my head to him and then lock eyes with my brother.
Tyron visibly winces. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“It’s not?” I stare pointedly at the cash in his trembling hands and then at his face. “My bad. It looks like you’re robbing this poor man blind, but I’m sure you have a better explanation.”
Tyron forces his gaze to the ground.
“Come on, Amaya.” Julius swaggers up to me, making his pants slip further down his knees. “We didn’t mean to hurt anybody. This guy,” he hooks his thumb at the man laying on the ground, “thought he could fight.”
I unhook one hoop earring from my ear and hand it to Diandra who has been freaking out silently behind me. “Since you want a fight so badly, why don’t you try me?”
“Sis…” Tyron’s heads whips up.
“You,” I point a finger at my brother, “don’t say a word.”
Julius laughs. “I’m not gonna hit a girl.”
“Oh? So all of a sudden you have morals?” The second earring is off. I toss it behind me and hear when Diandra hops a couple steps to catch it.
“This girl for real?” Julius asks his pals.
They laugh nervously in the twilight.
“Come on.” I wiggle my fingers. “Hit me.”
“I’m not gonna—”
My fist collides with his nose a second before he finishes that statement. I tilt my head and say sweetly, “Any more objections?”
The other boys laugh and taunt Julius. “You just gonna take that?”
Julius roars and charges toward me. I duck out of the way and slam him in the back so he stumbles against the wall. I grab his wrist with one hand and twine my fingers in his shirt with the other, thrusting his face into the grimy brick.
“Leave my brother alone.” My voi
ce is a low, menacing whisper. “Or the next time, I won’t be this polite.”
Sirens wail in the distance.
I let Julius go. His dark eyes are angry, but he doesn’t try to engage me again. He jerks his head toward his crew. “Let’s bounce.”
The boys trot out of the alley. When Tyron tries to follow them, I plant my feet on the ground and yell—“Hold it!”
He freezes. I can see his skinny shoulders shaking like he’s doing the shimmy. His hair is shaved low to his scalp and his skin is a rich, creamy brown. Just like mine.
I approach Tyron, but each step I take is heavy. I grab his arm and wrench him around, allowing the flame of anger in my heart to burst to my eyes. “What the hell, Ty?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be this messy. I swear. Things got out of hand when he tried to fight Julius back and—.”
“Things tend to get out of hand when you commit a robbery,” I hiss. “What if the police had found you instead of me? You barely squirmed your way out of going to juvie the last time. If they catch you again, they’ll charge you as an adult.”
“I know, alright.”
My eyes widen. Was he getting snippy with me?
My mouth opens to lambast him some more when Diandra’s voice warbles. “Guys?”
“What?” I spin.
“I think he’s passed out.”
My eyes fall to the man with his face in the dirt. The light from the lampposts crawls just beyond his still body. All I can make out in the dimness is his shaggy, brown hair and scruffy jaw.
I’ve never seen him before. Is he a tourist? A Mormon missionary?
Tyron shuffles his weight from one leg to the other as siren wails draw closer. “Amaya, we need to get out of here.”
“We can’t just leave him!” Diandra protests.
“I agree.” My fingers dive into my jeans for my cell phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
Tyron grabs my wrist. “Please.”
I stare into his dark eyes. The panic clears and reason invades. My hand falls. “Fine.”
“What?” Diandra jumps to her feet and storms toward me. Her brown eyes shoot sparks. “He could die, Amaya.”
“We’re not going to let him die.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He needs professional help. Doctors. Nurses.”
“What happens if we take him to the hospital?” I snap. “They ask questions we can’t answer. They call the police and make statements. What if this guy wakes up and names Tyron as one of his attackers? Then we’re screwed.”
“We’re screwed either way,” Diandra spits.
“Let’s get him in the car first.”
Tyron eyes me fearfully. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Dee’s right. We leave him here, he might die or get beat up again.”
“So we’re taking him to the hospital then?” Diandra asks hopefully.
Uneasiness bubbles in my heart, but I push past it and shake my head. “No.”
“Then what’s your plan?” Tyron asks.
“We’re taking him home. Ty, grab his legs and move him gently. I’ll handle his arms.”
“Are you crazy?” Diandra rails as she stalks beside us. “He could have a broken bone or something. Moving him could make it worse.”
“They didn’t beat him up for long. I don’t think anything is broken,” Tyron says.
I shoot him a look because I still can’t believe he was a part of this.
He glances away.
I inhale a deep breath. “Just lift him.”
“No. This is wrong.”
I arch an eyebrow at my best friend. “Open the door.”
“Amaya!”
“Now, Dee!” I scream back.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” she whines, but obediently pops the back door. “I hear they serve pudding cups for dessert. I hate pudding cups.”
“We’re not going to jail,” I say on a heave.
Tyron shoves the man’s legs deeper into the car and then shuts the door. “What now?”
“Go home.” I round the hood and stop, finding my brother’s eyes over the roof. “If I hear you snuck out to hang with those boys again, I’ll deliver you to the police myself. Understood?”
His Adam’s apple visibly bobs as he nods.
“We’ll talk later. Dee, let’s go.” I hop into the car and drive carefully over the bridge leading to the north side of the city.
The scenery shifts from darkness and poverty to well-groomed lawns, towering cement buildings and brightly lit streets. It’s another world, far removed from the chaos living on the other side of town.
“Amaya!”
Something in Diandra’s voice forces my gaze away from the road. I face her, but she’s not looking at me. Instead, her neck is arched and her head is turned to the backseat where our patient lies.
“What?” I ask, biting back my rising panic.
“He’s bleeding.”
I pull over and stare at the red stain billowing on the side of his shirt. “Oh crap. Oh crap.”
“Is that all you can say right now?” Diandra digs her fingernails into the headrest. “We’re going to jail.” She leans over and yells, “I told you, I don’t do pudding cups!”
“Be quiet. Let me think. Uh…” My hands tap the steering wheel. A name pops into my head. “Zora.”
“Who?”
“My ex’s sister. Remember her? You met when Thomas and I went to a party last year.”
Recognition brightens Diandra’s eyes. “Thomas’s sister? The one who hated your guts and deliberately tried to set Thomas up with her friend? That Zora?”
“She’s a nurse. Maybe she could help.” I grab my smartphone.
Diandra bats it away. “What makes you think Zora won’t report you faster than you can blink?”
“Because she owes me,” I say desperately. “And… it’s the only option we’ve got.”
“I’ll call. You focus on driving.” Diandra reaches for the phone.
I let her take it and start the car, clicking my indicator and merging back into traffic. The gravity of what I’ve done, what I’m about to do is beginning to dawn. My teeth chatter and I clench them tight to keep from falling apart.
Diandra’s voice drifts in the background as the call connects. “Zora? Hi, this is Diandra. We met a couple months ago… Amaya needs your help.”
The white guy in the backseat groans.
I slam my foot on the gas in panic and Diandra shoots me a glare that says she doesn’t appreciate the speed.
God, please don’t let this man die in my car.
I ease my foot off the gas pedal and focus on the road. My plan can’t fail.
Truth is… I don’t like pudding cups either.
Chapter Two
Amaya
“How do we get him out of the car?” Diandra asks as she stands on my front lawn. The vehicle door is wide open, and John Doe’s legs have unfolded and fallen to the sidewalk.
Did he grow during the ride? He didn’t look this tall in the alley.
The golden light from my porch casts over the scuffed toe of his white tennis shoes. They’re designer. I know that because I spent a chunk of my depleting royalties to buy Tyron a pair for Christmas.
The fog is clearing from my mind and all the reasons I thought this was a good idea are crumbling to ashes.
Given those shoes, John Doe is a rich guy. What if his friends come looking for him? What if the police ask around and I get painted as a crazy kidnapper?
“Amaya!” Diandra snaps her fingers in my face. “Pull yourself together. We’re already here. We might as well go all the way.”
“We need something to carry him inside.”
Diandra’s eyes catch on an item over my shoulder. “How about a wheelbarrow?”
I spin and find the red wheelbarrow my landscaper uses when he comes in twice a month to cut my yard. “Great idea.”
Diandra wheels the cart over and together we haul John Doe into the bed
. It’s exhausting work and by the time we’re done the both of us are sweating.
“We’re going to have to lift him up the steps,” I say, my chest heaving as I stare at the front of my bungalow.
John Doe moans again. It’s such a pitiful sound that my heart squeezes. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Think of Tyron. Think of your brother.
It doesn’t matter what my personal morals are. All that matters is John Doe staying alive while keeping him away from the authorities. It’s the only way I can protect Tyron.
“He’s bleeding harder,” Diandra cries. She points to his shirt that was a light brown and is now a foreboding red. “I don’t think we should yank him around anymore. It’s not good for him.”
I nod in agreement.
Diandra and I work to heft the wheelbarrow up the stairs, one at a time. I unlock the front door and we push him into the living room.
My hands feel around the wall until I snap on the light switch. The bright bulbs shine in our faces. I squeeze my eyes shut and crack them open, allowing them to get used to the sudden blaze.
Diandra stands guard over the patient while I run to the closet and grab a couple blankets. I rush back into the living room and spread them on the floor. In the movies, the patients are usually on a table, but there’s no way Diandra and I can handle bearing this guy’s weight to haul him up there.
Besides, if we’re too rough with him, he might bleed out.
“There.” I finish spreading the blankets and stand. “Let’s set him down. Gently.”
