Flagrant: An Inferno World Novella

by Ally Vance

  Flagrant

  An Inferno World Novel

  Ally Vance

  Contents

  Complete Inferno Series

  Playlist

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Ally Vance

  Other Books By Ally Vance

  Books By Ally Michelle

  Coming Soon From Ally Vance

  Copyright © 2020 Flagrant by Ally Vance

  Copyright © 2017 Inferno by Yolanda Olson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the brief use of quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is completely coincidental.

  Characters and places from Inferno Series by Yolanda Olson are the intellectual property of Yolanda Olson and I have been given express permission to use them within this story.

  Editor: Sheena Taylor

  Formatting: Pink Elephant Designs

  Cover Design: Pretty in Ink Creations

  INFERNO SERIES

  Sparks by Yolanda Olson

  Inferno by Yolanda Olson

  Cinere by Yolanda Olson

  Embers by Yolanda Olson

  Inferno Series Boxset by Yolanda Olson

  Scorched by Yolanda Olson & Jennifer Bene

  INFERNO WORLD BOOKS

  Verboten by A. A. Davies

  Malignus by Dani René

  Iniquity by Emery LeeAnn

  Obloquy by Murphy Wallace

  Burned by Jennifer Bene

  Flagrant by Ally Vance

  Cognati by K Webster writing as Elizabeth Gray

  Desiccate by Charity B.

  Simmer by Measha Stone

  To Yolanda, who inspired every word across these pages, thank you for bringing me into your world. Love Ally #TheOriginalDaddysGirl

  Have we forgot it's your blood inside of my veins that feeds my heart

  Tyrant, Immortalized, Disturbed, 2015.

  Playlist

  Tyrant by Disturbed

  Prologue

  I’ve never known my daddy’s love. My mom did everything she could to keep me safe from the man she deemed a monster. She knew I wanted to find him, so she persisted in her refusal to divulge even the smallest scrap of information to assist me in my search. All she could ever bring herself to tell me was that I had his smile and his eyes, and when she sliced open her veins from wrist to elbow, two days before my eighteenth birthday, she took the secret of his identity with her to the grave.

  In spite of my mom’s blatant fear of him, the unrelenting need to know exactly who my father is and where I come from never fades. He’s a nameless, faceless entity, more like a myth than a man, and given my mom’s desperate craving for secrecy where he’s concerned, I doubt he’s aware I exist.

  I’m going to find him, and it doesn’t matter if he knows about me or not. I want to meet the man who helped to create me. Mom didn’t want this for me, but she made her decision when she chose to leave behind the shattered fragments of our broken family: a daughter and a daddy who’ve both been kept in the dark about each other. I’m not afraid of the dark, though. I’m more afraid of the loneliness hiding within the shadows.

  Chapter One

  Shortly after the funeral, when my stepdad, Gregory, is out of the house, I slip into his and mom’s bedroom to look for even the smallest of clues about my real daddy. There’s no love lost between me and Gregory. He’s an alcoholic and an abusive asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself even when he’s sober. I never told Mom about his inappropriate behavior; there was no point. Apart from getting a little handsy with me and some leers that make my skin crawl, he’s never taken it any further.

  I find a box full of photographs and papers in the bottom of Mom’s closet, and a quick rifle through the contents tells me instantly that it belonged to her. Listening carefully to check the house is still silent, I make sure everything in the bedroom looks undisturbed and hurry back to my room with the heavy box clutched tightly to my chest, trying not to drop it.

  I place the box on my bed before shutting and locking my bedroom door. I don’t want Gregory poking his head in here; he’s been awful since Mom died, and he hovers around me even more than he did before. I want to get out of here, and as soon as I find any sign or whisper of where my daddy could be, I’m gone.

  Carefully, I pry off the lid and pull out handfuls of papers and a stack of photographs and begin flicking through them. A tear falls as I pause on one of me and Mom pulling silly faces at the camera. There was no note, no explanation as to why she felt she had no other choice than to do what she did. She left me all alone. I have nothing of hers except Gregory and a box filled with memories. Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I continue to dig through the contents. There are lots of photos of me and Mom from years ago, and some of her with her friends, when she was about the age I am now. I roll my eyes at all the paperwork and skim through it, not expecting to find anything, until I notice a sheet that makes me drop everything I’m holding in shock.

  Heart racing, I grab up the official looking document and read it, once, twice, three times. It’s my birth certificate, but the name is wrong, it says Sofia Greene. I rifle through some more of the papers, and find a re-registry certificate dated a month later to change my surname to Richards, which is Mom’s last name. I knew Mom had kept things hidden from me, but I never imagined that included the fact she changed my name. Why was it so important to her to keep this a secret? There’s no way my real daddy could be any worse than wandering hands Gregory. I laugh hollowly, tears forming in my eyes as I stare down at the name Greene written in Mom’s neat cursive. I think I just found out my daddy’s family name. My surname isn’t Richards, it’s Greene, and I’m taking it back.

  I keep looking through the box but find nothing else of interest. I glance back down at the birth certificate again and notice the name of the hospital I was born in and the address where Mom was living at the time. The town mentioned is not too far from here; it’s maybe half a day away, traveling on foot. I have an address, a name, and a legacy I know nothing about. It’s a start, but I’m determined to find out more, and I know I need to leave now before Gregory comes home, or otherwise, he’ll stop me from going.

  I’m just about to throw everything back into the box when I notice a small envelope lying on the bed. Opening it, I see that it contains several more photographs. The first one I take out is of Mom when she was only a little older than I am now. She’s standing in a forest
and smiling shyly at the camera. The next is of a large stone house with trees framing it and a truck parked out front. Lastly, there’s a photo of a man, and my heart stutters unevenly in my chest the longer I stare at it. There’s something about him that captures my attention, and I’m unable to look away from his image. Heat coils in my stomach at the way his dark eyes seem to penetrate my soul even from a photograph, and I hungrily rake my eyes over the rest of him, devouring everything the small picture has to offer.

  Forcing myself to look away, I slide the photos back into the envelope along with the documents relating to my birth. Finally, I select a couple more of my favorite pictures from Mom’s box and add them in as well. I’ll take them all with me when I leave. Grabbing a large backpack from my closet, I shove in a few sets of clothes, making sure I have thick socks and sweaters in case it gets cold. I have very little money, so I’ll be camping. I’m just glad I’ve a small tent and sleeping bag, left over from my girl scout days, I can use. It’ll beat sleeping completely exposed to the elements.

  I’ve no trinkets I want to take with me; there’s nothing of value that I hold dear. The only thing I cared about was Mom, and she’s sleeping in the earth now. I throw on a thick jacket, haul my backpack onto my shoulders, and pick up the tent. I’ll quickly grab some food and water from the kitchen on my way out and be gone by the time Gregory returns.

  I go over to my bedroom door, and turning the key, the lock clicks loudly as it releases. Steeling myself for what I’m about to do, I pull the door open and let out a scream when I see Gregory swaying unsteadily on the other side, smelling strongly of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke.

  He breathes the putrid scent of booze all over my face as he reaches out and grabs my upper arm in his meaty hand.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Fia?” he slurs.

  Chapter Two

  Gregory's hand tightens around my arm when I try to wrench it away. The stench of his breath combined with the underlying smell of sweat is a toxic mixture, and it takes everything in me not to retch. I hate when he calls me Fia; it’s what Mom used to call me, only the way she said it never made my skin crawl and my stomach threaten to rebel.

  “Out. I’m going to a friend’s house for a sleepover,” I lie, looking at him directly.

  I don’t dare trip on my words or betray myself with a falter in my expression.

  “No, you’re not,” he slurs, squeezing my arm tighter and swaying unsteadily.

  I grab the door frame to stop myself from stumbling when he uses his full weight to pull me toward him in an uncoordinated movement.

  “Gregory, let go of me. You’re hurting my arm,” I tell him, forcing myself to keep a level tone.

  Panic is rising, he’s never been quite so firm with me before, not physically at least.

  “How many times have I told you that I don’t like it when you call me Gregory?” he growls, his words running together almost unintelligibly.

  I try and fail to suppress a shudder of revulsion, but thankfully, he doesn’t notice.

  "Mom always called you by your name, and she never told me I had to call you anything else.”

  “Well, I remember telling you when I married your mom that you could call me ‘Dad'. After all, your real daddy was a real piece of work. No wonder your mom left him just after they found out she was pregnant with you. She told him she’d miscarried. He’d never have let her go otherwise.” His words are clearer now, the slur beginning to fade.

  Anger bubbles furiously inside me at his words, and I feel his barb about my real daddy stabbing me to the heart. I want to find out the truth for myself, but I’d rather face my ‘real daddy’ who ‘was a piece of work’ than stay here with Gregory another minute. He’s a sleaze, and at this point, I’ve little doubt that he’d garner some sick satisfaction out of having me call him ‘Dad’.

  “I’m going out. I’ll see you later,” I reaffirm the lie and wait for him to let go.

  Drunk or not, Gregory isn’t a weak man, and I’ve always been on the more petite size; I’m sure it wouldn’t take much for him to overpower me, not that it would stop me from fighting back. One of the reasons Mom called me Fia was because when we argued I’d refuse to back down. I’ve always been stubborn and fiery, just like she was.

  I’m surprised Gregory isn’t grilling me for every detail of where I’m planning to stay, and I’m relieved he doesn’t seem to have noticed how much stuff I’m taking with me for a sleepover. He must be more inebriated than usual.

  I flex my arm, testing his hold, and he tightens his grip, momentarily, before releasing me.

  “I want you back by midnight, Fia, no sleeping over,” Gregory barks, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him.

  “Sure, I’ll be back by midnight,” I agree, but it’s an empty promise.

  I’m never coming back to this place. I’ve got everything I need packed in the backpack I’m taking with me. There’s nothing left for me here. Mom is gone, and this house is a black hole formed of negative energy and the overbearing presence of Gregory.

  He staggers off down the hallway to his and Mom’s bedroom, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief. I was expecting that to go a lot worse than it did, but it seems like I worried for nothing. I make my way along the upstairs hallway, and I’m just about to head down the stairs when a shout of fury stops me in my tracks.

  “Fia!” Gregory roars, storming toward me with anger blazing in his alcohol-glazed eyes and a fistful of photographs clenched in his fist.

  Shit! I must have missed them when I had a brief look through Mom’s box while in her closet. Even with his fat thumb covering our faces, I can see there’s a photo of Mom and me on top. I hitch my bag up higher on my shoulder and dart down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. I don’t want to wait to see what he’s going to do. He knows I’ve been in their room and going through Mom’s stuff. I have every right to search through her things and look at those photos, but clearly he doesn’t agree.

  “Leave me alone!” I scream as he comes hurtling unsteadily down the stairs with the promise of punishment in his eyes.

  He scares me when he gets like this, transforming into someone I don’t recognize. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, someone always gets hurt, and it’s usually me. Without Mom to calm his drunken rage, I’ve no way of knowing just how bad it’s going to get. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Reaching the front door, I fumble with the lock, cursing when I realize I’ve needlessly wasted precious seconds because the drunken fool hasn’t engaged the latch and chain. Yanking on the door, it begins to open just as the meaty hand of Gregory slams it back into its frame. I let out a squeal of shock, and dropping to the floor, I crawl away as fast as I can, frustrated at how the tent, sleeping bag, and backpack are weighing me down.

  The bags containing the camping supplies prove to be my undoing, and I’m prevented from getting away when Gregory uses them to haul me back. I’ve no choice but to shrug the bags off my shoulder to escape him while making sure to keep hold of my backpack; I’m not leaving that behind. Crawling forward as best I can from my position on the floor, I duck beneath his clumsy grab at me, and sprint for the back door and salvation.

  “Fia! Get your ass back here. Explain yourself. What were you doing in my bedroom?” he bellows, and I can hear his heavy footsteps pounding on the floor as he follows after me. “You’re not going anywhere, little girl!”

  I’m not going to stop and explain myself to him. It’s not like he’d listen, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to stick around to watch his rage explode with the same force as a small bomb detonating. He’s a mean ass drunk, and the only person who could snap him out of it was Mom. But Mom’s gone, and I’m alone. I want nothing to do with Gregory. As far as I’m concerned, he’s never been my family. He could fall off a cliff and I wouldn’t shed a tear for the bastard. I reach the back door, and pulling it open, I bolt for freedom and a future that can only be an improvement on the one I’m
leaving behind.

  Chapter Three

  Positioning my backpack more securely on my shoulders, I keep moving. My feet ache, and it’s getting darker. I’ve been walking for hours and the long stretch of road seems to be endless. Lush woodland grows on either side, creating a thin canopy overhead. I lost the camping supplies in the scuffle with Gregory, so either I’m going to have to rough it without a shelter or ask someone for help. Looking around, I think it’s probably going to be the former.

  When it gets too dark to see, I drop into a crouch, and pulling off my backpack, I rummage inside, feeling for a flashlight. My hand closes around the long metal handle, and having extracted it, I flick the switch on. I should’ve stopped sooner, but the farther away from home I travel, the better I feel. Only now, I can’t see shit, and I’ve got to find some shelter in the pitch black in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  My stomach rumbles, and I curse Gregory for his ridiculously bad timing, coming home when he did. In my hurry to get away, not only did I lose the tent but also never grabbed any food or water to bring with me. Given my lack of shelter, light, and sustenance, I decide it’s probably safer to keep going rather than remain here and search in the dark for somewhere to sleep.