Sharp Edges
By K.L. Middleton
Copyright ©2012 by K.L. Middleton
Copyedited by: Carolyn M. Pinard
www.thesupernaturalbookeditor.com
This book is purely fiction and any resemblances to names, characters, and places are coincidental. The reproduction of this work is forbidden without written consent from the author. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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To my family,
My friends,
And my readers,
Thank you so very much for supporting me.
Also, thank you God- for giving me so many wonderful people to share my life with as well as my stories.
Other books by Kristen Middleton
Paranormal Fiction
Zombie Games (Origins) Free!!
Zombie Games (Running Wild)
Zombie Games (Dead Endz)
Blur (Night Roamers) Free!!
Shiver (Night Roamers)
Women’s Contemporary Books under Pen Name - K.L. Middleton
Tangled Beauty (excerpt following story).
Sharp Edges
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Tangled Beauty Excerpt
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Prologue
“I’m hungry,” whispered the small voice huddled next to him in the darkness.
“Shh...” he murmured to his three-year-old brother. “She’ll hear you.”
Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks and his lips began to tremble. “But…”
He clamped a hand over his mouth. “You have to be quiet,” he pleaded. “Or… she’ll get really mad. You don’t want that, do you?”
The boy’s large brown eyes widened and he shook his head.
He released his grip. “Okay, then. Don’t worry, he’ll leave soon and mommy will let us out. Just play with your Legos for now.”
His brother wiped his face with the back of his hand and then resumed playing with the small plastic pieces.
“Here,” he whispered, turning on the flashlight. He pointed it towards the colorful spaceship. “Better?”
The boy smiled. “Yes.”
He sighed and drew his knees up to his chest, wishing his mom would finish with the man in the bedroom so they could come out. They’d been hiding inside for almost an hour, which was much too long for any three-year-old to sit still.
“Keep your brother quiet,” she’d warned him, earlier, as she’d applied the black stuff to her eyelashes. “My clients won’t come back if they find out I have kids.”
His mother was some kind of a massage therapist, and because they lived in a one-bedroom apartment, she made them hide in her walk-in closet whenever the neighbor from across the hall was unavailable to babysit. Tonight was one of those nights.
“Is it almost over?” whispered his brother.
“I don’t know,” he answered. Once in a while he could hear the man grunt or the bed shake. The noise made him feel funny inside.
“Um…I have to pee.”
He sighed. “Too bad, you have to hold it.”
“But, I need to go really… really… bad.”
He gripped his brother’s pale, skinny arm and leaned closer. “Hold it,” he warned.
The boy put his other hand over his crotch. “But...”
A loud crash from the bedroom startled them both and they could hear their mother whimpering in fear. “Please,” she begged. “No more.”
Hearing the terror in her voice, he stood up and pushed the door open, ready to do battle for her.
“No!” she hollered in protest, seeing her nine-year-old son step out of the closet.
He froze and stared in shock at the scene before him. Standing above his mother was a sweaty fat man wearing nothing but dark pants, while she was crouched down on her hands and knees on the mattress, naked with angry red marks on her skin.
He clenched his fists. “Leave her alone!” he yelled.
The man pointed a shiny black belt at him and turned toward his mother. “Now who the fuck is that, Karen?”
“Mommy?” cried his little brother, now peeking out from the closet.
His mother groaned. “Shit. Take him and go to the kitchen,” she ordered, grabbing her robe from the floor.
“These your brats?” asked the man, a weird smile spreading across his ruddy face.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, grabbing her smokes from the nightstand.
“You never mentioned kids.”
“Sorry, George,” she said, lighting a cigarette. She took a long drag, blew out a cloud of smoke, and pointed towards the door. “Didn’t you hear me? Take your brother into the fucking kitchen now!”
“Let’s go,” he sighed, leading the little boy out of the bedroom.
“But, I still have to go potty,” he pouted.
“Mom said we have to go to the kitchen and she’s already pissed. Just hold it a little while longer.”
His brother brushed a lock of dark hair away from his face and nodded. “Okay.”
They stepped into the kitchen and sat down next to each other at the chipped porcelain table. Bored and frustrated, he stared at his clasped hands then shifted his weight back and forth on the wobbly chair, listening to the familiar creaking sound. He knew it was a matter of time before the chair finally collapsed, just like everything else they owned.
“I’m still hungry,” whispered his brother, staring longingly at the refrigerator. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now almost bedtime.
“We have to wait until she feeds us,” he replied, trying to ignore his own hunger pangs.
The boy scowled. “But my tummy’s rumbling.”
“I know; mine too,” he answered, bitterly.
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. As he mulled ov
er the weird scene back in the bedroom, his eyes drifted to the drained bottle of Wild Turkey, sitting on the counter. She loved the brown liquid but it sometimes made her mean. He was relieved to see that the bottle was empty.
Sighing, he sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, wondering what was happening with his mother and the man; it was obvious that she wasn’t giving him a massage. As he reflected upon this, George stepped into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator.
“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, staring into the empty box. “Nothing but bologna and beer?” he said, scratching his fat, hairy belly. “Fuck it.”
The boy watched in anger as the man grabbed what was left of their food, as well as two bottles of his mother’s beer, and then closed the refrigerator.
“That’s ours,” he told George, motioning towards the bologna. “You can’t eat that.”
The man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah,” he answered, raising his chin defiantly.
George calmly put the bologna and beer down on the counter, then reached around and grabbed him by the shirt, lifting him out of the chair. “Listen here, tough guy,” he growled, “I’m going to teach you a lesson about respecting your elders. Got that?”
“No!” he yelled, pushing at George’s sweaty chest, trying to escape.
“What’s going on?” interrupted their mother as she stepped into the kitchen, wearing her tattered blue robe.
The man tightened his grip on the boy’s shirt. “Me and your boy here are going to have a man-to-man talk,” he said. “He needs to learn to respect me, especially now that I’m going to be moving in.”
He stared at the man’s bloodshot eyes in horror. Moving in?
His mother’s face paled and she grabbed George’s arm. “No. Please. I’ll make sure he doesn’t backtalk you again.”
George backhanded her and she toppled to the ground. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You still owe me, big time – so guess what? I’m collecting.”
Her nose began to bleed and his little brother, whose jeans were wet with urine, rushed to her side, sobbing. She put a protective arm around him and glared at George.
“Don’t even think about interfering, again,” warned George. “Or I’ll make both of these little shits pay.”
Terrified of the strange gleam in the man’s beady eyes, he struggled as hard as he could to get free. “Let me go!” he choked. “Please, let me go!”
George smiled, coldly. “That’s it, keep fighting, kid. I like a fighter.”
“Please, not my son!” his mother sobbed from the floor. “Do it to me instead. Please!”
George ignored her and dragged him out of the kitchen towards the bedroom, where he spent the next hour, paying off some of his mother’s debt.
Chapter One
Twenty-Five Years Later
“Would you look at that?” murmured my best friend, Darcy, squinting across the dark street at the lone figure stretching his hard, sexy calves.
I took a sip of my coffee and chuckled. “Mm hmm…I know.”
It was early morning, the sun was just beginning to rise, and we’d been standing outside on my porch, talking about her court appearance scheduled for later in the day. She was going through a nasty divorce, and her ex, Frank, was being a total asshole about settling. Apparently, he’d forgotten about his infidelity and was trying to gain full custody of their five-year-old son, Max, who I’d volunteered to watch while they hashed it out in court.
“Married men shouldn’t be allowed to look that freakin’ hot,” stated Darcy.
“Actually, I don’t think he’s married,” I said, brushing the hair out of my eyes.
We watched in silence as my new neighbor finished his morning routine of stretching his sinewy body parts before taking off for the usual morning run. Today it was already humid, so he was dressed in black shorts and a bright yellow tank top that emphasized his lean, muscular arms. Catching us gawking, he waved and we reciprocated.
Darcy sighed. “You’ve got it made, Lindsey,” she said as we both turned to watch him jog towards the golden-pink sky, admiring his tight buns as they moved beneath the shorts. “You’ve got a doting husband, a hunky neighbor, and kids who can make themselves breakfast in the morning. Honestly, you make me want to slit my fucking throat.”
I choked on my coffee and began laughing. “Darcy! Jeez, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re just in a tough place right now. Once this divorce thing is over, you can get on with your life. Besides,” I said, “you know very well that I’m always here for you.”
She opened up her purse and took out a tube of lipstick. “And I appreciate that, Linds,” she said, after applying it generously to her lips. “Really, I do. But what I need is to just get through this nightmare with Frank. Then, I’m going to drop Max off at grandma’s for the weekend, find me someone sexy and stimulating who doesn’t run on batteries, and top it all off with a bottle of expensive champagne to help me forget about everything else for a few hours.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Batteries?”
“I’ve got to do something,” she said dryly. “My vibrator started smoking last night, and not in a good way.”
I giggled. “You and that damn thing. I heard you can really hurt something down there if you use it too much.”
She waved her hand. “I’ve used it a thousand times this past year and let me tell you, the hurt is good.”
Leave it to Darcy.
We’d known each other since grade school, and were been best friends all the way through senior high. Then, she’d taken off for college to become a C.P.A. and I’d stayed behind because I’d gotten pregnant. Fortunately, Scott and I had been madly in love at the time and everything had worked out just fine in the end. We’d gotten married, had two beautiful children, and were now entering our fifteenth year of marriage. Of course, we’d had our occasional fights and disagreements throughout the years, but had always managed to work out the kinks. Life was good and I felt fairly content in it.
“I suppose I should get going,” she said, looking at her watch. “I’ll be back to pick up Max sometime after two o’clock, if everything goes as planned.”
“Okay,” I answered, finishing the last of my coffee.
“He’ll probably fall asleep soon. Frank had him last night, and didn’t drop him off until late.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. Well, good luck, Darcy. Call me when you can and let me know how it’s going.”
She nodded and gave me a hug. “Thanks for everything, hon.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” I said. “Now, remember – stay strong!”
“I’ll try,” she said, stepping off the porch. “If I don’t get my way, however, I’m going to rip his dick off and stuff it down his skanky girlfriend’s throat.”
I chuckled and watched as she walked to her Mercedes in her designer suit, expensive haircut, and perfectly-manicured nails. For as long as I could remember, she’d always looked perfect: no blonde hair out of place, flawless makeup, and rail-thin except for the silicone breasts she’d recently purchased after Frank had gone and cheated on her. Those were still fairly new and even I was having a hard time getting used to them. I thought she’d gotten them a little too big, but she wanted to rub them in Frank’s face. Well, not literally; he’d lost that privilege.
As I opened the front door, I looked down at my own short, messy nails and sighed. There was a time when I’d turn heads, just like Darcy, but these days, I turned nothing but supermarket isles and grilled-cheese sandwiches. I was also about fifteen pounds overweight, give or take five, and the last time I had my hair professionally done was six years ago, just before my sister’s wedding. She’d made the appointment, paid for it, and dropped me off before I could protest.
“It’s my wedding and I want everything perfect,” she’d told me. “Including my only sister, so don’t argue.”
Even I had to admit that I’d looked pretty amazing walking
out of the salon that day. My auburn hair had been trimmed, foiled, and styled – and not by my own hands for once. Of course, it had also been outrageously expensive and was something I hadn’t repeated on my own. These days, “practical” was my middle name. That meant trimming my own hair, wearing cheap, comfortable clothing, and biting my nails evenly to make sure they all matched. If I did use nail polish, it was the quick-dry stuff that chipped by the end of the day, so I mostly never bothered with that, either. Except for my toenails; for some reason, not having neatly trimmed and polished toenails wasn’t even an option for me. Secretly, besides my dark brown eyes, I thought my feet were my best feature, which, come to think of it, was a little pathetic.
As I mulled over these things, I stepped into the kitchen where Scott was finishing his morning cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” I said.
He glanced at me and smiled. “Good morning. I see that Max is sacked out on the sofa. Today must be the court thing?”
I sighed. “Yeah, it’s the big day. Darcy is on pins and needles.”
He walked over and kissed my cheek. “I’m sure everything will work out just fine.”
“I hope so,” I said, leaning into him. “She’s been through so much.”
He nodded. “Oh, by the way, I have to work late again. This deal is turning out to be a nightmare. The firm we’re trying to sign up with isn’t happy with anything we’ve designed. Now we have to start over, all the way from scratch.”
Sighing, I moved over to my Keurig and started brewing another cup of coffee. “Damn, I know how hard you’ve been working on those proposals, too. Well, will you be home in time for dinner?”
He ran a hand threw his wavy, blonde hair and shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Listen, just don’t even worry about dinner, babe, I’ll pick up something on the way home if it gets too late.”
“Okay.”
“I love you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing me around the waist.
“I love you, too. Don’t forget about tomorrow night.”
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