Darkest Before Dawn

by Stevie J. Cole

  Copyright © 2016 by Stevie J. Cole

  All rights reserved

  This book is an original work of fiction. All of the names, characters, sponsors, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, incidences, persons, deceased or living, is strictly coincidental.

  Any opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the author.

  Darkest Before Dawn

  Copyright ©2016 by Stevie J. Cole

  Published in the United States of America.

  E-books are non-transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of Stevie J. Cole.

  Editing: Wild Rose Editing

  Cover Model: Johnny Kane

  Photographer: Eric Battershell Photography

  Cover Design: Pink Ink Design

  Note from the Author

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.” – Andrea Gibson.

  To my Daddy,

  I miss you every day.

  Love,

  Your Feetheart

  Within every book, I think you will find pieces of its author. Glimmers and glimpses inside their heart, their fears, their dreams. Out of all the symbolism and metaphor in Darkest Before Dawn, what I truly hope I have brought to light is that oftentimes true love comes from loving the dark parts of someone, the broken parts. Being able to understand what makes someone feel ugly and help them feel beautiful, to me, is an attribute that creates the most epic type of love. And this is why most of my stories are dark and twisted and raw—because love was never meant to be easy, it was never really meant to be understood. It was merely meant to exist.

  xx-Stevie

  Lila’s crying. Sobbing as that man ties a gag around her mouth. I watch the material cut into my baby sister’s pale cheeks and I can’t do a damn thing. My hands are bound and I’m tied to the dining room chair. Pops is out cold, secured by rope to the chair at the head of the table. Mother is in the chair next to him, bound and gagged as well. Somehow, these four men tripped the security system, sneaking in without the slightest of sounds. I woke to a gun against my temple and a gloved hand over my mouth.

  “Wake him up,” one of the men says.

  Guy number two walks to my father, smacking him hard across the face. Pops startles, his eyes cracking wide with fear. His gaze drifts around the room as he takes in the sight of his captured family. Tears well in his eyes. Never have I seen my father cry. Never.

  “Ah, look, Frank,” one of the guys says, “he’s gonna cry like a little bitch.”

  “Now, what a predicament we’ve fallen into here, huh, Jacob?” The head guy, Frank, talks to my father with such hatred thick in his voice. “I’m sure you know why I’m here. An eye for an eye and all.”

  My father tries to speak around the gag, but all that comes out is a muffled noise.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Jacob. I’m not going to hurt your precious children. You know I have a soft spot for them. I am a father myself, after all.”

  He turns to face me and smiles, deep wrinkles settling around his eyes. His golden eyes. “Untie the boy,” he orders one of his men.

  My heart goes into a frenzy as I watch the massive bald man stalk over to me. “Don’t try no funny shit, boy,” he says, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco on the floor. He quickly undoes the rope and hauls me up by both wrists. I may be a well-built sixteen-year-old, but I look like a fucking drowned rat next to this steroid-pumped beast. I don’t stand a chance in hell. The guy shoves me in the back and I stumble, stopping in front of Frank Donovan.

  His grin widens, his white teeth gleaming under the dim lights. He pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans and places the barrel against my temple. The cold metal sears into my skin, and my eyes slam shut from fear. Death is something I’ve yet to think about, but suddenly, the finality of it has become far too real. I can hear the stifled sobs of both my mother and sister. My dad is grunting against his gag.

  “Now, boy. I won’t shoot you if you do as I say.” Frank hands me a pistol. I take it in my hand, the weight of it heavier than it should be. “You are going to choose one of your parents and you are going to shoot them, because I don’t get my fucking hands dirty, understand?”

  I shake my head vehemently from side to side. “No. Please. I—I can’t. I can’t do—”

  “You don’t, I’ll have Ralph there shoot them both. Your choice. You murder one, or by an act of defiance, you murder them both.”

  My heart sits in my throat, one beat indistinguishable from the next. And now this gun feels like a lead weight in my sweat-slicked palms. My gaze bounces from my mother to my father. She closes her eyes, and part of me thinks she’s praying even though we aren’t religious. My pops stares me down, trying to talk with his eyes. I lock eyes with him and he nods.

  “Chose one, son,” Frank whispers in my ear, his heated breath blowing over my neck.

  Lila’s muffled cries are so loud. I’m terrified she’ll suffocate with that gag on. “Please,” I say. “Take the gag off her.”

  Frank laughs and nods for one of his guys to do it. The second the material slips away from her face she screams. “Why would you do this? Max. Don’t do it. Don’t!”

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.

  “Do it, or I will have all of you killed.” Frank laughs again. My sister cries. “And you”—I open my eyes to see him pointing at Lila—“shut your mouth.”

  She doesn’t listen, and Ralph crosses the room, pistol-whipping her. Her head rolls to the side. Blood trickles down her temples.

  “She’s fine. She’ll just learn to keep quiet,” Frank says. “Now. I’ll give you to the count of ten to choose one.” He takes me by the shoulders, his gun still pressed against my head, and p
ushes me across the room so that I am standing in front of them both. “Choose.”

  How do you choose whose life to take? I’m tempted to turn this gun around and blow my own goddamn brains out.

  “Remember, if you don’t, you all die. Four deaths as opposed to one. Think of those statistics.”

  My mouth has gone dry, the room spins. My father stares me down, his eyes widening in a plea to take his life.

  “One…two…three…” Frank counts down.

  Mere seconds to come to grips with what the fuck is going on.

  “Six…seven…”

  I raise the gun, watching it shake in my unsteady hands.

  “Boy, my patience is very thin. Eight…nine…”

  I cock the gun. Tears pour from my eyes, the salty taste running down the back of my throat. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  “Ten.”

  Pow. I attempt to close my eyes, but I can’t. His head slams back, then forward. I watch a small hole appear in the center of my father’s forehead, followed by a steady stream of blood that runs down the bridge of his nose. Mother is thrashing in the chair next to him, her face twisted in anguish, blood splatter all over her satin nightdress. I drop the gun. It clatters over the floor, and I swear Frank is laughing.

  I fall to my knees, sobbing. I just took my own father’s life, the man who meant more to me than anything. And I killed him.

  Bam. I jump from the sudden gunfire. When I look up, my mother is slumped over in her chair, half her face blown off.

  “You fucking—” There’s a blow to my head, a crack. Everything spins and goes black.

  And from that moment on, everything in my life is black…

  Twelve years later

  It’s been five months since I’ve spoken to Lila. I feel like hell for it, but I’ve tried my damnedest to stay as far away from shit like this as I can. Lila’s a dealer—a messy dealer. And up until three years ago, I was no better. After my parents’ murder, Lila and I went to live with our asshole uncle. That lasted all of three months. He tried to beat my ass one too many times, and we left. The house we’d grown up in was paid off and vacant and left to me in the will. So we lived there, and to make ends meet, I was a thief. I stole, I fought, I dealt drugs, and I set shit on fire just for the hell of it. And of course, Lila followed in my footsteps. But after a while, I got tired of always looking over my shoulder, of constantly toeing the line. I wanted to be a normal person. And fuck did I try. Hell, I even enrolled at a university and studied psychology in an attempt to make an honest living. But…

  crime is something that runs through my blood. Born into it. Raised in it. I’m numb to it, and when you are numb to bloodshed, in order to keep your hands clean, you have to remove yourself from it completely.

  Growing up with a father who worked for the mafia—the world we were raised in, by no means can anyone come out of that normal. You can try, but when you witness murders as a child, when you’re beat by people who are supposed to care for you, when you murder your own family…well, that does something to your mind. There’s a darkness that runs through my veins most people will never understand, because honestly, to understand someone like me you have to have that same dark devil creeping through your blood as well.

  The thing is, shit like this—well, it’s a virus you can’t ever get rid of. I feel myself failing. I feel my bones aching to sink back into this sick little world of greed and sin, and so I distance myself from her.

  I wanted to be a normal person. I’ve tried. Hell, I even enrolled at a university in an attempt to make an honest living. Although, I know the kind of lifestyle I was once accustomed to can only come from illegal activities. For all intents and purposes, on paper, I am normal. The thing is, shit like this—well, it’s a virus you can’t ever get rid of. I feel myself failing. I feel my bones aching to sink back into this sick little world of greed and sin.

  The winter wind whips through the breezeway of the apartment building, stinging my face. The door to apartment 3C shakes when I pound my fist over it again. I’ve tried calling her. No answer. And if there is one thing a drug dealer usually does, it’s answer their fucking phone. I shake my head in frustration.

  “Lila, it’s Max,” I shout. “Open the motherfucking door already.”

  The door across the hallway opens and a man leans out, tipping a bottle of gin back as he stares at me. He’s skinny as fuck. His wife beater is stained, his jeans torn. His frail bicep is covered by a Porky the Pig tattoo. “She ain’t been home for a few days,” he says as he wipes the liquor from his cracked lips.

  I turn back to the door and brace my arms in the doorway. My pulse is picking up. If something has happened to her, I will blame myself. I should have watched over her. I should have fucking checked up on her more. Fuck! Taking a step back, I stare at the door. Just call the police… But rationality has never been my forte. My shoulder slams into the door. The hinges give way, and I fall into the only room there is. The apartment is a mess. Paper plates litter the counter. Syringes lay scattered on the coffee table, along with crumpled cans of diet soda. I hang my head, rage building inside my chest as I pull my cell phone from my pocket to call the police. She’s gone.

  “Well, Mr. Carter,” the police officer says as he thumbs through a stack of papers on his desk. “As I’ve told you, we have put her on the Missing Persons list, but…” A frown sets on his face and he tugs a piece of paper from the stack. Leaning back in his chair, he skims over it then clears his throat. “Lila Carter, you say?”

  “Yes. That’s her.”

  “Date of birth August ninth, nineteen eighty-eight?” I nod, watching as he stands, hitching his pants underneath his beer gut as he drags in a deep breath. “You do realize your sister was a—”

  “A criminal? Yeah, yeah, I do, but that has—”

  “Last arrest was for prostitution down by The Tabernacle and possession of illegal substances.”

  My pulse stalls before it goes into overdrive, forcing a thin sheen of sweat over my brow. I knew she dealt, but prostitution…

  “Look, Mr. Carter.” The officer makes his way around his desk and places his chubby, pink hand on my shoulder. “Sorry to say, but we get cases like this by the dozen every day. Not to sound heartless, but most of the time, turns out they’ve overdosed or just ran off to avoid another arrest, so you understand why her report is at the bottom of a list filled with teenagers and children?”

  Heat consumes my face and my fingers ball into tight fists. “She’s my sister,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “I understand, but what I need you to understand is that we have to prioritize cases like this and a drug dealing prostitute is not a top priority.”

  I want to knock this motherfucker’s teeth down his throat. My skin sizzles with adrenaline, my breathing falls ragged. The officer slowly places his hand on the gun hanging from his belt as a warning to me, and as much as I want to punch him, I know I can’t. I take a single step toward him, placing my finger inches from his fat face. “A fucking life is a fucking life you…” I stop myself before I say something that may get me arrested, and I turn to leave the room, my vision swimming with anger.

  Sometimes you realize the proper authorities will be of no help to you, that your only chance at hope is taking matters into your own hands, and if I’m honest, I’m more deftly equipped to handle this than they are. The police are bound to protocol and procedure. I, on the other fucking hand, am not. I’d kill a motherfucker before I ever tried to negotiate shit.

  It’s taken me one week to find the fucker who last saw Lila. One week—that’s it. And the damn police couldn’t be fucked with it. Prostitutes, they pay more attention than you’d think. They have to. Three of the girls I spoke with all described the same man, said he always showed up in a different car, exactly two weeks apart. He uses a girl twice, then she disappears.

  One said he was her regular. That he’s been coming to her for over a year. Two hundred bucks—that’s
all it took for her to agree to set him up. These men tend to put too much trust in these women. If they’ll suck your dick for money, guarantee they’ll fuck you over for it, too.

  Trisha is sitting on the edge of the motel bed smoking a cigarette. She keeps changing which leg is crossed over the other and her foot is bouncing up and down. She anxiously glances over at me, eyeing me. “You better not kill me.”

  “Not going to,” I say as I light a cigarette myself. I actually quit smoking a few years ago, but fuck it, something’s going to kill you.

  “What’d Travis do to you?” she asks.

  I glare at her. “You don’t find it odd that most of the women he fucks end up missing?”

  “I mean…” She shrugs and takes another drag. “Shit happens. You learn to ignore stuff in this world or else you’ll drive yourself crazy, you know?” She laughs. “And I’ve found if you learn how to give an incredible blow job, most men won’t kill you. It’s my defense mechanism.” She jabs the butt of the cigarette out in the motel ashtray just as there’s a knock on the door. I stand and make my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  I hear the door open and she greets him. Rage quickly mounts in my chest, the pressure nearly unbearable. After a few minutes, the door to the bathroom creaks halfway open and Trisha slinks through the crack. Her face is damn near white, horror flickering behind her eyes. I nod and squeeze past her, pulling the gun before stepping out into the room. The man’s got his back to the door, pulling his jeans from his left foot. The click of the gun cocking makes him freeze.