The Years After (Sister #5)

by Leanne Davis

  The Years After

  By

  Leanne Davis

  Sister Series, Book Five

  Table of contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  My Other Titles

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Years After

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Leanne Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: dvsleanne@aol.com

  Publishing History First Edition, 2015 Digital

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-941522-20-2

  Sister Series, Book Five

  Edited by Teri at The Editing Fairy (teri@editingfairy.com)

  Cover Design by Steven Novak (novakillustration@gmail.com)

  Dedication:

  For First Loves

  Acknowledgement: To Teri (editingfairy.com) for all your wonderful work with my novels, time after time.

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  Diversions

  River’s End Series

  River’s End

  River’s Escape

  The Sister Series

  The Other Sister

  The Years Between

  The Good Sister

  The Best Friend

  The Wrong Sister

  The Years After

  Daughters Series

  Christina

  The Zenith Trilogy

  Zenith Falling

  Zenith Rising

  Zenith Fulfilled

  The Seaclusion Series

  Poison

  Notorious

  Secrets

  Seclusion

  Prologue

  FOR DEREK SALAZAR THERE was a defining line that separated the before, and the after of his life. There was one day that marked what his life would become and who he was to be. Unlike most people he knew down to the minute of the day the entire course of his life would be set upon. He remembered the day always, no matter what was happening or what he was doing. It was the day he killed his father. And after it she completely changed. She started needing her medicine and he had to start getting it for her. And it was the last time he’d heard Max speak with any kind of regularity.

  Still knowing what caused all the after didn’t make living it any easier.

  Derek heard the thumping. He heard the voices. He heard the scream. He heard the loud cursing. He heard the silence. He huddled closer to the wall, tucking himself between the door and the wall. If anyone entered maybe they’d forget to look behind the door. He nearly sat on his little brother, Max trying to keep him from making noise. But Max kept struggling. Luckily, his brother didn’t talk. Ever. He was mute. A freak. A shadow. Max had not said a word since that day that Derek had heard. And if he hadn’t heard him, then who could have?

  No one had ever bothered to find out why he didn’t talk. She just ridiculed him. Called him names. Hit him out of frustration for him to just talk. Answer her. Say something. But Max merely remained silent. His big dark eyes never betraying what he thought or felt about her words. Her anger. Her violence. Derek was getting big enough he could finally step in and stop her from hitting him.

  The room went silent. His breath started up again. His heart finally slowed down. He slowly stood to his thirteen year old feet. He stretched his legs and shook his numb feet. Max had fallen asleep. His eight year old body completely huddled in a knot. At least he was quiet now. He had learned years ago, when he was only a toddler to be quiet. To be unheard. As shadow-like as Max lived his entire life. When he made noise, then one of them might try to figure out what that noise was, and that was when Derek got hurt. He didn’t want to get hurt again. Never again. And he made sure Max didn’t know what hurt was. Not really, anyway. What she did, wasn’t really hurt. It was just kind of stinging. Derek opened the door. Years of practice he could do it without even a movement of air. The trick was to go slow. Really, really slow. He was good at disappearing anywhere. Luckily he was small and lithe and could tie his body up like a contortionist. He was ignored and easily looked over.

  He stepped to the hall. He took the three steps to the opening of the living room. He stayed against the wall in case he was wrong and they were still there. But no. No they weren’t. He scanned the room thoroughly, sure now it was just his mother. He rushed to her and dropped to his knees. He felt her neck. There was a faint pulse. He leaned closer.

  “Mom?” he asked softly. She didn’t stir. He leaned over her and grabbed the needle she’d dropped to the floor. Her arm was riddled with holes and scars like she’d been attacked with a pencil or something. He knew better. It was her medicine.

  She used to tell him it was her medicine and she needed it to survive. He’d believed her. Just as Max still did. Until he got smart. Until he figured out why the men came here. And why they never had any money.

  He stood up and walked the needle to the garbage. It was overflowing. He tucked it deep inside the can so Max wouldn’t get into it. He stood over his mother then. He brought a blanket to cover her naked body. She lay prone on her side, her black hair twisted around her dark, tanned skin. Drool fell in a line from her mouth. Other than the drool she looked like a corpse. Like what Derek had seen on those crime shows. Anyway it was kind of freaky to have your mother look dead on the floor so he covered her.

  He started for the door and opened it. He did the usual check, every which way for anyone around. He was never loud. He was never obvious. He was never safe. He knew what was next. Mom would wake up. Mom would be hurting again soon. She’d need more of her medicine. He hated her medicine. But when she didn’t have it, she could be so mean. She might hurt Max. So he made sure now, that they had her medicine.

  He went down the hall, through three flights of graffiti stairs, all with dust and hair swirling in the corner after he past. He entered the commons and crossed the square to where Quentrell lived. Or worked. He didn’t really know. He just knew what was expected of him. So far, he’d kept his head down, his mouth shut, and out of trouble. He got mom’s medicine in exchange for a few errands Quentrell wanted done.

  He knew the streets of Marsale like a rat knows the sewer. He knew where to go at any moment, without anyone, cops or criminal alike knowing where he was. He had started young, Max’s age. Because mom and volunteered him in a desperate need of her medicine one day. And so he started working.

  His only goal now, was that Max would not start working.

  To do that he had to be the best worker ever so Quentrell respected him enough to respect his wishes to leave Max alone.

  He knocked on
the door and Quentrell’s guy opened the door. Recognizing Derek he let him enter with a lift of his hand in a complicated handshake. Derek did it. But he never for a second forget they were not his friends. No one was. And he would only survive to remember that. He would never have friends.

  He knew how to work. He knew how to be quiet. And he knew where the gun was. Other than Max, that was all he ever needed.

  Chapter One

  DEREK SALAZAR SLAPPED THE packet of pills in the young kids hand as he palmed the cash. He flashed a half smile to the nerdy looking kid, no more than sixteen who had pitted out his shirt in sweat. Poor kid looked like he was going to pass out. Smirking, Derek pocketed the cash and started to turn and head out of the park when a scream brought his head up and his hands out.

  A girl on a pedal bike swerved around him and crashed into the tree he’d just stepped out from. The front wheel hit and the bike wobbled before it toppled over with the girl half on it. She landed awkwardly on the park grass with her things spreading around her. Her legs were half bent, and she was leaning on her elbow, as long, dark hair fell all around her, obscuring her face.

  Her things included a music case of some kind. Most likely she had just started as a freshman at Peterson College for the Arts, the local prestigious private college that drew gifted artists and musicians from across the country and particularly the west coast. She had long black hair. It fell to her mid-back in a midnight curtain. It was straight as a ruler.

  She was probably eighteen or nineteen. But the bike and matching bike helmet kind of made her seem like strawberry shortcake dressed up to play at the park. Kids’ voices could be heard behind him on the swing sets and play structures. He looked around. His deal had gone down without a hitch. No one else was looking their way. Just this mess before him.

  She groaned slightly and unstrapped the bike helmet to yank it off, as she then pushed a hand at her hair, flipping it back off her face. He stepped back when her face lifted towards him. It was stunning. Perfect. A photo-shopped Madonna-like painting, but in the flesh. Porcelain-white skin that set off the palest, biggest most strange blue eyes he’d ever witnessed in person. They were intense, slightly tilted at the ends. Delicate black eyebrows framed her eyes, and big, red lips added a snow-white affect to her looks. She didn’t wear a stitch of make-up.

  He dropped down to squat on his feet. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so. Did I hurt you?”

  “No. The tree. You gave the tree a pretty good scare,” he said with a smile. He didn’t often feel the need to smile at strangers. But one this beautiful? Why not?

  She glanced at the tree trunk as a deep blush covered her neck and cheeks. Thick, straight bangs framed her face. She turned fully towards him. She smiled with a soft, shy lift of her lips. They were big, red, puffy lips. Perfect for kissing. Or sucking. He thought either would be perfect. But instead he put a hand out towards her.

  She lifted a thin, elegant hand and set it in his. Her fingers were long with the tips short and tinged in white. He tugged on his arm and she rose up with him, wiping at her pants. She was eye to eye with him. Not a great feat as he was way too short for a guy. He only measured in at five foot five. He’d suffered all the jokes his entire childhood. The thing was: all his short statue did for him was make it way easier to go unnoticed, a distinct advantage in his line of work. He’d never had the time to worry about being short. He was too busy making sure he didn’t get shot or thrown in jail. So not being noticeable? A great thing.

  But this girl in her navy blue sneakers stared right into his eyes. She was skinny, bony actually. Her dude-like clothes hung off her. She had on baggy to her jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt. It was navy blue colored and without even an interesting logo on it. Her hair was mostly thrown back in a pony tail that was thick and long, but half it fell forward. Most girls would be smoothing their hair in their embarrassment over nearly running him over and hitting a tree. Not this one. She shook her head and put her hand out.

  “I’m Olivia.”

  Shake hands? He tried to keep the odd look to himself. She was kind of different, he’d give her that. “Uh, I’m Derek.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m really sorry for almost hitting you. Are you from around here?”

  “Sure. Close by that is.” He lived twenty miles from here. He didn’t often do business in his own neighborhood. His neighborhood was where the harder drugs were sold, and hence lots of cops patrolled that area. He’d gotten smart a few years back and stopped those completely. Now he mostly dealt with twitchy, scared college shits looking for a little speed to study longer or oxy for the thrill and experiment of it. He rarely carried large amounts on himself and he avoided the same spot more than once a week. There was a reason he’d been working for ten years and never once come on any cops radar. He was a ghost, a figment of the imagination. He dealt only with Quentrell and no one else. No other middle man or handler. That was his deal with Quentrell and since he paid his tab on time every month, Quentrell let him have the freedom. He had to date been able to stay clear of joining any gang but it had come at a high cost, a fee he paid Quentrell happily.

  But it wasn’t often he got looked at with big, innocent eyes and a shy smile of pleasure. She leaned over and picked up a small black case that had knocked from her green army backpack. Not one for frills that was for sure.

  He nodded at it. “You here at Peterson?”

  “Yes. Obvious?”

  “The music case being treated like it contains a precious family heirloom kind of gives you away. What is your drug of choice?”

  She wouldn’t catch his phrasing as strange. It made him smirk; it was his favorite thing to say to most college shits. “Flute. I play the flute.”

  “Uh huh. Any good?”

  “Good enough to be here,” she said raising her gaze to his as if meeting his challenge, then she rolled her eyes, “I know total dork factor. I’ve heard it all. All four years of high school. But how I do it, isn’t.”

  He stepped closer just to see what she’d do. She held her spot and her eyes sparked as a small smile tugged on her way too red and puffy lips. Sex lips. That’s what she had. They didn’t match the rest of her tomboy gone homeless look. “What? You make it cool?”

  She nodded. “Yeah I make it the coolest. Do you go to Peterson?”

  “Uh, I’m around there. Sure. Who isn’t?”

  “It seems like anyone under the age of forty I meet goes there. It is a popular place.”

  “Why else would anyone be in this town?”

  Marsdale, California was no place. It wasn’t a city, it wasn’t the country. It was miles and miles of sprawling suburbia. Around Peterson was the better housing for students and the like. The farther from downtown one got, the worse the neighbors got until you eventually got to the district he was from. As of now, he crashed in the loft of one of the old Warehouses. His building mates were everything from a gang member to a guy he was pretty sure ran guns. He didn’t know, didn’t ask and they did the same. It wasn’t the kind of place to make eye contact with anyone. Most carried guns. Not Derek. He avoided guns as a rule. Something he never broke, no matter how harry the situation became. Guns led to shooting. Guns led to jail and death. He knew what guns did and he figured he was better off being fast on his feet than ever sticking around for a fight. He wasn’t too proud to run from anything or anyone. No pride was worth sticking his neck out for. Run. That was his secret to this life.

  “It’s a lovely town. Why would you say that?” Her mouth puckered and her eyes frowned at him surprised. He should show her his side of the town and she’d see just how unlovely it was. But he supposed she was from some nice family and stayed on campus and ran around studying and partying and pretending to be a free, independent important adult. Sure, it might seem like a lovely place then. It had views of far off mountains, and this park for example had huge mature trees that shaded the green grass. All so picturesque and ideal. All such a front for the drugs a
nd abuse and guns and violence that percolated just down the road.

  “Too many years here.”

  She tilted her head. “You can’t be older than me.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. He resisted the urge to stand up straighter. His own jeans were loose and bagged over his Converse tennis shoes. He wore nondescript colors with a gray hoodie that shielded his dark hair and eyes. His mother was from Mexico. His father was white. His skin was a soft chocolate color. It was the only giveaway about dealing in this area. It was ninety percent white at this end of town. Around Peterson.

  “Depends, how old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Yeah? Me too,” he agreed, but his eighteen and hers were probably comparing a forty year old to a four year old. Her sweet, innocence that nearly shined out of her eyes were not the hardened one’s of Hallie Cupper who too, was eighteen and had been turning tricks off and on since they were fifteen. Somehow he knew Olivia whoever had never really seen the life Derek had.

  Her eyes lit up. She wasn’t subtle with whatever crossed her mind. He wasn’t used to it. Most anyone he knew hid everything, and especially emotions. Emotions went to wither and die where he was from. She seemed to realize they were staring at each other and she dropped her face down a few inches. It was the expressive to shy that caught his attention.

  “Well, I was on my way to practice with a few friends. I’d better get there before they start missing me.”

  She leaned over and picked up her bike and helmet. She strapped the helmet on and raised her leg over the bike’s bar and stood there. She tugged her back pack up tighter. The instrument stuck out of the top. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime, Derek.”

  He held two fingers up to his forehead in a casual salute, “Maybe, Olivia.”

  She smiled again those red lips stretching over perfect, white teeth. She had a wide, mobile smile that ended in the crinkle of her eyes. Beautiful girl who didn’t do one thing to enhance it. It was an interesting juxtapose.