The Heavier The Chains…
Copyright 2019 Monica Clayton
Published by M.E. Clayton
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author’s imagination and all names, places, businesses and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner, whatsoever, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Formatting: Smashwords
Cover: Adobe Stock
Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.
Table of Contents
∞∞∞
Author's Note
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue
1. Kenzlee
2. Talon
3. Kenzlee
4. Talon
5. Kenzlee
6. Talon
7. Kenzlee
8. Talon
9. Kenzlee
10. Talon
11 Kenzlee
12. Talon
13. Kenzlee
14. Talon
15. Kenzlee
16. Talon
17. Kenzlee
18. Talon
19. Kenzlee
20. Talon
21. Kenzlee
22. Talon
23. Kenzlee
24. Talon
25. Kenzlee
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books
Contact Me
Newsletter Sign-Up
Author’s Note
∞∞∞
Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.
That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked for commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. If not, my books are probably not for you.
Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. One of the things about reading that hurts my heart, though, is when I fall in love with a book, but I have to wait for the additional books in the series to be released. Because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, I vowed that if I ever write a series, all books will be published at once. Nope-no waiting over here…LOL. So, if you are reading one of my books, but can’t find any others on the secondary characters of that book, that means the book is a standalone project. Now, the exception to this was both Enemy Series. Facing the Enemy and In Enemy Territory got enough requests for their secondary characters’ stories, I decided to write them. But, in the future, series books not released all at once will only happen at the request of my readers. As much as this is a hobby, I am writing these books for you guys as well as myself.
Thank you, all, for turning this hobby into something exciting and magical!
Acknowledgements
∞∞∞
The first acknowledgement will always be my husband (unless we ever divorce, then probably not so much after that), but seeing as how I can’t imagine that day ever coming, I can’t ever put myself out there without thanking him for all his love, support and belief in me.
Second, there’s my family; my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my sister and my mother. They are the people who love me the most, know me the best, and love me dearly, despite all they know…LOL!
And, of course, there’s Kamala. She insists that I don’t have to thank her in every book, but my love for her and gratitude for all her support and enthusiasm, claims otherwise. She’s the first person (outside my family) that I shared this dream with, and she’s been by my side every step of the way. Kam, you really are the best kind of friend!
And, finally, I’d like to thank everyone who’s purchased, read, reviewed, shared and supported me and my writing. Thank you so much for helping make this dream a reality and a happy, fun one at that! There are not enough ‘Thank You’s in the world.
Dedication
∞∞∞
For my mother –
I’ve seen you fall, but get back up, countless times in my life. You could have made a million different choices in your life, but I’m thankful that you didn’t see being our mother as a choice for you. I glad you felt like it was something you were always meant to be.
You’re one of the strongest people I know. I don’t say it often, and Lord knows, I suck as showing it, but I love you, Mom. I’ve always loved you and I will always love you. We, all love you!
Prologue
I’ve never known a poor day in my life.
I’ve never known what it felt like to come home to no electricity or an empty fridge. I’ve never known what it felt like to have to choose between a pair of new shoes or school pictures. I’ve never known the stress of my car not starting, or if my grades were good enough to get a scholarship to college.
What I did know?
I knew that Lela, our housekeeper, had actually two jobs because, while my parents paid her well, her son, Daniel, had a good shot at a baseball career, and so, she does all she can to pay for his sports’ costs. I also knew the trick to cleaning baseboards.
I knew Glen, our landscaper, started his business from scratch, and he was hoping to be able to pass it down to his own sons before he gets too old to enjoy retirement. I also knew to respect the fact that the lands I called my yard are actual living entities that can die if not cared for; much like the human heart.
I knew Fritz, our cook, had a dream to open his own restaurant once, but depression had set in and ruined those plans when he lost the love of his life because he was a coward. Fritz was gay, but too scared to come out, and Dale just couldn’t live the rest of his life with a coward. I also knew that timing is the key to the perfect meal, and the difference between praising a meal, or ending up in the hospital from an E. coli scare.
I knew Henry, our maintenance man, hated people and the only person on the planet he could stand was his wife, Rhonda. But, on a good day, I would do. I also knew that I need to shut off the power supply before dealing with anything electricity based.
I knew English, Spanish, French, Japanese, and German.
I knew how to play the piano and the violin, although I’m way better at the keys than the bow.
I’ve known the taste of caviar, which is disgusting, by the way. I’ve known the tea and crumpets experience, which is stupid, and always has been, because it’s just a gossip-fest. I’ve known mostly cloth napkins, and that should say it all, really.
I was only 18-years-old, but I’ve known summers in Paris, Japan, Australia, Ireland, Rome, and a bunch of other places people only read about. I’ve bee
n to places that people save their entire lives to visit for one week, and I’ve stayed summers there.
I’ve been to country clubs, fund raisers, debutant balls (not mine), yacht clubs, and goddamn croquet matches. I’ve been on private planes, took part in polo matches, and have even attended the freakin’ Met Gala, courtesy of tagging along with my parents.
And my friends? Well, they were all the same person.
They were me. I was them.
They went to the same vacation destinations, the same country clubs, the same private schools, the same games. They wore the same band name clothing, drove the same expensive cars, ate the same disgusting exotic foods. They also all had a Lela, a Glen, a Fritz, and a Henry.
The only difference between me and them?
They didn’t know their Lela had a son who was great at baseball. They didn’t know their Glen started his business from scratch. They didn’t know their Fritz was experiencing a crippling sexuality crisis. And they didn’t know their Henry hated people.
And they didn’t care to know.
And me? I was that cliché poor-little-rich-girl.
I was raised by the servants and only put on display when my parents needed to make a good impression. Donovan and Gladys Mitchell only paid me attention when it served their purposes. The same way they only brought up their dead son during specific events.
Their dead son, but my dead twin brother.
Tragedy and death touched the rich, as well. So did drug abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, and any other abuse you can think of. The rich just have enough money, or good enough insurance, to get help for it.
But I’m not complaining. Honest, I’m not.
Except for my brother’s death, I’ve led a life most people dream about. I’ve led a life people cry at night for. I’ve led a life people sell their souls to Satan for.
Like I said, I’ve never known a poor day in my life.
Until now.
Chapter 1
The choices that aren’t ours.
Kenzlee~
I sat on the bed knowing I should feel comfortable, but I just didn’t. I knew Uncle Allen was sincere every time he repeated how he didn’t mind having me here, but I couldn’t shake the fact that I was already 18-years-old. It didn’t matter that I still had a good eight months left of my senior year of high school; I was technically a legal adult. The weight of knowing that Uncle Allen and Aunt Sheri didn’t have to take me in felt like an enormous burden on my shoulders.
It felt like pity.
And not only was I, now, invading my uncle and aunt’s lives, but I was invading my cousin, Alexandria’s, life too. They were taking in a girl who they were lucky to see during the holidays, if that. While I loved my uncle, aunt, and cousin, my parents had made it difficult to maintain a real personal relationship with them. Oh, we chatted on social media and sent texts and stuff like that, but we were hardly ever around each other. My mother married money and she never looked back.
Now, it wasn’t as if Uncle Allen was living in lower poverty or anything, but even his impressive income that boasted of a four-bedroom, three-bath house, wasn’t enough to make him eligible to remain on my mother’s list of priorities. But, then again, I hadn’t even been on my mother’s list of priorities.
I should have felt comforted as I heard the voices carrying into the bedroom, but I wasn’t. My entire life has shifted, and I was being left to deal with it on my own.
“What do you expect me to do, Allen?” my mother yelled loud enough that I thanked God my aunt and cousin were out grocery shopping. This situation was embarrassing enough without having people hear how my mother didn’t want to deal with me on top of everything else. “You act like I have a whole lot of options here.”
“She’s your daughter, Gladys. Your only child, now that Kaden is gone,” Uncle Allen yelled back, as if she needed reminding. “You don’t think this is hard on her, too? And you’re going to leave her alone to deal with it all?”
“I’m not leaving her alone, Allen,” she pointed out. “I’m leaving her with you guys.”
“You don’t think she needs the comfort of her parents?” he said, still yelling at his sister. “You and Donovan get to support each other throughout the fallout, but Kenzlee gets shipped off to us?”
“If you don’t want her here, just say so, Allen!”
There was a slight pause, but my uncle’s voice rang clear. “Listen to me, and listen well, Gladys,” he barked. “Kenzlee is my niece. She’s the only niece I have, and I love her dearly. She is my family, and she is always welcomed here. We love having her here and she will be loved here. So, don’t ever suggest that she’s a burden or an unwelcomed guest here. I’m just saying that, not only was it fucked-up what you and Donovan did, but dumping Kenzlee off here to deal with it alone is really chickenshit of you guys!”
“Kenzlee will do what needs to be done while Donovan and I figure things out,” she retorted.
Everything was quiet for a few seconds before I heard my uncle say, “It’s only money, Gladys.”
“We lost everything, Allen,” she hissed. “We are poor!”
“You’re bankrupt, not dead, Gladys, so stow away the theatrics,” he said unsympathetically.
“We lost more than our money, Allen! We lost our home, our friends, our everything!”
“Look, I’m not going to try to convince you to do right by Kenzlee, but understand this, Kenzlee stays, Gladys,” Uncle Allen said. “You will not come back in three or four months and disrupt her life again. And, since she is legally an adult, I will be able to stop you from plucking her from our home.”
“It’s for the best, Allen,” my mother assured him. “And Kenzlee will be fine.”
“Are you going to tell her goodbye?”
There was a slight pause, and I just knew, if my mother could, she’d get out of telling me goodbye, but since Uncle Allen was already judging her, she said, “Of course, Allen.”
My hands went inward beneath my thighs, and I sat on them because I didn’t want to accidently go to hug her goodbye, only to make her uncomfortable. I sat and stared out the window that boasted a view of a wooden fence that separated the adjacent neighborhood yards.
I waited patiently for my mother to come to me with a final goodbye to everything I’ve lost. My father has spent the last three weeks holed up in his study in an empty mansion with my mother. His final goodbye was to tell me good luck before shutting the study door behind him. After weeks of whispered arguments, I was dumped here.
I heard the click-clatter of her heels and I knew she was entering my room when the sound disappeared with the plush support of the carpet. I didn’t look towards her because what was the point? She didn’t really want to be sharing this moment with me, anyway.
Her weight sunk onto the bed and I could see through my peripheral vision that she was looking out the window at the same mundane view I was. The silence was profound. It summed up everything that was my relationship with my parents. But this was her dump and desert. She should be the one to speak first. So, I sat and waited.
After a few uncomfortable minutes, she finally said, “It’s for the best, Kenzlee.”
“Are you going to, at least, let me know…where you guys end up?” I didn’t really care. I mean, I did, but…I didn’t. I mean…I cared because they are my parents, but I didn’t because they didn’t deserve it.
“Of course, we are, Kenzlee,” she chided. “You act…you act like we’re just abandoning you, even though you technically are a grown adult.”
And there it was.
The only thing missing was the act of my mother dusting off her hands.
I was a grown adult, so I was no longer her problem. And because I was a grown adult, I was at the mercy of my uncle’s generosity.
I said the only thing I could think to say to this…stranger. “Well, I hope everything works out for you guys.”
“Oh, Kenzlee,” she murmured. “Everythi
ng will be fine. Your father and I just have to…regroup, is all.”
I sat there and knowing my parents really couldn’t care less about me was a hard realization to come to terms with. I always thought that if times ever got tough, they’d be there for me. Granted, as a young girl, I never truly anticipated times becoming tough, but still.
As my mother drone on about her troubles, I couldn’t help but think about Lela and how was she going to be able to afford Daniel’s baseball now.
∞∞∞
Talon~
Edie was going to fucking kill me.
I finally got the bleeding to stop and, frankly, I hadn’t been too worried about it. Everyone knew head wounds bled like a sonofabitch. I had been able to get away with a butterfly stitch, but there’d be no hiding it from Edie. It wasn’t that I lied to her, I just knew how she worried, and I hated that guilty look in her eyes every time I had a new bruise or scrape. Edie knew I fought, and she knew why I did it.
She also knew she couldn’t stop me.
I felt a slap on the back of my shoulder. “Great fight, Draven,” someone said on his way out of the restroom. I didn’t look back to see who said it. I didn’t know half the people here, so I took the congratulations like I always did; with a simple nod and grunt.
I studied my face in the mirror, and there was no denying it. With Mom working two jobs, I could avoid her until my face healed, but there was no avoiding Edie.
Fuck.
The door to the restroom opened, and I watched through the mirror, the Finley brothers, Lars and Hunter, walk up behind me with big ass smiles on their faces. Lars shook his head. “One day, you’re going to get your ass handed to you, Draven,” he laughed. “But, until then, you do make me a shitload of money.”
Lars and Hunter Finley were my two best friends. They lived a couple of houses down from my house and we grew up together in one of the lower income class neighborhoods. We weren’t exactly poor enough for government assistance, but we weren’t well off enough not to struggle. My father’s crappy child support checks didn’t amount to shit in the scheme of things.
The Heavier The Chains... Page 1
