Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) Read online

  Something Like Redemption

  Monica James

  Something Like Redemption

  Copyright © 2014 by Monica James. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: September 2014

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1500640712

  ISBN-10: 1500640719

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

  Dedication

  To Papa and Mum...

  I love you to the stars and back

  Table of Contents

  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

  “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

  ~ William Shakespeare ~

  Prologue

  It’s been said that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. All the good, all the bad, all the significant, or the non-significant, it’s all meant to flicker before you, presenting you with an epiphany. And then in turn, you’re meant to embrace death, and accept it’s your time.

  But what happens if you’re not ready to die? What happens if your life is snatched out from under you, with no real say as to why it ended so suddenly?

  If that’s the case, do those who meet a tragic demise not have the luxury of this magical epiphany? Is it fated for those who fight death with their last dying breath to just burn out and… fade?

  If this is so, then my quest for revenge and redemption is fueled with every negative emotion I can invoke within myself. And that negativity is directed toward the two people who took so much from me without giving it a second thought.

  An eye for eye, the bible says. Well, I’ll settle for anything, as long as the end result is the same.

  My dad and Phil, they’re already dead… they just don’t know it yet.

  Chapter 1

  Revenge

  “Red, are you awake?”

  ‘No!’ my insides scream, squeezing my eyes shut.

  My sense of hearing is finely tuned, as my eyes have been shut for the past three hours, refusing to open, because once they do, the events of why I’m here will become real.

  I don’t want to believe that my dad, who I put a bullet into, is not really dead. Nor do I want to believe that he and his drug dealer—my former boss, Big Phil—shot a man in cold blood, ending his life like it never mattered.

  But it did matter.

  It matters to me.

  He mattered to me.

  And it’s because of me he’s dead.

  Hank protected me until the very end. He could have ratted me out, but he didn’t. He faced my dad head on, proving to be more of a parent than my own biological father. So, where’s the justice in him being dead, while his murderers roam free?

  There isn’t any.

  When I jumped on a bus, headed for the sleepy town of South Boston, Virginia, close to three months ago, I never imagined the harm I would cause to so many people I came to care for.

  Especially not the man who’s sitting beside me.

  There’s nothing simple about Quinn Berkeley, and from the get go, I knew he would change my life forever. But I never foresaw just how much. Nor did I ever predict that his brother, Tristan, would do the same.

  Tristan, who Quinn and I left unconscious and bleeding to death on his hallway floor, is the reason why Quinn and I are alive.

  Yes, we’re on the run from the police, as we’re both prime suspects in Hank’s murder (courtesy of my dad) but we’re alive.

  And we’re together.

  But I don’t blame Quinn for resenting, or even hating me. I mean, I’m the reason why his baby brother was coughing up his own blood, thanks to a stab wound my dad and Phil inflicted on him.

  I hate myself for it, and I will continue to do so for all the days of my life.

  But that’s good.

  All that hate and anger will fuel me to rid this earth of two scumbags, ensuring they will never hurt another living soul ever again.

  Quinn’s unique, refined scent wafts through the truck, and I tell myself to stop sniffing him as it’s inappropriate, and also kinda creepy. And while my sense of smell goes to town on his signature fragrance, my brain is yelling at me, demanding I open my eyes, as Quinn just asked me a question.

  Yet my eyes remain closed.

  How am I supposed to open them and face the man whose life I have just destroyed? Because of me, Quinn’s life is one big, fucked up mess, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Or is there?

  Yet I feel nothing but warmth and kindness radiating off him.

  “I know you’re not sleeping,” he says in his unique, deep voice, which gives me shivers from head to toe.

  “How do you know?” I ask, cracking open an eye, only able to take in his beauty this way.

  Step by step with Quinn—I’ve learned the hard way. If I overindulge too fast, too quickly, he’s proven to be hazardous to my health.

  “Because of the way you’ve been cursing like a sailor,” he replies with a small smile, his face inches away from mine.

  Both my eyes snap open, needing to pay justice to the stink eye I’m currently giving him. He returns my look with a playful, lopsided smile, but the strain around his eyes reveals how our messed up situation is weighing heavily upon him.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking around at our unfamiliar surroundings. All I see is a strip of derelict shops and lots of greenery.

  “Someplace in North Carolina. Thought we could get something to eat and withdraw some cash,” he replies, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand.

  He looks beat. Again, this is my fault.

  “Sure,” I reply, unbuckling my seatbelt.

  My Border Collie pup, Lucky, likes the sound of that, as he sits up, wagging his tail excitedly. Patting between his ears, I’m so happy he’s in better condition than when I first found him. “Okay, buddy, you’re coming, too,” I coo, melting as I look into his tender brown eyes.

  Quinn exits the cab, and I take a minute to watch him like a total creeper.

  He stretches his long arms above his head, which results in a sliver of his hardened tummy to become exposed for my viewing pleasure. My eyes drop to his ink, which I only know is there because I’ve been lu
cky enough to have seen him topless.

  I know what lies underneath that plain, simple t-shirt, and let me tell you, there is nothing plain, nor simple about it. I berate myself over checking him out because one, he’s cocky enough, and two, I need to wean myself off of him, because three hours is a long time to plot and plan.

  I’m certain of a few things. Goes without saying my need for revenge is what’s animating me to survive. But I’m not selfish enough to drag Quinn down with me.

  I’ve done enough of that.

  No, what I have planned is going to save Quinn. It’s going to clear his name, and in time, this will all be a distant memory for him.

  But to do that, I have to sacrifice myself to save him.

  I have no doubt that at the end of all of this Quinn will hate me with every fiber of his being. But you know what? I can live with that.

  I can live with that fact, because as long as he’s happy and free—I can live with anything.

  Chapter 2

  Wheels in Motion

  “Did you want me to drive for a bit?” I ask, looking down at Quinn, who’s nursing his third cup of coffee like it’s going out of fashion.

  We’re sitting in a roadside diner called Yo-Yo’s, and it’s nothing like Bobby Joe’s—the diner I worked at back home.

  Home.

  It’s funny how I don’t consider L.A.—the place where I grew up—to be my home anymore. But when was it really my home? It stopped being my home the day my mother up and left and moved to Canada. I was three when it happened, and I haven’t heard from her since.

  It was my mission before all this shit happened to go find her and ask her to fill in the blanks, because my father sure as hell didn’t. I was prepared to beg for an explanation for why she left, because how could a mother abandon her three year old child? Was I a disappointment? Is that why she left?

  But now, now my priorities have changed.

  I’ve found my mother. I know where she lives. But nowadays, that doesn’t seem as important as it once was to me.

  Granted, things have turned to shit, but deep down, it was never really a priority. If it were, I would have left the moment I found out where she was. But I didn’t. I stayed in South Boston because I had found the place I wanted to call home.

  It’s too bad really, because if I did, Hank would still be alive, and Tristan wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

  “Nope, it’s fine. But I think we should crash. We’ve got to figure out what the hell to do next,” Quinn says, interrupting my ‘what if’s.’

  Rubbing my temples in an attempt to soothe the pounding headache I have proves futile. Nothing is going to tame that beast. “Okay, good idea,” I reply, looking down at my untouched burger.

  The thought of eating turns my stomach so I slide it over to Quinn. “Here, knock yourself out.”

  As Quinn happily accepts, his long fingers brush over mine accidentally and I pull away like I’ve been burned. He eyes me strangely, but doesn’t question it, as we both know where that conversation will lead. For now, it seems we both want to live in denial.

  I peer around the quiet diner and take in my surroundings because this time, I really am just passing through a quiet, sleepy town.

  “Can I get you another cup of coffee?” the waitress asks, clearly eyeing Quinn as she wiggles the glass coffee pot, blatantly flirting with him.

  I’ve tried to ignore her because this has been going on since we first sat down, but now I’m at my wits’ end. She looks to be the same age as me, with brown hair, brown eyes—nothing special, but I already know she’s a better match for Quinn than I am.

  And that’s because she doesn’t have a fuckload of baggage coming out of her ass, which won’t remain dead and buried.

  “I’m good, thanks,” he replies. “Red?” he looks at me, and I shake my head in response, because the next word to come out of my mouth will be a curse word.

  “So, what brings you to North Carolina?” she purrs, leaning in unnecessarily close to collect Quinn’s dirty plate.

  My psychotic father, I adlib in my head.

  I seriously don’t blame her for flirting, because Quinn is dangerously hot, and never short of female attention, but I need to get out of here, as the images of throttling this girl are becoming way too vivid.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” I snap, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, then throwing some money onto the table.

  Quinn looks up at me, puzzled, while the waitress looks relieved I’m leaving.

  “Red, wait, I’ll—” he says, half standing.

  But I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence as I charge toward the exit like a cyclone of destruction.

  Shouldering the door open, I welcome the cool breeze, which slaps me in the face and mercifully cools me the hell down. I need to put a lid on these possessive, irrational feelings I have for Quinn. We haven’t even established what we are, or even if we are an ‘are.’

  And besides, I’m meant to be weaning myself off of him, not ready to have a smackdown with any girl that looks at him with stars in her eyes.

  Thankfully, I find a distraction in the form of an ATM across the road, so I quickly run over to the quiet strip of shops with Tabitha’s credit card in hand.

  Tabitha Henderson.

  Another friend I collected along the way that showed nothing but loyalty till the very end. It’s only because of Tabitha’s generosity that we could afford to do any of this. Otherwise, we’d be on the run—broke.

  I intend to pay her back every penny, even though I know it’ll take me my whole life to do so, as Tabitha comes from money. Not that you’d guess, seeing as Tabitha worked with me at Bobby Joe’s. That’s how we met. With her fiery red hair, warm jade eyes, and welcoming smile, I didn’t stand a chance at not being her friend—her best friend.

  Trying not to look too suspicious, I flip my hand over to where I’ve written down Tabitha’s PIN numbers for each card in blue ink. As the machine reveals just how much money is available to withdraw, I have to take a closer look, as I’ve never seen so many zeros before. I feel like a big mooch, but I withdraw it all, and do the same with the other two cards she so generously gave me.

  Quickly stuffing the money into my backpack, in fear I’ll get mugged on the way back to Quinn’s truck, has me wishing I had my flick knife for protection, but I lost that in a scuffle with Brad, the sheriff’s son. Kicking that bastard’s ass was so worth it, though.

  Thinking back to how different things would have turned out if not for Quinn saving my ass, I realize how much he’s done for me. Time and time again, Quinn has saved me, and my ass. All I’ve done for him is get his ass into trouble.

  “There you are,” Quinn says when he sees me leaning up against the hood of the truck.

  “Here I am,” I reply sarcastically.

  Quinn raises his eyebrow, confused by my behavior.

  “Let’s go find somewhere to stay. I’ve withdrawn some money,” I say, patting my bag.

  Quinn nods, but wisely doesn’t make a big deal about it, as we don’t know who may be listening.

  “Cool, let’s split,” he says, walking over to the passenger door to open it for me, but I pop off the hood and get there first.

  Again, he raises his dark eyebrow and chews on the silver hoop in his lip, but he thankfully let’s it go.

  This is all part of my plan for him to hate me.

  In the words of Quinn Berkeley, ‘it’s for the best.’

  ***

  We find a little motel a few miles out of town, which is perfect, as it’s hidden along the highway. My heart breaks as I see its condition is similar to that of Night Cats, the motel which Hank owned and I worked at. It didn’t take long for it to become my home.

  “You okay?” Quinn asks as he switches off the truck and catches me staring at the motel vacantly.

  “Never better,” I blankly reply, not making eye contact as I reach for my backpack off the floor.

  “Red.” Quinn sighs.
I can clearly hear the exhaustion in his voice, but I ignore him and push open my door before he can corner me and make me crack.

  Finding the office, I barge through the front glass door, needing to get away from Quinn. But the pang of guilt I feel as I step into the small room hits me straight in the guts and I want to head back out the way I came.

  There is nothing in this room which resembles Night Cats as it’s cold, sterile, and unfriendly. I still can’t stop my heart from pounding out of my chest, and my breaths from leaving me in loud, anxious pants.

  “Miss? You okay?” a nasal voice asks, snapping me out of my blackout.

  “What?” I ask, looking up at the lady in front of me with cold eyes, unlike Hank, who always greeted me with a smile.

  “She’s fine,” Quinn answers as he weaves his arm around my waist to stop me from collapsing.

  The lady looks from me to Quinn, pursing her thin lips. “What can I get for you then?” she asks in a thick, Irish accent.

  “A room please,” Quinn replies, stepping toward the counter, while softly releasing me.

  Surprisingly, my feet hold me up.

  “How long?” she asks abruptly, looking at me like I’m a pest when I hold onto the counter for support.

  “Just a night,” Quinn says, pulling out his wallet, which is attached to a silver chain.

  I’m convinced the lady hates me, and that’s probably because I can’t help but compare her to Hank. He would never welcome his guests so ungraciously, eyeing them like they’re about to make off with his pen.

  She reaches for her silver rimmed glasses, which are tangled in her grey, wiry hair, and perches them onto the tip of her skinny nose as she begins tapping away on a computer.

  “Two single beds or a double?” she asks, looking at the screen.

  “Double,” Quinn says.

  “Single,” I say. We reply at the same time, which is not at all awkward.