8 Mile & Rion

K.S. Adkins

Copyright © 2014 K.S. ADKINS

Published by K.S. Adkins

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: K.S. Adkins 2014

Other works by K.S. Adkins:

The Detroit After Dark Series: Available now!

Brutal

Brawler

Berserk

Ballistic

Dedicated to Jane

‘Some girls dream of being a princess and some girls just want to raise hell with a dress on.’

~Anonymous

Fuck death.

Fuck how loss makes you feel.

Fuck the hole in your heart and the emptiness that spreads through you like poison. Fuck everyone who says you’ll be okay, that time heals all wounds. Yeah, just fuck…

All my life I strived to please one man. I owed him everything. Even with death banging on his door he worried for me. Leaning in to kiss him one last time, I pressed my cheek to his like I did everyday growing up. When his breathing began to shallow, coming in small bursts, I wanted to breathe for him.  I knew he was leaving me, was warned of how it would be, but I wanted more time. There was no preparing for this goodbye; no fucking words from my mouth could fix this. Crawling onto his bed and latching onto him, I buried my face in his neck and inhaled him. He’s worn Old Spice since I could remember and it was home for me. The only home I’d ever known and it was being stolen from me.

“We’re a team, Senior”
I whisper, clutching him tight so he knows it’s safe to let go. “
Always have been, always will be. I’ll be okay. I love you, Dad
.” 
Waiting for a breath that never came, just like that, he was gone.

In that moment I was lost and homeless.

That day was the second time in my life I’ve called him Dad out loud. Since I was little, he was Senior and I was Junior. We were a team, unstoppable. I was named after him and from the time I could walk and talk, I did everything in my power to be just like him. In most things I succeeded. Which is why today after his funeral, I was back here in his office carrying on his legacy instead of celebrating his life with the people that adored him.

He would want me here, I would bet on it.

Senior was the most stubborn man I’ve ever known, but cancer took him hard and it took him fast. So fast that by the time we figured it out, he was half way gone. Wiping the tears away, I remind myself that I was fortunate enough to care for him and say goodbye, to tell him I loved him and hold him when his last breath was taken. Next to me, this business meant everything to him. But this business meant everything to me too. I loved it because he loved it.       His favorite quote; “
If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.

While the crew assembled to get lit up in his honor, I came here and with a heavy heart, combed through every receipt, every deposit and every entry in his ledger. He didn’t believe in computers or accountants. He was old school like that. Senior believed in handling your own business so people couldn’t steal pieces of what you’ve worked for. He didn’t trust the government, but I couldn’t trust what I was seeing. When the reality of the situation set in, there was only word to describe the feeling I had right now: Betrayal.

My mind couldn’t understand it. My broken heart couldn’t take it. He never said anything, not a god damn word. We never kept secrets from each other; there was no point in it. But he did keep a secret from me, a big one.

Senior was broke.

The business was broke.

Therefore, I was broke.

When daylight shot through the window, I rubbed my eyes utterly bewildered. Based on his entries, the debt outstanding to the business itself was close to one hundred thousand dollars. The thing about Senior was he was too damn nice for his own good. As in all things, I took after him in this. Just like my dad, life often bit me in the ass. Senior was generous, kind and forgiving. He understood loss, starting over and second chances.

After all, that’s what I was and that’s what I came home for.

He loved my mother fiercely and deeply. When he found out they were going to have me he promised to go straight. Well, as straight as he could, I suppose. When she died birthing me, he gave me his name, raised me the only way he knew how and I turned out just fine. He told me my mother saved him, gave him a shot at starting over and we had been his second chance at doing something good.

But my dad wasn’t always a good man.

I didn’t care about the man he used to be. The man that raised me was the best role model a girl could ask for. Maybe not to some, but to most, and especially to me. See, he came from a long line of gamblers. Betting was in his blood. He was known as the king of long shots. Staring at the piles of bills and debts he hadn’t collected on, I think of all he’d sacrificed for me, knowing that I needed to make this right for him now. He didn’t tell me for a reason and I needed to respect that and do what needed to be done.

Because betting was in my blood too, and in the betting world, I was a force to be reckoned with.

My name is Rion Reynolds (no relation) and I’m your bookie.

‘If it's natural to kill, how come men have to go into training to learn how?’

~Joan Baez

If I could just fucking sleep.

Every new noise has me jumping up from the floor to investigate a possible threat. Waiting for an enemy in every shadow, I’m disappointed when one doesn’t exist. Every drip from the faucet causes me to gnash my teeth and clench my fists. It’s just too fucking quiet here. No bomb blasts, no gun fire, no orders just domesticity. War I understood, but civilian life? I wasn’t adjusting to it as my doctor promised I would. But even through his declarations, I knew he was full of shit. There’s no getting used to
this
. I wanted to kill something, needed to kill something. Seventeen years of service, tour after tour and my final weeks of hell, I came home on the government’s orders and I came back
wrong
. According to them, I’m no longer fit to fight. My own government kicked me to the curb so here I am squatting in my brother’s home, only he
isn’t
here.

His phone was disconnected, his electricity was shut off and the place was mostly cleaned out minus some junk. Not only is he MIA leaving me no way to contact him, I’m facing a situation worse than any op I’ve been on. With no orders and no back up, I got no place to go.

My brother and I never had a chance to know each other due to shitty circumstances and because of that we hated each other. What little I did know, I didn’t like. He was carefree and I believed in order. He couldn’t keep a job or a home obviously, yet here I was willing to give him another shot only to end up disappointed as usual. He was my only family and I couldn’t even count on him to help me out.

I could have days, maybe a few weeks here but based on the notices on the door the clock is ticking. I have no job skills unless you want me to kill someone for you and never filled out a resume. Since my last op no one would hire someone with my background and I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t hire me either. I’m not right in the head and I knew I couldn’t be trusted. Fuck, I didn’t even trust myself. 

There’s no happiness in me anymore, if there ever was. The world I live in isn’t Pleasantville. Good things don’t happen to good people. Everyone is out for #1 and they will crush you to get ahead. I gave up on the dream that people can be decent and selfless. In my world it’s a fucking myth, a lie. My career wasn’t sitting behind a desk it was on the front line, in a jungle or even a sprawling mansion. The things I’ve seen, the ops I’ve run, ruined what little humanity I had left.

I grew up in a small town in Missouri. This isn’t a small town, this is fucking Detroit. The very last place I wanted to be. I have no family, no friends and no direction. I also just left one war zone for another only here I had no weapons to defend myself. I had no skills, no future. I had nothing.

I just needed a god damn chance.

My name is Loyal Hart and I’m one step away from being homeless.