Wrong Side of Town

Wrong Side of Town

Komal Kant

Wrong Side of Town

Copyright © 2013 Komal Kant

First Edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only. It cannot otherwise be circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover Design by Eden Crane at
www.edencranedesign.com

Prologue

~ Two years ago ~

Estella

Tears stung my eyes as I staggered into my room and flipped on the switch.

The light was blinding, and I stumbled to my desk, knocking aside books as I searched for the only thing that could save me now.

My heart was pounding so hard, I thought I was about to have a heart attack. The fear was fading now, but it was being replaced with a sick feeling that made me want to throw up.

My hands were shaking as they continued in their search, and finally my fingers landed on my prize. A black permanent marker.

Without hesitating, I tore off the cap of the marker and rolled up the left sleeve of my sweater. Disgust shot through me as my eyes landed on the marked skin of my arm.

I was tarnished. I was ruined. I was scarred.

I would never be the same again. I would never be the same person again. He had made sure of that.

Hands still shaking, I pressed the marker to the raw, red skin, and began to write over it. Once the word was etched over the disfiguration, I continued to write on my arm at a furious pace. Over and over again, I wrote the same word until it was the only thing swimming in my vision.

Then, finally, I collapsed onto the floor, repeating the word in my mind until it was tattooed onto my skull.

Forget. Forget. Forget.

Maybe, if I told myself enough, I would truly forget.

Chapter One

Estella

Even through the phone I could tell Dad was drunk again.

I could tell from the way he slurred incoherently and said the name over and over again like it was going to bring her back.

Fiona.

But the mantra wasn’t going to bring my mother back. Ghosts didn’t come back, even if they were living.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to muster up some sort of courage, but that name had a crippling effect on me whenever Dad said it. He had this way of taking away all the good memories of her and replacing them with the bad.

I held the phone away from my ear and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. My eyes glided over the familiar pasty white walls of the Penthill Community Center, over the large bulletin board positioned just within the entrance, and finally to the service desk where Michelle stood staring at me.

Michelle was in her late-twenties and ran the volunteering program at the Penthill Community Center where I volunteered every Monday and Friday after school in the soup kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Michelle mouthed at me when I caught her eye.

Concern filtered through her eyes as she studied me. She was one of those people who couldn’t help but care.

Somehow, I managed to nod even though I was about as far from okay as I could get. My shift at the community center had just ended and I was about to go home to
this—t
o my drunken dad who would probably be passed out by the time I got there.

Sometimes I wished I could just go away. Somewhere. Anywhere. I wanted to escape from the problems that continued to haunt me as I grew older. I wanted something to wrap me up and carry me away, until I felt as light and weightless as a cloud. Until my mind was floating somewhere else, lost in a blur of colors and sounds.

“That bitch…that whore…who the fuck does she think she is?”

I cringed as Dad said each word. It hurt to hear him talk about her like that. Even after all these years, it still hurt.

“Daddy, please, I’ll talk to you about this later.” There was a hint of desperation in my voice.

I hated how weak I sounded. I hated that I always let this get the better of me.

“Yeaaah, fine.” The line disconnected and I let out a quick breath.

My head was swimming, but now wasn’t the time to have a breakdown. I put my phone into my bag and feigned a smile as I walked over to Michelle who was still studying me with concern.

“Is everything okay, Estella?”

I forced my head up and down in a nod. “Yes, everything’s fine. If there isn’t anything else that needs to be done, do you mind if I leave? My brother should be here to pick me up soon.”

Truth be told, Nathan wouldn’t be here for another thirty minutes, but I needed to get outside into the fresh air and hope that Dad’s words would fade from my ears.

A frown pulled down on the corners of Michelle’s mouth, but she nodded regardless. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know exactly what to say to me, the girl who was always so well put together and responsible.

Just like everyone else, she couldn’t quite figure out if there was really something wrong with me or not. And that was fine with me. I preferred it that way.

“Thanks for your help tonight. You’re fitting in really well around here.”

I’d started volunteering here a week ago after my brother, Nathan, had seen an ad posted on a noticeboard at his college. I’d been a volunteer at the Statlen animal shelter for a while and as much as I’d loved working there, I’d needed something more to distract me from my life.

“I’m glad you think so, it’s definitely been an experience.”

And that was the truth. Seeing the local homeless come in for a warm meal on cold nights like this one was affecting me in a way I’d never felt before. It hurt to think that they didn’t have a home or a family to take care of them.

“Well, be careful out there,” Michelle warned as I grabbed my bag from behind the counter and began heading towards the entrance. “Penthill’s never safe with that Madden gang lurking around.”

I paused and turned around, dread settling into me at the mention of the notorious motorcycle gang. “Are they really as bad as everyone says they are?”

I didn’t know much about the Madden gang—I lived in Statlen, which was a good half hour from Penthill, so they didn’t impact me as much—but the amount of stories that floated around about them more than made up for my lack of knowledge.

The gang had begun with three brothers, but had over thirty members in it now, and they were rivals with the Allbrook motorcycle gang. They were intimidating, muscular figures covered in tattoos and piercings, notorious for drinking, dealing drugs, and responsible for the violence that occurred in Penthill and the surrounding towns.

Michelle shook her head, her long red locks fanning out behind her. “No, they’re worse. They steal, they vandalize, and they beat people up to the point of being unrecognizable. If you’ve ever heard a story about the Madden gang, multiply it by ten because those boys are just about the worst thing around these parts.”

I frowned at her words. Bullies didn’t scare me; they were weak and cowardly. “If I ever run into one of them, I’d like to give them a piece of my mind.”

“If you ever run into one of them, I suggest you run in the opposite direction if you value your life.”

I sighed. Michelle was right. You didn’t poke an angry bull in the eye; you ran away from it screaming. “Why don’t the police do anything about them?”

Michelle shrugged. “Too scared, I guess. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of one of those boys. There isn’t a law or a bone they won’t break in order to get what they want.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, and I felt cold all over. All this morbid talk about the Madden gang was bringing down my already low mood.

“I better get going, Michelle,” I said with a wave.

“I’ll see you on Friday. Be safe.” Michelle returned the wave and went back to sorting through the endless pile of paperwork she always had.

As I stepped outside, the cool air hit me like tiny bullets, and I hurried out onto the street, wrapping my arms around myself to stay warm. The weather in fall was unpredictable. We’d wake up with warm mornings that would end with freezing nights. I was dressed in baggy jeans and a sweater that seemed to absorb the cool air, and I was kicking myself for not taking a jacket with me.

“Estella Markson, you are a silly, silly girl,” I said to myself in a British accent as my teeth chattered.

Don’t ask me why I spoke to myself in a British accent. It was a strange habit I’d picked up at a young age when my mom and I had watched British comedies together. I’d loved the actors’ accents so much that I had begun imitating it and it had sort of just stuck with me. It was one of the few good memories I had left of my mom now.

“Estella Markson, do you always talk to yourself?”

The voice came out of nowhere and I jumped back, glancing from side to side. The streetlights were on the other side of the road, so this side of the street was full of shadows. From my right, a solid figure detached itself from the wall and began walking towards me.

It was a boy. Well, a man, I guess. He looked like he was a few years older than me and was dressed in fitted black jeans and a black leather jacket. My senses were on high alert and I didn’t take my eyes off him.

As he came closer, and the dim light fell on him, I noticed that he had longish brown hair that was slicked back. A strand or two fell onto his face like they’d been artfully placed that way. And, wow, that face. It was chiseled and taut with full lips and a cleft on the chin.

The guy was downright hot and he’d heard me talking to myself. Could I be any more embarrassing? Still, hot guys could be muggers or rapists and I wasn’t going to let my guard down just because he had a pretty face.

“Um…uh…I.” My eyes darted around the streets, searching for any signs of people out and about, but there was no one in sight. It was just me and the guy.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself, Stelle?”

Stelle. The hot guy had just called me Stelle. He had just spoken to me and a normal person would say something back, but obviously I wasn’t capable of being normal for one second.

“Oh…I’m...uh…waiting for someone.” I was still feeling threatened. Maybe he was a distraction and he had an accomplice who would grab me from behind once my guard was down. I darted a glance over my shoulder just to make sure, but the streets were still empty.

He cocked a brow. “Your boyfriend?”

I deserved a medal for how stupid I was acting. Now the hot—possibly dangerous—guy thought I was a complete psycho and that I had a boyfriend. “No, no, my brother.” Then, for good measure, I added, “He’s a decorated police officer.”

The guy leaned against the wall of the community center and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it up, inhaled, and blew out a cloud of smoke before turning back to me. “Is that so?”

I nodded, scrunching up my nose at the horrible smell of the cigarette. “Yep, and he has a gun and a Taser.”

“Fascinating.” The guy regarded me with his dark eyes and then finally smirked. “Your brother’s not really a police officer, is he?”

My heartbeat accelerated from my lie being caught out. I shook my head, my body trembling from the biting cold. “N-no. He’s a student at Statlen University.”

His eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Let me tell you something, darlin’. If you’re in this part of Penthill this late at night by yourself, don’t lie to a guy you don’t know and then admit that you were lying. At least follow through with the ‘my brother’s a police officer’ story.”

I gulped. He was right. I was stupid for coming up with the lie and even more stupid for admitting that I’d lied in the first place.

“Just because my brother’s not a police officer doesn’t mean that he still won’t kick your ass if you try anything funny.”

The guy held up a hand in defense, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I’m not gonna lay a hand on you unless you tell me to, Stelle.”

There he went calling me Stelle again like he’d known me for years. And I still had no idea who he was. “I don’t even know
your
name.”

“Vincent,” he said simply, taking a puff of his cigarette again.

I narrowed my eyes as the cigarette smoke drifted into my face. “Well, Vincent, if you’re going to continue talking to me then you need to put that thing out.”

Vincent’s eyebrows shot up and he regarded me with this look like he couldn’t quite figure me out. Finally, he sighed and flicked the cigarette onto the pavement, putting it out with the tip of his boot.

He turned back to me, looking thoroughly annoyed. “So, Stelle, is there anything else I can change about myself to accommodate you better during this five minute conversation?”

Taken aback by his tone, I shook my head. Seriously, where was my brother when I needed him? There was nothing stopping this guy from kidnapping me except for a vague threat about my no-show brother.

“N-no, it’s f-fine. I j-just…” I trailed off, my teeth still chattering. I wasn’t too sure if my teeth were chattering in fear or from the cold.

Vincent sighed. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here!” He began pulling off his leather jacket and I started shaking my head, not wanting to annoy him further.

“I’m not c-cold. Y-you’re not trying to get me to let my guard down and then kidnap me, are you? Because my family has no money to pay for a ransom.”

I was hypnotized by how dark his eyes were, as he swung the jacket over my shoulders and slipped both my arms through each sleeve. Shivers ran up my arms as his hand brushed my skin. A musky scent shrouded me and my heartbeat spiked.

A slow grin spread across Vincent’s face that both excited and terrified me. He leaned in closer and my eyes snapped to those full lips of his. “I think I should be the one fearing for my safety. You were just talking to yourself in a British accent a few minutes ago.”

Heat spread from my neck to my face and then back again. Feeling mortified, I lowered my gaze onto his neck. There was a squiggle on it.

I squinted at it, trying to figure out what the marking was. Giving up, I let my eyes wander to his bare arms.

I stopped breathing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Layer upon layer of tattoos were inked on his arm—both arms, in fact—intertwined with one another, some images, some words. I’d never seen someone with that many tattoos in my life.

Nausea rolled into my belly like a poisonous fog, filling it up until I thought I was going to pass out.

Tearing my eyes away from his arms, in an effort to keep my emotions under control, my eyes shot back to his neck and the squiggle that was on it. The squiggle wasn’t a squiggle at all. It was a tattoo in a medieval looking font that said “M”.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

The purpose of the tattoos was to instill fear and intimidate others; that’s why he had them. The ‘M’ wasn’t some random squiggle or letter. It had a purpose too. It defined who he was, what he was known for.