by Onley James
Exasperating
Elite Protection Services Book 3
Copyright © 2020 Onley James
www.onleyjames.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
scorpius rising
an imprint of
seven sisters publishing
P.O. Box 993
Jupiter, Florida 33458
www.7sisterspublishing.com/scorpiusrising
Trigger warning: This book references past childhood abuse.
Contents
Prologue
1. Robby
2. Calder
3. Robby
4. Calder
5. Robby
6. Calder
7. Robby
8. Calder
9. Robby
10. Calder
11. Robby
12. Calder
13. Robby
14. Calder
15. Robby
16. Calder
17. Robby
18. Calder
19. Robby
20. Calder
21. Robby
22. Calder
23. Robby
24. Calder
25. Robby
26. Calder
27. Robby
28. Calder
29. Robby
30. Calder
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
This was the worst part of his day. The chapel. Obi didn’t know why they called it a chapel when it was really a barn. It smelled like sweat and manure and moldy straw, and there weren’t even any animals. It was always dark, even in the daytime, like now. The only light came from the sun shining between the wooden boards that made up the walls and the spots where the black paint had peeled away from the windows.
He pushed his brown hair from his eyes with grimy hands, his fingers cracked and bleeding from digging up rocks the day before. The overalls he wore were too big and rolled up at the ankles. The soft blue shirt he wore with the white plastic buttons was also too big, but his mother had tacked the sleeves up over his elbows so he wouldn’t have to keep pushing them up while he worked. He’d started off the morning in his brother’s old work boots, but he’d wiggled them off the moment the storm clouds had blotted out the sun.
At the front of the church, his mother stood in a dress the same gray blue as the overcast sky outside. The wind was kicking up a fuss, whistling through the gaps in the planks and causing the rickety building to groan. None of the grown-ups seemed worried about the safety of the building, but Obi had his doubts.
He wasn’t sure what was worse, staying outside digging up rocks all day or kneeling on the concrete floor reciting bible verses. Maybe they were equally bad. The adults of the congregation were already in place, on their knees with hands raised as they whispered hissed prayers that made Obi think of a thousand vipers. He didn’t understand any of it. His older sister Sarah said it wasn’t for him to understand. They just needed to have faith. Faith in what, Obi didn’t know. God? He was only twelve, but he was pretty sure God wasn’t out here in the middle of nowhere Kentucky watching his mother pour uncooked rice on the cement floor.
All the children of the congregation stood with him in a line from oldest to youngest. Seven of the thirteen kids were his siblings; his brother Daniel was the youngest at just four years old. The pastor, Samuel, stood in a pair of black pants and an untucked black shirt, his long brownish-blond hair falling to his shoulders. He watched as Obi’s mother drew a line with the rice all the way down the row of children. When she finished, Samuel stepped forward, starting with the oldest in the line, his seventeen-year-old sister, Rebecca.
“How are you, sweet Rebecca?” Samuel asked, kissing her knuckles.
His sister giggled. “Well, Brother Samuel. And you?”
He laughed. “I am also well. Even though it is dark skies outside, the light of the lord shines down on all of us, does it not?”
“Yes, Brother Samuel.”
“Now, sweet Rebecca, please recite Leviticus 19:15.”
Rebecca closed her eyes and squinted. “‘You shall do no injustice in court. You shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great, but in righteousness shall you judge your neighbor.’”
“Excellent, child. Excellent. Please go kneel with the rest of the congregation.”
Rebecca pivoted, a smug smile on her face, her white dress twirling around her, one strand of her long brown hair escaping its bun.
Down the line Samuel went. Obi’s sixteen-year-old brother, Abel, his fifteen-year-old sister, Sarah, and his fourteen-year-old brother, Jacob, all recited their verses without incident. When he got to thirteen-year-old Ruth, his demeanor changed. Samuel’s brown eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened as he stared at the freckle-faced girl with her frizzy ginger hair and her white dress that looked dingy gray from wear.
“Ruth. Your mother says she found you playing in the sunflower fields again. You know we never go past the fence line. You are a stubborn and ornery child. You are confined to your room for the next three days. Now, recite Romans 13:4.”
Ruth’s eyes grew round and welled with tears. “‘For he is God’s servant for good… But…’”
Obi’s insides slithered at the barest hint of a smile on the old man’s face. He didn’t understand why Rebecca thought he was nice. There was something so…wrong about him. He ordered people around, made them work all day, while he did nothing. Rebecca wasn’t the only one. Both his parents always went out of their way to please Samuel in all things. They said he was a servant of God and his word was God’s word, but that didn’t make sense to Obi. Wasn’t God’s word, God’s word? They had a whole book about what Jesus wanted, why couldn’t they all just read that?
“Perhaps if you spent less time trespassing and being disobedient and more time studying your verses you wouldn’t be struggling now.”
Tears streamed down her dirty face. “‘For he is God’s servant for good. But if you…if you…’”
“That’s enough. Kneel.”
The girl looked down at the row of uncooked rice. “On that?” she asked, voice wavering.
“‘For he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer,’” Obi recited before dropping to his knees on the rice, hissing as the hard grains dug into the tender skin. “I’ll take her punishment.”
A hand gripped his upper arm, hauling him to his feet and brushing off his knees. “You’ll do no such thing, Obidiah Shaw,” his mother snapped. “Ruth must answer for her own sins.”
“What sin? She couldn’t remember a stupid verse. The bible says we’re supposed to love one another. Matthew 5:44. ‘But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.’”
His head jerked as his mother slapped him across the mouth hard enough to feel like his eyeball had exploded and his cheek had caught fire, but that didn’t stop him. He was right. Jesus taught about love and being good. He didn’t want them to punish one another. “Matthew 6:14. ‘For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly father will also forgive you.’” His mother began to drag hi
m down the makeshift aisle. “John 13:34. ‘A new command I give you. Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.’ John 15:13. ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends,’” Obi continued shouting so that he could be heard over the chatter of the congregation.
Before he could go on, his mother slammed the door of the barn, all but dragging him across the dusty dirt field. Overhead, thunder rumbled and clouds swirled in shades of smoke and ash. He stumbled, his bare feet catching on chunks of rock and weeds. He yelped as his mother yanked him up by his arm. “What is wrong with you?” she shouted. “I don’t understand why you’re like this. You could be one of his chosen ones.”
She hauled him into the small white cabin that his family called home. She tossed him down on the thin mattress that he shared with Daniel before dropping herself into a small wooden chair and putting her face in her hands. “You work hard, you know your bible by heart, but you insist on sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You can’t help everybody.”
“That’s not fair. What he did wasn’t fair. She’s just a little kid.”
“You’re a little kid, Obi. Younger than her, and yet, you study hard and you work hard. You cannot keep trying to save people who don’t deserve to be saved.”
Obi’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not what the bible says.”
She looked at him with exasperation. “God helps those who help themselves, Obidiah.”
“No,” he said, his heart racing. That wasn’t right. “Jesus helps those who cannot help themselves.”
His mother just shook her head. Obi didn’t understand why she couldn’t see the truth in his words. All of these people read the bible for hours every single day, but they didn’t see what he saw. It didn’t make any sense. Before he could say anything further, the door crashed open. His father stood there, his expression stormier than the sky outside, his belt in his hand.
“Get up. Now.”
Obi did as he was told. He’d take his punishment. He’d take whatever punishment they wanted to give him. He was right. He was right and they were wrong, and he’d let them flay the skin from his body before he betrayed what he knew was the right thing to do.
As his father’s belt fell across his back and his bottom, he prayed in silence. He prayed that they would see the truth in his words. He prayed that they would someday understand they were meant to help people, and if that didn’t work, he prayed that someday, he’d finally be free from Magnus Dei and free from Brother Samuel, even if it meant letting them kill him.
Robby Shaw cracked open one raw, swollen eye, trying to make sense of the images swimming into view around him. Everything was a swirl of lights that made him want to hurl. Also, somebody wouldn’t stop screaming. It was relentless. His arms and legs were leaden. He tried to move, but everything hurt. His exposed skin stuck to the vinyl beneath him. It smelled like vomit, or maybe he did. Why did his throat feel like he’d gargled razor blades? Where was he?
He forced himself to focus. He was in a car. He could feel the vibrations of the tires over the road, and his whole body jumped with every imperfection in the asphalt. He was on his stomach, one leg smooshed up against the door, the other on the floorboard. A black grate separated him from a shadowy figure in the driver’s seat. Was he in a cab? It smelled like a cab. Another wave of nausea rolled over him, and he shivered as he forced himself not to throw up.
“Let me out,” he mumbled over the screaming. “I’ll walk home.”
“Nice try, kid. Go back to sleep. We’ll be there soon.”
“Let me out,” he demanded, his voice a hoarse shout.
“Kid, are you looking to get tazed again? Relax.”
He fumbled for his phone in the pocket of his jeans, smiling when he realized his kidnappers had missed it. He freed it with effort, managing to unlock it with his thumbprint. He pressed the top number, still his emergency contact, and hoped he’d believe him.
The phone rang…and rang…and rang. Robby’s heart sank. He was going to die in this smelly vinyl box surrounded by screaming. But then, “‘lo?”
“Eli?”
The sound of rustling made Robby pull his phone away, and then a sleepy-sounding Elijah said, “Robby? What’s wrong? It’s, like”—a yawn broke his speech—“four in the morning?”
Robby’s brain fought to put words together, wanting to get the important stuff out first. “Kidnapped. I don’t know where I am. I can’t see anything. Can’t move. So much screaming. I need you to save Casanova.”
“Your dog? Robby? Have you been drinking? Where are you? You don’t sound good. Is that a police siren? Tell me where you are, and I’ll find somebody to come get you.”
He didn’t want somebody. He wanted a friend. “You, come get me. Please. You owe me.”
Elijah’s tone held just enough pity to twist the knife in Robby’s heart. “Babe, I live hours away now, remember? Tell me where you are, and I’ll get you some help? Do you need a lawyer? An ambulance?”
His heart sank. Elijah was married now. Married to that ginger psycho. They lived in the mountains far away. “Save my dog. Just do that. I don’t care what happens to me. I probably deserve it.”
He dropped his phone without hanging up and rolled over, burying his face in the crack of the smelly seat. He just wanted to sleep. He’d deal with his kidnappers later. Or maybe not at all. He didn’t much care either way. He didn’t care about anything really, just Casanova. The thought of his ugly dog made him think of the man he’d named him after. A long-haired, tattooed stranger who’d studied him during the worst day of his life, giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes in a room full of men in suits. He drifted with a smile on his face. If he was going to die, at least he had that memory.
Robby woke again to a sound like somebody ringing a bell before a boxing match. He scraped bleary eyes open to find a police officer staring at him from behind a set of iron bars. “Up and at ‘em, pussycat. You made bail.”
Robby groaned as he sat up, the world tilting on its axis until he thought he would vomit. He gripped his head and whimpered. What the hell had happened last night? He tried to recall even a single thing, but it was a giant black hole in his memory. “Bail?”
The officer scoffed. “Yeah, the money you pay to be released from jail after you’ve made an ass out of yourself.”
“I didn’t call anybody,” Robby said, not entirely sure how true that statement was.
The cop chuckled. “Kid, you called everybody. By the time we’d gotten you to the station, you were ten seconds away from asking the tabloids to bail you out. Don’t you have a manager? A lawyer? You’re famous. Don’t leagues of suits follow you around so you don’t do something stupid…like this?”
Something withered inside Robby. He had all of those things. It was about all he had really. Suddenly, a memory flashed through his head. Elijah. He’d called Elijah. Had Elijah come to bail him out? His heart soared at the thought, crashing and burning at a different question. Had he brought Shepherd? “Who…”
“I did, Obidiah.”
That voice… It couldn’t be. He never would have called him. “I didn’t call you.”
“Of course, you didn’t. The police did. I’m still your father.”
Robby drew his knees up to his chest and circled his arms around them. The man—Jebidiah—examined him as if he could see inside, see Robby’s intentions. It was strange seeing him again after three years, but he looked much the same. He still wore those same black trousers, the same white collared shirt buttoned all the way to the top. His brown beard was more salt than pepper, and his hair was thinning at the top. The only difference Robby could see was how the lines around his eyes and forehead had deepened to grooves from hard labor under the sun.
“You’re not my father. You said so yourself.” He looked to the officer. “Give him back his money. I’ll just stay here if it’s all the same to you.”
“Kid, we can’t keep this jail cell close
d just for you all day. Just ‘cause he posted your bail doesn’t mean you’re required to go with him. But I highly recommend you not stay here. You spent the night calling a lot of people in your drunken stupor. I can only imagine the amount of press outside. I suggest you overlook this little family squabble and maybe take the back exit.”
Robby’s blood curdled at the idea of accepting anything from that man, but if he could get to his wallet, he would pay him back and then he could walk away. For good. He sighed, forcing himself to his feet, only then becoming aware of the coolness around his midsection. He stumbled to the sink in the corner, splashing water in his face before looking at himself in the shiny metal surface that acted as a mirror. He frowned at his reflection.
His caramel-colored hair stood up in all directions. The skin around his hazel eyes appeared puffy and swollen, his eyes themselves bloodshot. He had a split lip and blood on his earlobe. He wore tight black jeans with rips down the front, leaving his skin peeking through, and white high-top Versace sneakers, but it was his top that left him racking his addled brain. He wore a black crop top hoodie that said ‘meow’ in large white letters. The sleeves were long, revealing little pink and white paw prints where they hooked over his thumbs. Had he been wearing this when he left the house last night? There was no way.
He stared at his exposed midriff and the two black stars now tattooed on his hip bones. Those had definitely not been there yesterday. Fuck. He dug his palms into his eye sockets, desperate to remember anything. Anything at all. But there was nothing. He sighed, turning away from the mirror, cringing as the officer gave him a once over and a smirk. He walked past his father without a word, refusing to acknowledge his presence just as he’d done to Robby three years ago.