by A. M. Hodges
For Papa,
Because you always believed I could.
So, I did.
In Malice
The Stolen Queen Series
A.M. Hodges
Contents
Dedication
Title Page
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Despair. I am in utter despair.
I throw myself onto the antique chaise in our living room and peak out of one eye at Jackson between my mock hysterics. The floral chaise is totally out of place in the home of a single fireman like Jackson. The walls of the living room are a plain cream color, the only furniture in it is my chaise, Jackson's recliner, two side tables, a coffee table and an old brown rug. The old man just couldn't resist my charms when I expressed how deeply I needed this specific chaise in my life…for two weeks straight. That was seven years ago. Disney princesses ain't got nothin' on me.
"Reyna. Always so dramatic," he chuckles, "what seems to be the problem this time?"
"They are making me swim against Paisley Prince in a 400meter race to decide who will be captain this year. It's freestyle and totally easy, but still. Paisley Prince? Who in the world names their kid Paisley Prince anyways?"
Jackson peers up at me over his glasses, "Obviously, her parents did."
I throw myself backwards again and let out an obnoxious groan.
"I'm sure you will do just fine. You are by far the best swimmer on that team and everyone in this town knows it," he continues trying to sooth my tantrum.
Right. This town. This stupid, outdated, insignificant little town with a population of about four hundred people. Woodberry, Georgia everyone. Still trying to make it on the map since 1967.
"It's the principle Old Man! I've been the undisputed captain since freshman year! Now, all the sudden, I have to compete. Give me a break. What about my scholarship!" my rambling continues.
I’m whining like a four-year-old at this point and I know it.
"Lower your voice now, Reyna," he scolds me, "I am not the one who is making you compete."
He's right. I know he's right. Since taking my frustration out on the PP princess's face is frowned upon, he ended up being the one to catch the brunt of my frustration. I am acting like a child and he doesn’t deserve that. My need to throw a tantrum dims slightly at the thought.
The old man closes the folder that he was reviewing intently and puts down the footrest of his recliner. Hideous old chair. Really clashes with my lovely chaise.
His beloved recliner, a baby poop green, full of stains from years of use and accented with his permanent ass print in the center of it. I keep telling him to get a new one, but he always responds with 'Now why would I go and do that for? I've spent fifteen years getting it just the way I like it.'
“What you got there?” I angle my head at the closed folder in his lap to change the subject.
“The guys have been havin’ a hard time with this arson case,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I figured I’d give it a look to see if I could catch somethin’ they missed.”
Sensing that I am going to give him a lecture about working too much he puts his hand up. Taking the signal to keep my mouth shut, we return to our previous conversation.
"Now I understand this race is frustrating for you, but there is nothing that you can do about it now so just deal with it,” his tone leaves no room for argument.
"Fine," I huff crossing my arms, "Can I use the truck to go to class or are you going to sit in tonight?"
"You go on ahead. I reckon I'll be looking over this case for a while longer."
Jackson has always worked too hard. He has always taken things in stride when they got tough but becoming the chief has added an extra amount of stress to his workload. I can see it weighing on him a little more every day, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me. Resisting the second urge to lecture him, I run up to my room to grab my gym bag and throw on my Gi. After today, I could really use the frustration outlet. Big Al's Jiu Jitsu Gym is my sanctuary, my second home. Big 'Al" Alfonzo opened his gym when I was about seven to help with some of the neighborhood kids after school and I have been going there ever since. It gave the old man peace of mind knowing that I was somewhere safe and out of trouble while he worked late nights.
Jackson isn't my biological father. I am a cliché sob story. The baby left on the fire station steps that was taken in by a lonely single fireman. That’s me. The only things left with me were the basket I was placed in and a purple silk blanket that swaddled me with the name Reyna embossed on the bottom in black letters. How tragic.
Jackson was on duty at the time and found me on is way out for midnight coffee.
As a single man, he was the last person anyone expected to take me in. Having no siblings, and no living family after his parents died in a fire when he was sixteen, he had absolutely no experience with babies. Jackson never married or even dated really.
He had the occasional fling here and there, but enjoyed his solitude.
When he found me, he took to me instantly and spent the next six months going through the adoption process. He has always said that after bouncing around foster homes in his teens, it broke his heart to think about me growing up like that. He wanted me to have stability and a real family to love me.
So, with no birth records, my birthday became the day that he found me, September 17th. My name became Reyna Lynn Mathers.
I don't know why I never took to calling him Dad. Since I didn’t have a traditional upbringing, there wasn’t someone constantly trying to get me to say “mommy” or “daddy”. Jackson never called himself my dad, at least not that I can remember. I’m sure that I had a nickname for him when I was small but other than that, he has just always been Old Man or Jackson to me. He has never expressed a problem with it, so it stuck.
I stop by the kitchen on my way out and grab my usual banana and protein shake.
"Don't forget to eat, Old Man," I call over my shoulder, "there's leftover lasagna on the stove."
"Quit your frettin' woman I can take care of myself."
Sure you can. I honestly don't know how he would survive without me. At least three days out of the week I have to remind him to eat and most nights I find him asleep in that damned recliner, open file in his lap. I’m not sure why the man even owns a bed since he never use
s it.
My eyes catch the clock above the fireplace on my way out through the living room. 5:30. Shit. I'm late. Looks like there is an extra twenty minutes of suicides in my future.
I run out the door and hop into our old Ford. The gym is just four blocks down the road but hey, why overexert me right? Sometimes, if I’ve had a particularly shit day and feel like selfpunishment, I'll run to the gym.
Sneaking in through the back entrance I drop my stuff in the locker room. Class has already started, and I'm hoping I can jump in before Al-
"Mathers!"
Crap. There went that plan.
"That's fifty suicides and fifty mountain climbers for you.
Get to work and don't hold up my class."
Since I missed warm-ups, I find my spot on the old navyblue mat and start my stretches. Everyone else is paired up and working on their takedowns, but I'm not stupid enough to try to jump in without doing my punishment. Al would have my ass if I did. Disobedience is one thing that is not tolerated in his gym, along with tardiness. After finishing my final set of mountain climbers, I jump in with my usual partner, Miles, to start my drills.
"Hey there killer," he smirks shaking out his shaggy brown hair, "looks like Al is being generous today. You got off easy considering you missed the entire warm-up."
"Yeah, yeah. Shut your pie-hole and let's get to it. Think you can actually give me a workout today?" I taunt, "You know, since I seem to kick your ass every class without even breaking a sweat. We're going on what? A ten-year winning streak for me?"
I met Miles at this gym on opening day. He was a rambunctious kid and had a shitty home life. Like me, Miles is adopted. His adoptive father was abusive, and Miles took the brunt of the beatings to protect his mom and younger siblings. After his dad drank himself to death when we were fourteen, his mom was never the same and Miles had to take over caring for his brothers.
Between my oh so tragic story and his shitty upbringing, of course we clicked instantly. He told me I was pretty. I punched him in the nose. We've been best friends ever since.
"You two, quit your yappin' and get to sweatin'," Al barks at us.
We get into position and start working on our holds and takedowns. Miles of course, is on the mat in a choke hold within seconds. After being slammed onto the mat a few more times, Miles tackles me when I’m not paying attention.
Our matches always take a turn towards bar brawling after about the fifth time I take him down. I pull my arm back, readying to punch him in the nose.
"Hey, shitheads!" Al scolds, "Y'all wanna fight, take it outside. Not in my gym!"
That breaks the tension and we both laugh and shake it off. I have always caught on faster than Miles and am a full two belts above him, but I never go easy on him. Tough love is the best love in my experience. Then again, maybe Jackson has rubbed off on me a little too much.
I should be getting my black belt next month while he is still way off from getting his. Miles has never shown any envy towards my talent, there’s never jealousy or hard feelings. He has always been the proud and supportive best friend. Ten years of blood sweat, and tears has finally paid off, and I deserve it.
Miles is at every swim meet with his obnoxious handmade signs and he is at every one of my Jiu Jitsu competitions cheering me on from the edge of the mat, even when he isn't competing. Being the oldest of three boys, he took the burden of getting a job to help his mom with the bills. Because of that, he doesn't get to compete much.
"So, Paisley Prince huh?"
Ugh, he just had to say her name. I won't lie, I may have put some extra strength into my next hold after hearing her name. My mind goes off on another tangent about why Paisley Prince is the worst human in the world.
"Ow! Ow Rey! I give I give,” Miles vehemently slapping his hand against the mat pulls me out of my thoughts.
Shit. I didn’t even notice him tapping.
My eyes widen in apology as I release him instantly, not meaning to hurt him
"So, you heard about the race for captain?" I groan.
"Damn, you're that pissed off about it huh?" he rubs out his neck.
"Of course, I'm pissed about it! I am the undisputed captain, always have been. Plus, I'm the best swimmer on that team and all y'all know it. Twenty times better than the PP princess that's for damn sure."
"Seriously Rey, the PP princess? That's the best you could come up with?" he cringes and shakes his head at me.
"Well now that I've said it out-loud it sounds stupid," I whine. "She just, ugh she makes me so angry! And for no good reason! Just something about her stupid blonde hair and her stupid perfect little face makes me want to hit something. And she is so nice to everybody! Seriously, what is up with that? No one is that nice. It's not normal," I take a step towards him.
"Woah now, I do not volunteer as tribute so keep those fists of fury away from me," he takes a few steps back from me.
"Relax, I'm not going to hit you, ya big ol' baby. I'm just saying, something ain't right with her. She just appears out of nowhere and is instantly loved by everyone?"
“You know, your accent comes out extra thick when your pissed,” he smirks. My only response is to glare and flip him my middle finger. Miles just shakes his head again and gets into position for the next round.
I honestly don't know my problem with her. She has never been nasty or rude to me in any way. If anything, she is overly nice to me. Maybe I'm just a tad bit jealous. She just showed up one day and everyone immediately liked her and included her. I've been here my entire life and have only one actual friend.
People always see me as the weird rebellious girl. It's not because of anything I've done. I don't get into trouble and I’m a straight A student. I don’t throw parties or go to clubs. I don’t get into fights at school or drink or do drugs. The town’s opinion of me is mostly because of my hair, my style, and my weird birthmarks that no-one can explain.
My hair is shoulder length and an unnatural color. No matter what I have done to try and change it, it never sticks. It's a deep violet color, so deep that when I'm not in the light people almost think that it's black. Almost, but not quite. I guess it gives me the edgy punk look that most folks in small town Georgia don’t appreciate. The birthmarks are a whole other bucket of weird.
I was born with one, a V shape right behind the lobe of my left ear. The rest started appearing after my thirteenth birthday. The people of the town think they are tattoos, but they are more like scars. Every year they appear around a week or so after my birthday on one of my arms.
The first was on my right wrist. They aren't anything specific. Just faint, red, indescribable symbols that no one knows the meanings to. I have five of them now, all a mystery to me.
The elder people of the town don’t like me because I appear to be rebellious. The girls of this town don’t like me for and entirely different reason. My height is above average, standing at six foot, which adds to my intimidation factor. It didn’t help that I was also an early bloomer. I am chesty and curvy, which attracted a lot of attention before most of the other girls. That is why they don’t like me. To them, I appear to be trying to take their boyfriends. Gross, like I would never go for the guys in our school.
I am not unattractive by any means and I will admit I'm a bit promiscuous. Most of my conquests are outside of town though.
Heaven forbid the old bitties in this town get ahold of my antics.
The rebellious girl would quickly turn into the town whore that needs Jesus.
I don't need Jesus though. I believe in God. I go to church most Sundays (okay, if I'm being honest, I don't remember that last time I went) and I pray before bed every night (sometimes). I just don't see the point in denying myself the things that make me happy to cater to others’ beliefs on what God wants from us.
Al rings the bell that signals the end of class. We all bow to our partners and line up for the cool down. This is my second favorite thing about class. After working out all my frustrations, the co
ol down centers me and gives my mind a sort of peace. We bow as the cool down comes to an end and exit the mat.
I grab my shoes and head out to the truck. Tossing my bag into the font seat, I climb in and decide to make a pit stop for a smoothie. I pull into the driveway at about a quarter to seven and see the TV on through the window. When I walk in, Jackson is asleep in his recliner with the TV remote in his hand and a plate of uneaten lasagna on the side table next to him. Figures.
I roll my eyes and grab his plate. Before bed I go through my usual routine and clean up the kitchen and turn off the TV.
Covering up the old man, I turn out the lights, lock up, and head up to bed. A normal person would wake him, but I learned a long time ago that he won't go upstairs to bed. He will just wake up and start working again, so I leave him to sleep in peace.
My room isn't anything immaculate, but it has the basics. A dresser with a mirror, a walk-in closet, an attached bathroom, a nightstand and a king-sized bed. Black is my favorite color but apparently, that makes me seem just a little too emo. Jackson accented the black furniture in my room with a deep plum comforter and lavender walls. The comforter is beautiful, and the walls don't bother me much considering they are covered with band posters. The old man hates them, but he knows when to choose his battles with me. I lay out my outfit for school tomorrow and make sure all my books and homework are in my backpack.
Since I smell like a pig pen on a hundred-degree day, I connect my phone to my Bluetooth speaker and turn on some Bring Me the Horizon before taking out my contacts and hopping in the shower. 'Throne' starts blaring through the speakers as I begin shampooing my hair.
After basking in my hellfire-hot shower, I finish shaving and turn off the water. Switching the music to my sleep playlist, I slip into my pajamas. Plain White Tees' 'Hey There Delilah' plays as I crawl beneath my silky black sheets.