SONS of DON
Brenda L. Harper
Copyright © 2017
All Rights Reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
SONS of DON
Trust
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
Traitor
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
Redemption
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
Trust
Chapter 1
Another foster home.
The car came to a stop outside of a three-story, Victorian-style house. It seemed nice enough…but looks don’t always tell the entire story.
“The Langleys are really very nice people,” the social worker said.
“They’re always nice, until they aren’t.”
“You have to give them a chance.”
Gwen didn’t even bother to look at her. She wasn’t even Gwen’s regular social worker. She guessed that Paul, her regular social worker, had better things to do than to chauffer Gwen around all day. Not that it really mattered. She was—surprisingly—more fascinated by the bright green holly bushes along the edge of the brightly colored porch of this new foster home, and the wild flowers that grew in small, scattered flower beds all around the ample yard. She wouldn’t have admitted it, even if someone had pressed a gun to her head, but she was happy to see that someone in this house knew something about gardening. It was the only thing that truly interested Gwen outside of her advanced placement literature classes.
The front door—a bright red monstrosity that seemed almost too heavy to swing properly on its tiny hinges—opened as she stared at the house. A small woman with blond hair that flowed straight and wild down her back stepped out onto the porch and waved. Gwen quickly turned away, facing forward again so that the woman wouldn’t see the anticipation, and fear, on her face.
“That’s Theresa Langley,” the social worker said. “I’ve known her for twenty years.”
“She doesn’t look like she’s old enough to have known anyone that long.”
The social worker laughed, a sound that was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Gwen did her best not to grimace, but it wasn’t easy.
“She does look young. But petite women often do.”
The social worker climbed out of the car and paused as she crossed the front, staring at Gwen through the windshield as though attempting to shame her into getting out. But then the petite lady called to her, and Gwen was forced to watch an emotional reunion between the two women.
It was a little disgusting.
If it weren’t for the fact that being in an enclosed space, like a small car, always made Gwen feel uneasy, she might have stayed there until the two women remembered she was there. But the metal of the car’s structure seemed to be closing in on her, making her feel as though she was in a cage, as though she would suffocate if she didn’t get out of there.
With a little bit of a panicky breath, Gwen pushed the car door open and swung her feet out. The moment they touched the green grass growing there by the curb, she felt a peace settle over her. It never failed. Something about nature always made her feel more relaxed no matter what the situation.
Maybe her father was a botanist.
Not that she knew anything about her parents. How could she? They abandoned her when she was three—too young to be on her own, but too old for anyone looking to adopt to be interested. She would have been better off if they had abandoned her at a fire station when she was born. At least then, someone would have cared. What was the point in keeping her around for so long if they never really intended to keep her? Why would they—
Gwen shook her head. No point in traveling down that endless road of what ifs and why nots…
“You must be Gwenydd Reese,” the petite woman, Theresa Langley, said as she approached Gwen with an outstretched hand and a huge smile.
Gwen wasn’t sure what surprised her more, that the woman pronounced her name properly—most people saw the ‘ds’ and didn’t realize that they were pronounced with a ‘th’ sound instead of a hard ‘d’ sound—or that she had bothered to learn her name at all.
“Gwen,” she said, hesitating only a second before taking the outstretched hand. “Most people just call me Gwen.”
“Aww, but Gwenydd is such a pretty name.” The woman’s smile got larger, if that was possible. “But if that’s what you prefer, that’s what we’ll do.”
The social worker made a gesture with her finger against her chin, telling Gwen to be polite. It irritated her, made her wish she could ask the social worker how many times she’d had to start over in a new foster home, how many times she’d gone through this meet and greet stuff in front of a social worker only to have the people who seemed so polite and happy to see her in front of other people turn into bullies who only took in orphan children so that they would have someone to do all the housework. Or other, less socially acceptable, things.
Gwen had been here twenty-two times in the last fourteen years. She felt that gave her the right to be as disrespectful as she wanted.
Not that she would ever be completely disrespectful. That just wasn’t her style.
“I prefer Gwen,” she said, her attention moving to the front porch where a couple of kids—a couple younger than her, one her age—had come out to see what the commotion was all about.
“Oh, the troops have come out to see what’s going on.” Theresa Langley turned and gestured for the others to join them. “It’s so lucky that you were able to join us on a summer afternoon when everyone except Tony—Mr
. Langley—is home to meet you.”
“That’s everyone?”
Gwen studied the three boys standing on the porch despite Theresa Langley’s invitation to join them on the front walk. The two younger ones both had black hair that was cut kind of like the style Moe Howard wore during the Three Stooges’ heyday, just a little longer and eighty years out of style. They looked to be somewhere around ten or twelve, young enough to still be kind of cute, but old enough to be little devils when they weren’t trying to impress the adults around them.
It was the other boy who really drew Gwen’s attention, though.
He had to be the same age as her—seventeen—because kids aged out of the foster care system when they turned eighteen even if their birthday was in the middle of the school year. Social workers handed them their walking papers the dawn of that glorious day and tossed them out of whatever home they were staying in, unless, of course, the foster parents graciously allowed them to stay without that monthly stipend check from the state—which, in Gwen’s experience, rarely happened.
Gwen was one of the lucky ones. Her birthday fell the last week of May, which meant she would graduate within a week of her birthday. At least she would have a high school diploma under her belt when she was finally free to go—and do—whatever she wanted in this cold, cruel world.
A cold, cruel world that had brought her to the only foster home in Lubbock, Texas that happened to house one of the best looking guys she had ever seen.
He could have been a model. Or a movie star. He even resembled that actor—what was his name?—the one she used to have a crush on when those stupid vampire movies came out a few years back. Everyone else in her foster home that summer thought the werewolf was hot, but Gwen always had a thing for the vampire. And this guy…they could be twins.
He was tall—always a good thing since Gwen herself was abnormally tall for a teenaged girl—with dark hair and blue eyes that were so vibrant she could see the color even from this distance. He had broad shoulders, skin that tended more toward the olive variety than the paler cream colors that vampire guy sported, and muscles that defined the boxy shape of his t-shirt in a way that made Gwen’s nerves all come alive at the same moment.
She could definitely see herself doing some incredibly naughty things with a guy like that. Not that she was looking for a hook-up. She had promised herself after the last one she would take a break from guys until after graduation—just nine more months—but flesh like that could certainly put almost any vow in danger of being broken.
Gwen bit her lip without realizing what she was doing.
“Come on, guys,” Theresa called.
The two younger boys moved slowly, clearly reluctant to meet the new loser. Gwen had seen it before. Each home developed its own rhythm, its own way of doing things. Bringing in someone new always caused a disruption and someone, usually someone who was there first, ended up having to make some sort of sacrifice to make room for the new addition. No one liked sacrifice.
Gwen almost felt sorry for them.
“This is Tommy and Richie,” Theresa said, drawing the two boys up in front of her. “They’re twin brothers.”
“She can probably see that, Theresa,” one of the boys—Gwen wasn’t sure which was which—said. “It’s kind of obvious.”
“Not to everyone.” Theresa looked up at Gwen and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Eleven, and they think they know everything.”
Gwen smiled because she felt like it was expected of her.
“How long have you been in foster care?” the other boy asked.
“Yeah, how did you end up here?” the other joined in.
“Boys, Gwen just got here,” the social worker warned.
“Yeah, why don’t we take it easy with the questions,” Theresa added.
“No, it’s fine.” Gwen dropped to a knee in front of the boys so that they were eye level with one another. She had always felt like adults were talking down to her when she was their age, so she always made a point of doing this with little kids. “I’ve been in the system since I was three.”
“Us, too,” the boy on the right said. “Our mom was a drug addict.”
“Shut up, Tommy,” the other boy said, hitting his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “She doesn’t need to know that.”
“No,” Gwen agreed. “But I’m glad you told me, Tommy. Now I don’t have to lie awake tonight and wonder what happened to you poor, handsome boys.”
Tommy smiled, a little blush touching his pale cheeks.
“She’s just teasing you.”
Gwen looked at the other boy—Richie. “You’re pretty smart. I bet you always protect your brother.”
“Obviously.”
“That’s good. I often wished I had someone to watch over me.” She stood as she spoke, dusting her hands on her jeans as she did. “Life sure would have been easier if I had a brother or sister with me all these years.”
Richie cocked his head, his lips screwing up like he had some retort sitting right on the tip of his tongue. But, instead of spewing his anger and resentment on Gwen, he just looked her up and down through his young, jaded eyes, and nodded.
“I’m sure you did.”
“Richie, why don’t you go in the house and finish your video game before I take over the system,” the older boy said.
Gwen hadn’t noticed that he had joined their little group until that moment. It was obvious Tommy and Richie had a great deal of respect for this older boy. They immediately turned and ran into the house, nearly pushing each other down as they burst through the wide doorway that was almost—but not quite—wide enough to let them both in at the same time.
“I’m Cei Crewe,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
Gwen hesitated just a moment, not sure what she expected when she touched him, but not disappointment as the warmth of his flesh sent little tingles up and down her spine.
“Ky?” she asked. “Is that short for Kyle, or something?”
“It’s pronounced Kye, but spelled c-e-i,” Theresa Langley said as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s Welsh, just like your name.”
Gwen’s eyebrows rose a little as she bit her lip again. She’d never met anyone else in Texas—or anywhere—with a name like hers. It seemed bigger than coincidence, like her bad karma was beginning to turn around.
“It’s unique,” Cei said, “but who wants to be like everyone else?”
The social worker laughed, a nervous titter that was grating to Gwen’s nerves. But, somehow, she found that she didn’t really want to get away. She’d kind of like to just stand there and continue to stare into Cei’s eyes.
He was watching her as though he was trying to see something in her that only he would be able to recognize. It made her feel—special. Now that was a word she hadn’t used to describe herself in a long time. But she kind of liked it.
Of course, all good things have to come to an end eventually.
Richie came to the door and called out to Cei.
“Hurry up, Cei. Tommy’s about to start another game without you.”
“Got to go,” he said, smiling as he tipped his head toward Gwen. “I guess we’ll see each other later.”
“Nice to meet you.”
His smile widened slightly before he turned and walked away, a sight that was just as beautiful as staring into his eyes had been. Every muscle in his back seemed to move in unison, pressed so tightly against that shirt that he might as well have not been wearing it. Gwen’s fingertips began to itch even as she told herself that these kinds of thoughts would only lead to trouble.
She had to keep her eyes on the prize. And the prize was graduating and getting the hell out of here with the little bit of money she’d managed to save from the part-time job she’d had at her last foster home in one hand and her diploma in the other.
No one was going to keep her from the future she had carefully mapped out for herself.
Not even a gorgeous guy with a name as
odd as her own.
“Why don’t you let me show you around before Mrs. Miller and I get down to the paperwork,” Theresa Langley said, pulling Gwen’s attention back to the situation at hand.
“Okay.”
Mrs. Miller, the social worker, grabbed Gwen’s suitcase from the back of her car and gestured for Theresa Langley to lead the way. The inside of the brightly colored house was a little more subdued than its exterior. But only a little. They walked immediately into a large living room that was dominated by a huge, flat screen TV that was currently occupied by the three video-game-playing boys. On the couch was a blond girl maybe a year or two younger than Gwen, curled up against the fat cushions with a book in her hands. The sight of the book initially excited Gwen until she saw that it was some trashy romance, one of those ones that older women tended to gravitate toward, the kind that was just one cliché after another. Never anything unique in those kinds of books.
“That’s Melanie,” Theresa Langley said as they passed the room.
Gwen just nodded.
The staircase dominated one corner of the hallway, sitting as something of a barrier between what looked like a home office and a cluttered dining room. They trudged up the stairs together, the three of them, their footsteps slow, as though they were headed to something unpleasant. The landing was large, big enough for a couple of chairs and a small table to be tucked into one corner. Another girl sat there, a brunette Theresa Langley introduced as Anna.
“She’s new here, too,” she said in a loud whisper, as though that was something that should draw the two girls together.
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