Blood Relations

by Michelle McGriff

  Blood Relations

  Michelle McGriff

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Epilogue

  Questions for Discussion

  Back Matter - A Dark Comedy

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  To all those who have and keep family secrets

  Acknowledgments

  Blood Relations was written because Obsession 101 was so intriguing to some of my readers. They got into the characters from that book and wanted to see the saga of Rashawn Ams through to completion.

  Although this particular storyline is now complete, the family is so intricately woven into the Palemos (my fictitious community) that their story—their family will continue to cameo many books to come.

  Even though I currently live in Portland, Oregon, my heart belongs to the San Francisco Bay Area. Being a native Californian and growing up in the Bay Area, I wanted to offer rich urban stories for those of us on the West Coast to enjoy.

  The Palemos is an area in the Bay Area right around Palo Alto that I created in order to give my characters a home base that was familiar to me. I wanted to use a fictitious place in order to take city life in the Bay Area a little further over the top with the use of literary license. I say this because some readers want very strict realistic lines draw up when the writer uses their city or town—and I try to do that but at the same time, allow for imagination to flow. So I will include many familiar sights and sounds—the Bay Area Rapid Transit system—BART, The Golden Gate Bridge and a few small coves that only natives know about. I hope this will bring a satisfied smile to the Bay Area reader’s faces.

  While living a “sort of” dual residency, I get to meet many different “types” of people. The cultural difference between Oregon and California (both northern and southern) lend me much fodder and willing muses for writing as well as opening my mental doors for rich characters to come through. I believe the West Coast as an entirety has a gold mine of stories to be told.

  I want to thank those who have offered their lives, laughter, and love as inspiration to my work. These people have stuck by me for many years now and have seen me grow as a writer. Some are new, but have come right in line as a true fans and I love that. I do miss Candace Cottrell and her wonderful book covers but I’m sure she’s doing big things and wowing other’s with her talent. Gayle Jackson-Sloan, I know what you told me ... but still, I believe there is another book in there! Thank you Shelia M. Goss for always being there to yak with, you always seem to know when I need a mental break from writing and vice versa. It’s been great being friends.

  There are so many people I want to name by name but I can’t, these pages are only allotted so much space in a novel. You do all know who you are though. I can see you all now, “she knows she shoulda put my name in those acknowledgement pages.” Consider it done!

  Can you imagine a novel of thanks ... hmmm sounds like a best seller. Remember, best sellers are not written they are bought so yes, a list the names of all those who have helped me along the years would be bought by millions!!!

  I want to thank those with Internet radio shows who have interviewed me over the years. Those shows really do help, so keep it up! Oh and call me, I’d love to come back! (smile).

  The Internet has been a wonderful place to find support groups (Online bookclubs, offline book clubs like Kindred Spirit, Face Book friends, Myspace friends, as well as old high school friends realize I ‘still’ write) and I want to thank all of those people who have come on board with me in the support area.

  Colored Summer made Black Expressions Top 100 in 2009 and I just want to say I’m so thrilled about that. I can only hope that this notoriety will soon have me on other lists such as Essence Best Seller, Publisher’s Weekly and ultimately the New York Times. With the continued support of Maxine Thompson (www.maxinethompson.com) and her literary agency, Carl Weber and his imprint getting me in print, Natalie Weber’s great choices in editorial staffing, Jan’s reading, Terry’s critiquing, Joanne’s logic and good sense oh & legal know-what, Mary, Terrill and Heather’s allowing me to vent, Denise and Butu’s making me smile, and Mr. C.’s sweet reminders that all I need is a love to keep going—I believe I’m actually on the road to big things!

  My author friends and I support one another wholeheartedly and push for the success of each other—now that’s a family connection. But I do want to thank my blood relations as well for continuing to support me in my writing and educational endeavors.

  I hope you all enjoy Blood Relations and add it to your “WOW” list.

  Prologue

  Craven’s long legs uncrossed as she jutted forward in her swivel office chair. “I said, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “I think you’re being a prude. I mean how many times and chances would a person like you have an opportunity like this?”

  “Person like meee?” Her voice reached a defensive shrill.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It doesn’t matter how you meant it, get outta my office!” she barked. “We’re through talking.” She pointed her long, slender, well-manicured fingernail toward the door.

  “You’re being a fool. Tell me you weren’t immediately intrigued and seduced by this opportunity!”

  “Yes. No!” she yelped, covering her ears. Craven had to admit within her heart of hearts that yes, she had been intrigued by the opportunity— initially. But “seduced” by the opportunity ... no. Something other than the opportunity had seduced her. But since the visit she’d had from that odd visitor the other day, she’d been less than trusting of the seductive philanthropist ba
cking this project. What her odd visitor had told her had made her uncomfortable, fearful of the philanthropist actually, and fear was something—much like anything not carrying a designer label—she didn’t wear well. She now regretted having shared the prospects of this project with her partner, Hap Washburn, before really checking the whole thing out and making a final—final—decision.

  “Why would you give up a chance to make medical history?”

  Craven glared at Hap. “This isn’t medical history. This is about money. This is murder!”

  “This isn’t some kid’s game, Craven; sometimes there are sacrifices. Haven’t you read his work? Don’t you see and understand the big picture?”

  “You’re not ... you’re not making any sense!” She shook her head violently, interrupting his diatribe. Of course she’d read his supposedly hypothetical work; she had her doubts on all of it, and him. He seemed really close to the border with ethics and sanity as far as she was concerned. But she knew Hap admired the man—more than a little bit. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t a god. He was just a man. And she knew that first hand. “Hap! He’s talking about killing an innocent ...” Craven fanned out her hand emphatically, “child . . . A boy. His own flesh and—”

  “I’m not looking at it that way.”

  “Apparently!” Craven slammed her hands on her hips. “Look,” she said, tightening her lips and, in a nervous mannerism, moving her hair behind her ear, “I have to be honest, when I first saw those numbers I was almost caught up, but ...”

  “But what?” His expression became pensive.

  “I’ve been thinking about this. And I just don’t think it’s right. He’s crazy. His work is unethical and ...”

  Hap’s eyes burrowed into hers now. If silence could make a sound, the growing silence between them would be deafening. “You trying to cut me outta this?”

  “No! Of course not,” Craven lied. She wanted not only him out, but maybe herself too. True, she’d taken the first payment without telling him, but ...

  She swallowed hard, unconsciously allowing guilt to ride across her forehead as quickly as a bobsled racer at his best downhill speed. Hap went for her throat just as quickly. Her reflexes were catlike, but not fast enough. “You’re lying. Damn you!” he growled, closing his large hand around her throat. “You are so selfish!”

  Slamming her stiletto heel onto his foot, she used her other foot to kick his shin hard, before headbutting him. He cried out in pain, losing his grip just enough for her to get away from him. “You’re crazy!” she screamed, charging for the office door.

  Statuesque at nearly six feet tall, her stride was long, and she’d almost made her escape before he tackled her to the floor, rolling her over and sitting on her hips, again taking her by the throat, this time with both hands. Hap was a lanky man, around her height. He’d apparently been bigger at one time, as his clothes often bagged on him—despite his efforts to look “in style.” That often bugged Craven, but once he was out of those rags, he was a true contender. Unfortunately, not here, not now—right now she was quickly becoming a victim.

  “Craven, we are supposed to be a team. We were supposed to do this together. But no, you always do this,” he growled.

  “Whyyy, why are you trying to kill me?”

  “I’m not trying ... trust me,” he said, evil peeking out from under his tongue.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  Her strength was not enough to match his, although she tried, wriggling under his weight as he straddled her. “You have to die, Craven. You just do! Nothing can stand in my way. If you aren’t with me, you become the enemy. You must understand that. He wrote that in his book, too,” Hap explained, sounding almost excited to have remembered that little tidbit. Her movement under him seemed to excite him as well, although this was no love play—no repeat of that morning’s activity, of this she was certain.

  “I thought you loved me,” she said, hoping to make him remember what they’d shared that morning, what they’d had over the last couple of months. “I’m your girl,” she simpered. “You’re not my killer. You’re my soulmate.”

  “Soulmate,” he chuckled wickedly. “Then I guess I’ll be joining you in hell one day.”

  Craven thought about his words. The thought of eternity with Hap Washburn had never crossed her mind; especially not in such a place as terrible as hell.

  “Hap! Hap, don’t get crazy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she begged. Hap stared into her eyes. She could see regret backstroking in his soft brown pools. He smiled, showing blood at the corner of his mouth. He’d apparently bitten his tongue when she headbutted him.

  “I came to show you this,” he said, pulling a syringe from his lab coat.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of it. She knew what was in it and what would happen if she was injected. “No, Hap,” she gasped, tightening her grip on his hand.

  “You look really hot when you’re scared.” He grinned.

  “Well, then I must look like fire then because I’m scared as hell right now,” she admitted.

  Laying his body weight on her, and stretching himself, prone, over her, she realized then that his plan to kill her had been diverted. Slipping the syringe back in his lab coat she felt him, within the same motion, unzipping his trousers. “I’ll kill you when I’m done,” he purred. Maybe it was her thong that gave the impression she was open for business, but she wasn’t. He entered her without permission. Believing his intent was to murder her within the next three to four minutes did nothing for her sexual ardor. Neither of them climaxed. It was the weirdest thing.

  Before Craven died she felt a kind of nick one feels when shaving already smooth legs in the shower. The pain, increasing to a burn, was like the slight heat one might feel when using a cheap razor to line up one’s brow.

  Chapter 1

  It was the freakiest thing. His friend’s neighbor was found dead yesterday morning. “Heart attack,” Reggie said, explaining it again to his stepbrother. His friend had called and was telling him about how his “hot and sexy” neighbor, whom he’d often enjoyed watching undress through the window (perv) was just dead.

  “Wow,” Junior said excitedly. “Are the cops looking into it?”

  “No, fool. Cops don’t look into heart attacks. Sheesh.” Reggie hated when Junior got in his personal space this way. He was talking on the phone and here Junior was—eavesdropping. Why does he feel he has the inside scoop like that? We ain’t pawdnas ... joined at the hip and all that, Reggie pondered in growing irritation. Sure, Reggie’s mother was married to Junior’s father, but still, it wasn’t as if Junior was “truly” a part of this family—not according to the things he’d overheard when his parents argued. And they argued a lot. A lot of the arguments were about old stuff—that was obvious—because Junior’s mother was at the root of it all, and clearly what had gone on between Reggie’s stepfather, Chance, and Junior’s mother, Juanita, was old news. At least that was Chance’s end of the argument. Why can’t Ma just let it go, Reggie wondered now, thinking of his always stressed-out mother and pushing the front door open. The warmth and good home-cooked smells hit his face.

  “So his totally healthy neighbor just dropped dead, just like that, and nobody asked any questions. Nobody suspects foul play,” Junior babbled on.

  And then there’s the always-there Junior. Maybe that’s why my mom can’t let it go, because he’s always here, Reggie realized, groaning slightly at the sound of Junior’s voice.

  “Mom’s not here. She said don’t snack it up either, because we’re having a big dinner since she’s leaving in a coupla days,” Rainey, his half sister, said in passing, her head not coming up from her textbook, or her feet from the floor as she shuffled into her bedroom. Now, Rainey was another story; she was the daughter of his mother and Chance. She fit in. She even looked like Chance. Fair skin, freckles, light-colored eyes, not too tall. Yeah, she looked just like him. Junior didn’t look like Chance or his mother, Juanita. Junior was big—not fa
t—but tall, taller than Chance, and darker, too. Even Juanita’s complexion was more of a honey brown. But Junior’s was dark—more like his own complexion, and Reggie knew he took after his mother in that regard. For all Reggie knew, he took after his mother in all regards—because he didn’t know who his father was.

  “Big dinner—sweet—because I’m starving,” Junior said, dropping his books on Chance’s favorite large recliner.

  “When are you going home?” Reggie asked, not caring if the question was rude. He’d ended his conversation and was about to start another.

  Junior just smiled as if he didn’t care either. “I am home, broman.”

  “You wish,” Reggie mumbled, lugging his heavy backpack into his room and closing the door behind him, as if that were enough to keep Junior out. He was tired of Junior—or maybe it was his life he was frustrated with. It was always the same: drama, arguments, bad feelings and vibes. He was looking forward to this break, this getaway. He was going to Eugene, Oregon to look at the college there. His mother was against him going out of state. She wanted him to attend the local college where she and Chance worked. “H to the no,” he huffed.

  He glanced at his clock and wondered where his stepfather was. Then, through the door, he heard Chance talking to Junior. For an instant Reggie felt a little jealous, but shook it off. He was the one who really needed to talk to a father right now. He had some major decisions to make with his life. But no, he was reduced to talking to his buddies or counselors at school. Whatever. When he was gone, Chance and Rainey would have all the time they needed with their father. “Since I’m the one who really doesn’t belong in this family,” he mumbled. Sometimes he wished he knew who his real father was.

  Just then his phone rang. The return number was blocked. He hesitated, but then answered it.

  “Is this Reggie Ams?

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, young man, this is a very exciting day for you.”

  Chapter 2

  Rashawn looked again at her calendar. Really soon, she would be taking off on vacation. “No kids, no husband, and best of all, no ...” She thought about Juanita, Chance’s ex-wife. That woman was the bane of her existence. Every day it was something new. If she didn’t know any better, she’d believe Juanita was a threat to her marriage, but there was no way Chance was still into that crazy woman. He’d sworn off Juanita when they got married. Before then, however, Juanita had tried everything, even getting pregnant and putting that child on Chance. Anybody with eyes could see that Junior was no more his son than Reggie was. But Chance had refused to get a blood test—sometimes Rashawn wondered about that. “Too late now, fifteen years is just way too late to worry about that.” Maybe it was just sour grapes that Rashawn felt. It wasn’t as if she’d given him a son—no. But she had given him a beautiful daughter, one he could have had by himself, as strong as the resemblances were.