by J. D. Heath
We collapse into a tangle of limbs. Her face, flushed and damp, peers up at me. I trail kisses along her forehead and cheeks and she sighs softly as I withdraw as gently as I can, leaving a thin dribble of spent seed on her upper thighs.
We arrange ourselves in the bed. I yawn out, “I need to contact Parnham.”
She stiffens. A frown comes up on my face but then she relaxes a bit. “You’re right,” she murmurs. She gets up and pads to the bag she held in one hand when we exited the stolen car and brought along with her during our trek through the city.
She opens it and takes out the phone she sent me in the hospital then she slides the bag under her side of the bed and climbs back into it with me.
She hands over the phone. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She rests her head on my shoulder as I call Parnham. He answers on the second ring, “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Morgan?” His voice picks up both speed and excitement. “Goddammit what happened? I got two bodies and one hell of a lot of questions.”
“I know. They tried to kill me.” I clear my throat. “I had to run.”
Parnham exhales, a gusty thing I can hear over the distance. “Okay. Okay. Fuck. How’d…Morgan, how’d you grease the dude? The one in the fake uniform?”
“I didn’t.”
“You had some help.”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I’m more tired than ever. My eyes are aching now. Gina rolls over and curls up, snuggling down deeper into the mattress. I roll over too. Her bare bottom meets my crotch, sending a ghost of desire to drifting through me. “It’s complicated. I need some help.”
“Whatever you need.”
Right now I need sleep. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
“Morgan, wait. Where are you? Let me send some backup to you.”
“I’m fine right now. Let me get some sleep and I’ll get back to you once I figure out a plan.” I hang up before he can say anything else, like how I’ve gone rogue and I have to come in, go into Witness Protection. Before he can ask a question I feel duty-bound to answer.
Gina takes the phone from my fingers and lays it on the table by the bed. Like everything else the table has a thin skin of dust on it. Out of curiosity I ask, “Do you live here?”
“No.”
“Are we breaking and entering?”
She chuckles. “No. I own it. I just don’t live here. I visit, occasionally, but I don’t live here.”
She owns it. “I thought you said you live in Phoenix.”
“I live in a lot of places.”
“You lived in Dallas.”
“Yes.”
“When you were killing as the reaper.”
“Yes.”
“Did you grow up in Dallas?”
She wriggles so that the pert slops of her ass jiggle against me, sending thoughts out of my head. “Can we talk about all of this when we wake up? I’m beat.”
“All right.” I let an arm fall over her waist. She sighs again and then her eyes close. Her breathing slows and deepens. The tattoo glows on her shoulder and I stare at it. There’s some questions I need to ask myself here.
Can I stop her from killing again?
And do I even want to stop her?
A yawn cracks my face. I snuggle against her, my chest to her back. She’s sleeping soundly, her fists tucked up under her chin and her chest moving in with long slow breaths. My eyes close and I drift away into sweet, dreamless darkness.
My eyes snap open. There’s light falling into them and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. There’s a warm and soft body next to mine and I know, in a fuzzy and vague way, that the body is Gina’s but what’s more pressing, at the moment, is the gun that’s shoved into the center of my forehead and the man holding it there.
I croak out a name. “Parnham?”
Then all hell breaks loose…
Want More? Want FREE Books?
You can read an excerpt from my upcoming YA thriller, The Dead Book, below!
If you love free books, and are willing to review, then please do get in touch! You can email me at: [email protected]. I’m actively recruiting reviewers for the next book in the Breaking Control series so if this book interested you and you want to review the next in the series, contact me, please.
I don’t do social media so you won’t find me there. I know, I know. Every writer’s supposed to have at least x amount of social media pages and so many hours of online presence and so on. I’m a rebel! Okay, not really, but I do have adult children who love to overshare and I’m not that comfortable with seeing parts of their lives that I don’t really want to know about. (No matter how old they are, they’re still kids to me, you know?)
Here’s where I beg a little. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. In fact, if you hated it or were just indifferent, please say so—in a review! Thank you!
Thank you for reading this far, and taking such a big chance on an author you’ve never heard of before you spotted this novel. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Oh. You want to know about me? Well, let’s see. I spent most of my early adult life working in retail and restaurants. Then I obtained an LPN license and I worked in geriatric care until I retired last year. I have three grown children, several grandchildren, and I’m currently single after decades of marriage. I’m a fan of everyone from Nora Roberts to Stephen King. I love a good cup of coffee, and if it comes with a few doughnuts to one side—hey, I’m all in on that. I’m a terrible gardener, a bad cook, and my yard looks like aliens have landed and created crop circles in it because I’m equally rotten at cutting grass. I make good coffee though, and that covers a multitude of sins as far as I’m concerned.
Please enjoy this excerpt from my soon-to-be-released YA thriller, The Dead Book and stay tuned for the next book in the Control series: The Reaping!
JD Heath
16-year old Mandy’s a professional liar and thief. She has to be. Her very life depends upon it. She’s the daughter of a ruthless man named Crane, a career criminal with the nasty habit of killing off Mandy’s ‘stepmoms, a truth Mandy can no longer deny knowing. Crossing Crane is an exercise in stupid, something Mandy knows first-hand, but she’s about to do the unthinkable and break every rule Crane ever beat into her in an attempt to save two lives.
18-year old Blake’s life went sideways nearly 10 years ago when his sister, Sarah, vanished. His mom is, for all intents and purposes, a zombie who only comes to life when she’s sure she’s found a new clue or someone who can tell her where Sarah is. His father, unable to bear up under the burden of being a father to a girl who’s been gone long enough to be declared legally dead, left them to try to start over.
When Mandy finally sees a chance to escape she does, taking the Dead Book, the book that chronicles Crane’s murders, with her. She can’t go to the cops without risking her own freedom. Instead she decides to take a different course of action, an action that lands her in Blake’s life.
Mandy and Blake feel immediate sparks but they don’t trust each other at all. Blake doesn’t just want Sarah’s body, he wants brutal revenge on the man who killed Sarah and tore his life apart. Mandy wants to be free of the fear—and Crane. They both want some justice, but what that justice will look like is something neither can say.
A 16-year old girl running for her life. A serial killer who will do anything it takes to reclaim his prized possession. A young man determined to avenge the shattering of his family and the murder of his sister. They’re all about to collide. Will Mandy and Blake survive, or become just more names in…
THE DEAD BOOK
CHAPTER 1:
“Up. Now.”
The words, followed by a hard shake of her shoulders, jolted Mandy out of a bad dream. She sat up and her heart zoomed into a sickening pace. Sweat tangled her long dark hair and made it stick to her heart-shaped face. Her throat w
orked as she tried to swallow back a scream and her hands banged together.
Crane, her father, was already moving, yanking bags out from under the bed. Mandy’s feet hit the floor but her brain stuck in dream gear, confusing her and fogging her eyes and brain. Her long legs twisted in the sticky cover and sheet. She went down to. Pain lanced into her hands as they scraped the rough indoor/outdoor carpet. A grunt came from her throat and she stifled it, fast, as she got up again, kicking the cover to one side.
Sweat cropped up on her face. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask what was going on. This, the abrupt shattering of her sleep and the order to get up and go, were her normal.
She flicked a gaze at the clock on the scarred nightstand between the two beds. 6:31. The perfect time to run. The second shift was tired and too busy riding that clock to give a damn and the morning shift was still stretching and yawning their way into the place to pay much attention to who was coming and going.
Jana, Mandy’s latest stepmom, grabbed at a bag and started stuffing things into it. Crane snarled, “I told you not to take out so much.” His hand met Jana’s cheek. Mandy jerked, her heart beat sliding up into a speed so high she was afraid she’d hyperventilate. Jana didn’t flinch, just kept cramming things into the bag she held.
Crane glowered at Mandy. “Make sure you get it all.”
Mandy gave the bathroom a fast check. Nothing in the bathroom. No wet towels or crumpled washcloths. No water in the tub or the sink, no wetness splashed onto the counter. No toothpaste in the sink. No hair tangled into a drain. No forgotten socks or stray underwear on the floor. No…
Dammit!
She grabbed a small tube of chap stick that had rolled off the counter and under it to land right behind the empty wastebasket. Jana must have forgotten to make sure to put it back in her bag, and that was not good, not good at all.
Leave nothing behind.
Ever.
Rule number four of the Code.
The unbreakable, unshakable Code that governed their lives.
Breaking the Code didn’t end well.
Ever.
She swept back into the main part of the room, yanked the sheets into place, and made the bed she’d slept in with the precision of a hotel maid. Jana started to make the bed she and Crane had slept in but he pointed to the bags, telling her silently that they were her job.
Jana nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbed and dipped as she grabbed the bags, hefting them up in her slender hands while Crane took the large duffel that only he was ever allowed to touch. Mandy whipped the bed into shape, giving the pillows a few karate chops and punches to make sure not a single dent from their heads remained.
The heater, a rusted and hissing thing that was bolted into the wall below the ragged brown-and-yellow curtains, was still on. Mandy turned it off. They’d never turned on the TV, too risky. She yanked the curtains open and they went out the door, carrying their bags and heading for the parking lot.
Cold air slapped Mandy in the face, made her breath catch and her feet moved faster. The chill was sharp, promising more cold and soon. The morning was already blooming across the sky, blasting carnelian and gold streaks along the darker edges of the heavens.
The van was hidden in plain sight, surrounded by work trucks and vans and cars. They hurried to it, just a family in a hurry to get going, to make some miles. Crane yanked open the sliding door. Mandy threw her bags inside and climbed in. Jana was right behind her. Crane came in last. The door closed behind him with a soft bang.
He moved the blanket that divided the cab of the van from the back and took the driver’s seat. Mandy took a seat on the sofa as the van lumbered into life and tears prickled at the backs of Mandy’s eyelids. She blinked them back. No use in crying. It wouldn’t change a single thing.
The familiar interior of the van helped to shut down the fragments of the dream and the adrenaline still spurting through Mandy’s system. They lived in the van, and had built into a sort of rolling home. The kitchen consisted of a roughly-built counter and plastic storage containers that served as their cabinets. The queen mattress standing on a high wooden platform that ran across the back of the van provided a bed for Jana and Crane while Mandy slept on the sofa. There was a drawer that held the portable toilet and taking a shower meant standing in a plastic tote with a portable shower that held exactly two gallons of water while trying not to splash any water into the van itself and praying the ragged plastic curtain didn’t fall down.
They’d been on the road for twenty-one months now. That was a record. Mandy couldn’t recall their ever having stayed out so long. They should’ve already headed west, back to the BLM land and the only thing they had that resembled an actual home.
That was how it had always been. That was how it worked, had always worked.
Only they were still on the road.
“I really was glad for that shower,” Jana whispered. “I could’ve died it was so good. Hot water is a real thing. I just wish I’d been able to take a bath instead. With bubbles.”
Mandy ignored the words and Jana too. They hadn’t broken into the room for the sake of a shower. They’d spotted cop cars on the highway and Crane had gotten a bad feeling. His bad feelings were usually right on the money, and his gut was too. His gut said get off the road and stay off it for a while so they had.
Crane spoke from the cab, his baritone voice holding weariness. “Mandy, get me a coffee together.”
“Yeah.” She fumbled her way to the counter. The van was powered by a funky, and probably dangerous, combination of solar power, batteries, and propane. She found a fresh can of propane, got it hooked into the camp stove, and started water boiling. Crane was funny about coffee. It was French press or nothing and Crane without coffee was a thing she didn’t care to deal with, especially when they were still on the road.
Why? Why were they still on the road? They should’ve stopped by now. Mandy shook that off. There was no use asking herself that question over and over like she was. She didn’t know the answer and there was no way she going to ask Crane.
When the coffee was ready she poured and took him the mug. Crane’s head inclined toward the passenger seat. She sat. Outside the road rushed along ahead of the van. They were cruising through some city, its long concrete loops spinning them toward some other road and whatever destiny would await them wherever they fetched up.
Crane said, “We need gas. Jana, we’re stopping. I’m giving you thirty-five bucks. You go in, get thirty-two in gas, and something for us all to eat.”
Jana’s voice floated up between Mandy and Crane. “Sure thing. You want anything special?”
Crane said, “Yeah, a blueberry muffin or a Danish.” He dug into a pocket, found cash. He held the roll out to Mandy. She peeled off bills, hating the way her hands shook as she did. A thick knot of dread had formed in her stomach and wouldn’t go away.
Jana took the money as Crane piloted the van to a pump. Jana was out and moving like lightning, her hair switching across the blue coat she wore. Crane watched Jana for a minute then leveled an intense stare at Mandy. “You make sure she didn’t screw us in that room?”
It was a trick question. That knot in her stomach climbed up into Mandy’s throat. “I did a double-check and there was nothing.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Not even a lip gloss?”
Goddammit. It was a trap. She should have known. Crane missed nothing. “Oh. Yeah. That. I got it.” Her heart gave off a hard beat that made her hand lift toward her chest. She dropped it, fast, and settled her fingers on her lap. “You know she’s good. It’s why you picked her. She can work a long con, I know she can. We just have to…” Her mouth went dry. No matter how hard she tried not to let it happen her voice shook. “We just have to settle for a while. That’s all.”
Crane glanced back toward the store past the pumps. Jana was good, at stealing. Crane had watched her three days, following her as she leaped out of one big rig and into another, stealing food and cigarettes from gas
stations at every stop. She’d never been noticed, not by anyone but Crane, who watched everything and everyone all the time, and who knew an opportunity when he saw one.
Jana represented an opportunity. If she hadn’t he never would have followed her across three states and then brought her into the van.
He said, “She might, yet. But she’s careless too often. You have to clean up behind her. You sick of that yet?”
Oh God no. Don’t put that on me. Mandy’s face whitened. She knew what would happen if she said yes. Crane would take Jana for a walk. He’d tell her he wanted some time alone, out of the van. They’d go into a forest or a desert or somewhere forsaken and lonely. She’d sit in the van, watching Crane and Jana walk away from the van—and Crane come walking back alone.
It would be up to her to clean out Jana’s things. To make sure no trace of her remained. How often had she done that? She couldn’t remember. She could remember, with a still-shocking clarity, just when she understood that Crane was killing them, all the stepmoms who’d ridden with them over the years.
How she hadn’t known that, how she’d just somehow believed him when he said that he’d sent them off on their own, was beyond her. But she had thought that, all up until two years ago when Kate hadn’t come back and Crane had.
Crane, who’d been wearing the same strange smile he always wore after a stepmom left, but who hadn’t been wearing a shirt. A shirt he had absolutely been wearing when he and Kate walked away from the van.
They should’ve set down the wheels somewhere by now. But they hadn’t. Crane had kept them on the road, using the dwindling supply of money in the duffel bag and a few easy- to- pull roadside scams to get by.
Mandy was a pickpocket, a damn good one. She had been trained to do it since she was a small child. She could take a wallet, grab out the money or a credit card, and out the wallet right back in the pocket it had been in, and all in the mere blink of an eye.
She was an even more accomplished thief than Jana. She could glide into a store, appropriately dressed for her work in clothes that fit her exactly, clothes no clerk would imagine she could stuff anything under or in. She could walk by a rack and remove the security tags from an incredibly expensive item of clothing with a simple gesture of her hand. She could take thousands of dollars of things out of a store without ever going to a dressing room, and without drawing any attention to herself.