Rising (Vincent and Eve Book 1)

by Jessica Ruben

  JessicaRubenBooks, LLC

  229 E. 85th street

  P.O. box 1596

  New York New York 10028

  Copyright © 2018 Jessica Ruben

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7321178-1-5

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-7321178-0-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  VISIT MY WEBSITE AT WWW.JESSICARUBENAUTHOR.COM

  COVER ART DESIGN BY OKAY CREATIONS

  FORMATTING BY A BOOKS MIND

  EDITING BY BILLI JOY CARSON AT EDITING ADDICT

  EDITING BY ELLIE AT LOVENBOOKS

  BETA EDITING BY HOT TREE EDITING

  Publicity from Autumn at Wordsmith Publicity

  EXCEPT AS PERMITTED UNDER THE US COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1976, NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM BY ANY MEANS, OR STORED IN A DATABASE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, WITHOUT THE PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER 1

  Oak desks, scuffed from years of abuse and handy knife work, stand single file in the back of the dingy public library. Curled up in a dark wooden chair, with elbows resting on the etched wood, I read the newest novel recommended by my teacher, Ms. Levine. I lift my head for a moment when my gaze lands on the nearly opaque second-story window, grimy from New York City pollution.

  My eyes widen. “Oh shit,” I say out loud, my voice ringing through the empty room. Eyes registering the darkness outside, my stomach liquefies with dread. I check my cell to confirm the time—it’s ten fifteen.

  Grabbing my ratty backpack off the floor, I slide the book inside and zip it closed as quickly as my shaking hands allow. Throwing it over my shoulder, I rush out the front door and make it to the dimly lit bus stop, just as the M-6 pulls in. I walk up the steps and swipe my metro card at the kiosk by the driver.

  Noticing an empty seat by the window in the second row, I walk over, squeezing my small five-foot-one frame past the woman sitting in the aisle seat. She sighs as if annoyed, leaning back in an attempt to maintain distance. Wearing green scrubs, she has exhaustion written all over her drawn face. I take my seat and lick my dry lips, turning my gaze to the window.

  As the bus approaches my stop on the Lower East Side, I raise the hood of my black sweatshirt. Anonymity is key in my neighborhood—particularly as a lone female walking at night. I live in the Blue Houses, a New York City housing project recently dubbed by the Post as “the hellhole houses.” The nickname came as no surprise, as the complex is dilapidated and crime-ridden. It’s common knowledge that cops always enter the building with their guns drawn, assuming that all tenants are packing weapons. To make matters worse, two gangs, the Snakes and the Cartel, are in a turf war for rights to push crack, the preferred pastime for many Blue House residents. The gutters run blood daily. Although I’m born and raised here, my time spent with my head inside the books has left me with street smarts that are at best decent, and at worst delinquent. My older sister Janelle reminds me of this constantly, and in this moment, I’m proving her right.

  I’m so close to the building now, only about nine hundred feet away from the front yard. My eyes scan the eerily empty streets that, during daylight hours, are full of commotion. I force myself to stay calm by focusing on this morning when my sister’s friends chatted about who’s banging who, while old-school Tupac blasted on someone’s iPhone speakers. I pull the hoodie closer to my head as my mind revists to the scene.

  ***

  “Jem got pregnant—”

  “Ohhhhh shit! No way! No fuckin’ way! That poor mama of hers—”

  “—I heard that Mark is gonna kick Sean’s ass. He owes him money, but who’s gonna pay that debt? Everyone knows he spends all his money on his—”

  I shift my focus from the gossip mill to the girls jumping rope in front of me, crisscrossing and jumping with ease.

  “Yo Eve, you listenin’?” I turn my head to Vania, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised in frustration.

  I plaster a smile on my face. “Sorry, what?”

  She rolls her dark brown eyes. “Girl, you’ve got to get your head outta la-la land!” I flush with embarrassment; this isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of spacing out. “I asked you if you saw Jason. He told Jennifer that he thinks you’re: Hot. As. Fuck.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Nah. I’m not really interested.” She looks at me like I’ve got a screw loose in my head, and I immediately wish I said something other than the truth. Jason is tall with jet-black hair, blue eyes, and totally tatted from his head to his ankles. Most girls would give almost anything to be with a man like that. And while my eyes recognize his relative attractiveness, he doesn’t affect me the way he does everyone else.

  “I love your shade of lipstick!” My voice is full of forced enthusiasm, but I’m hoping to divert the conversation.

  “It’s called Honey Love. It’s MAC.” She purses her lips together, showing off the creamy nude shade.

  I nod my head, relieved that the conversation of Jason is now behind us. “That’s cool. I gotta tell Janelle to try it on me sometime.”

  Warmth fills her face. “Yeah, baby girl. And with your tan skin, pouty lips, and huge brown eyes…shiiiit. You’ll have guys lining up.” I blush, uncomfortable with the praise.

  I turn to my sister, who is all long blond hair and legs for miles. While I share her small nose and bow-shaped lips, our physical similarities are minimal. Janelle is five-foot-seven and statuesque, whereas I’m short and curvy.

  Vania clears her throat, rummaging through her purse. “Here. Let me put some on you.” She takes out a lipstick and lipliner from her huge black tote bag that looks more like a suitcase than a purse, and gets to work on my lips. When she’s finished, she leans back, seemingly pleased.

  “Yo, Janelle. Take a look at baby sister over here.” Janelle turns her head, smiling as she takes me in.

  “You’re smokin’. Je-sus!” She winks at me before turning back to Vania. “What color is that? Honey Love?”

  “Of course, you know, you bitch!” They laugh together, Vania turning her attention back to Janelle. “I read that Mario uses this new color mix on Kim Kardashian—”

  I slide up closer to them, trying to listen to their conversation, but everything they say goes in one ear and out the other. I’m the listener. The dreamer. The girl with her head in a book at all times. But even I know that in order to survive here, I’ve got to belong. Loners get picked on and picked off. But Janelle? She’s the social butterfly. The girl everyone loves. And if not for her, I’d probably be floating in the Hudson by now. I move my body closer to the group, doing my best to fit in.

  ***

  I stumble on a hard piece of trash on the sidewalk, bringing my focus back to the present. The unnaturally silent air has alarm bells ringing in my head. I wonder if the gangs are roaming hard tonight. I look to the park adjacent to the Blue Houses, trying to find the regular late-night junkies. It’s the most secure place for people to do drugs, as the cops never make regular patrols; apparently, they’re too busy a
nswering 911 calls. I take a sharp breath; the entire park is seemingly abandoned.

  I tighten my hold on the straps of my backpack and quicken my pace, focusing on making it to the front door of my building. My heart rate increases as my imagination spirals. Maybe someone was shot earlier, and now everyone is home scared? Did someone die? Someone must have died. Is there blood on the sidewalk? There’s blood. I know it. Fear takes hold, choking me. For all the laughter and friendly neighborhood vibes during the day, the reality is the Blue Houses are a deadly place to live.

  When I hear the telltale hiss of the Snakes, the blood in my veins turns cold. I run as fast as I can, but the hissing only increases in volume. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I see a group close behind me. Janelle’s voice enters my mind, “If you run, you’ll look scared. And looking scared makes you more vulnerable.” Even though my heart is pounding like a steel drum into my rib cage, I force myself to slow down. My legs beg to sprint forward, but showing fear isn’t an option.

  I make it a few more feet when they circle me, blocking any path of escape. My mouth opens, poised to scream, but my throat locks shut. It’s so dark, but the shadows of the streetlamps bring their red and black colors into focus. My body quakes from my fingertips down into my toes. Dropping my head, I stare at the ground as the lieutenant of the Snakes moves in front of me. Focusing on his black steel-toe boots, a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

  It’s Carlos. As a kid, he used to torture and kill mice in the stairwell and leave them as threats for people by their front doors. He’s been in and out of prison more times than I can count. In my mind’s eye, I can see the blue teardrops tatted under his left eye down to the corner of his thin lips, each oval bead signifying a kill.

  “Take that hood off. I wanna get a good look at you.” His voice is low and menacing. I move to lift my head, pausing at his muscular bare chest. I shudder, making eye contact with his black-and-red snake tattoo. It peeks over his right shoulder, tongue hissing between two pointy white fangs like a beast from hell.

  When Carlos sees I’m not doing as he demanded, he throws off my hood, roughly grabbing my chin and forcing my head straight. I can smell his rancid breath as he fists my hair in his hand. Staring at my face, he nods with what looks like appreciation.

  “We found something good tonight, boys,” he chuckles as if he’s found a new toy he can’t wait to play with. Bile rises up my throat as his smile widens.

  My eyes dart from side to side as my breathing turns erratic. I’m fresh meat, and these animals are in it for the kill. Screaming won’t make a difference. How many times have I heard yelling outside my bedroom window, but never thought to help the victim? Countless. Maybe it’s karma. Maybe I deserve this for all the times I dropped my head and tried not to get involved. If I only listened to Janelle and made sure not to be alone on the streets at night—

  Carlos steps back, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips. Taking a black lighter from his front pocket, he flicks it on and off, letting the fire burn at his will. Bringing the flame to the end of his cigarette, he takes a hard pull, turning the tip into a shining ember. With an exhale, smoke wafts around his face and blends into the night. He stands silently, assessing every detail of my trembling body.

  “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun,” he laughs as his boys cackle in delight. My jaw slackens as my mind searches for an escape. If I can’t physically get out of this, maybe I can force my mind to move elsewhere.

  He grabs my upper arm. I can feel the bruising take shape as he turns me around forcefully, dragging me like a rag doll toward the Blue Houses. The others trail behind us, reminding me with every step that I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

  Pushing through the front door of the building, we stop in front of what I always thought was a storage room. Carlos stuffs his hand in his pocket, removing a key. Shoving it inside the keyhole, he throws the door open, using his free hand to push me into the room. I trip over my own feet, the cement greeting me as I fall to my hands and knees. He flips a switch and the light casts a shadow below me. I lift my head and see a tiny barred window above a small bed. I look to my right, only to see a kitchenette with a round table surrounded by plastic chairs. Carlos bends down, grabbing me by the neck and pulling me up to face him. I want to scream, but my throat is closed. I see the exhilaration in his eyes and briefly wonder if death isn’t the better option.

  He loosens his hold on my neck, and I take deep, but shaky, inhales. The moment I catch my breath, he slaps me hard across the face. My body gets the message—he’s the one in control. I open and close my mouth, shutting my eyes and willing my brain to tune out and turn off.

  He grabs my chin. “I’ve been seeing you around. And get this? You’re just the one we need for tonight. You see, we’ve got lots of energy we need to burn off after where we’ve been.” He licks his lips and I can see the dull yellow of his teeth. “I know you like to hide in those baggy clothes with those books in your hands, but I think it’s about time you show us what you’ve got goin’ on underneath all that shit.” He laughs, pulling out a fresh cigarette and lighting it up. “Take your clothes off for us, and do it niiiice and slow. I think we’re all in the mood for a little live show tonight.”

  A chair is pulled out and I lift my head to the sound. I make eye contact with one of the guys and his head snaps back in recognition. “Oh shit, Carlos, that’s Janelle’s little sister.” It’s Jason. His hair is styled in an undercut, buzzed on the sides and long on top. I’m shaking so badly it takes me a second to realize he’s staring right at me, waiting for a reply.

  “Y-Yeah,” I stammer. “I’m J-J-Janelle’s sister.”

  He shrugs casually at the guys. “Let’s get rid of her. She’s harmless. You know Janelle; she’s the one who does all the old ladies’ hair for free, and—”

  Carlos throws a hand up in the air, silencing him. “Rid of her? Like, shoot her in the head?” He cocks his head to the side in question and the blood drains from my face. “Nah. I don’t think I want to kill her just yet. Fuck her virgin brains out, yeah. Let all you guys take a turn when I’m done, hell yeah. Afterwards, you can kill her if you still want.” He smiles and grabs my hand, lifting it above my head. I shut my eyes as he twirls me in a slow circle, showing me off to his crew. I hear wolf whistles and try to turn my thoughts into white noise.

  A scratchy voice from the side of the room starts up. “Don’t rough her up too much at first. I want her to have some fight left when I get my turn.”

  Tears drip from my eyes, burning as they fall down the sides of my face. “I’ll d-d-do anything. Just let me go. Please…” I beg, dropping down to my knees and lifting my hands in prayer. “I’ll do anything you want, but I don’t want to die.”

  “Anything, huh? Get up,” he commands. I stand on wobbly feet as Carlos grins maliciously. “Ah, you take directions. That’s good. Very good.” He lifts his steel toe boot, kicking me in the stomach. I double over.

  Carlos bends low, grabbing my hair to lift my head and bringing his lips to my ear, his voice a dark growl. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Shut the FUCK up and take what we’re all about to give you. You may even enjoy it after the first few times.” He puts his nose to my neck, smelling me deeply as he presses a sharp object against my side. My eyes widen; I feel the cold sharp edge of a blade drifting from my ribs up to my chest.

  “Listen to what I tell you. Don’t want to mess up that gorgeous face. But…” My breathing stops. “I will, IF you don’t do as I say. You want to live? Shut up and take it.” He moves his knife back to his pocket. “Strip.”

  He chuckles.

  I oblige.

  I remove every layer of clothing and stand crumpled. My shoulders are curled down and my arms cover my bare breasts. He thrusts my arms away.

  His dirty fingertips grope my intimate parts as if he owns them. The body I thought belonged to me is now on loan. Finally, my mind separates from m
y body and floats away. But Carlos, unwilling to let me go in body or mind, pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and presses it against my shoulder.

  I let out a scream from the burn.

  He laughs.

  Carlos turns to his boys, rubbing his hands together in eagerness. “I’m gonna make sure she’s good enough for you all, first.” They all chuckle at the joke, while one of them stares at me with rapt attention and a look of utter excitement.

  “Poker—”

  A cabinet opens and shuts.

  The smell of old and wet laundry.

  I close my eyes.

  “Open your eyes and look at me!” Yelling, he grabs my neck to face him, forcing me to watch his ministrations.

  My eyes connect with his, nothing but evil lurks in his depths.

  I’m thrust forward, face down on the bed. I hear pants unzipping and falling to the floor. I hold my breath. If I hold it long enough, will I die?

  “Yo, snake charmers! Cartel is In. The. Houssssse!” Voices and laughter radiate straight through the barred window and into the room. Carlos pauses, turning toward the glass and screaming, “We’re coming MOTHERFUCKERS!”

  My body shakes uncontrollably. I can hear him pull his pants back up, heaving. “The FUCK? If the Cartel is looking for a fight tonight, we’ll give em’ one!”

  I dare to crack my eyes open, watching as they nod to each other. The rivalry between the Snakes and the Cartel is vicious. While the Cartel has fewer members, they make up for less manpower with intense and frequent bloodshed.

  I’m in a state of shock, watching them pull weapons from their pants. Am I going to die? I shut my eyes again, moaning.

  “Yo!” Carlos slaps my ass so hard I bite my lip, tasting copper. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, bitch. I got a glimpse, and now I want in. I’m coming back for you.” He raises his gun and thrusts it into my mouth. I choke as he pushes it deeper down. Tearing it out, he nods—his version of a guarantee.