Bloodlines
Jaime W. Powell
Bloodlines
by Jaime Powell
Published by Clean Reads
www.cleanreads.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
BLOODLINES
Copyright © 2018 JAIME POWELL
ISBN 978-1-62135-739-1
Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS
For my parents Russell and Dicki who have always supported my decision to pursue writing
And
For my step father, Dink, who always volunteers to beta read my manuscripts and is my number 1 fan.
I love you all.
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
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
About the Author
Untitled
One
The Invisible Girl
In a town of only 2,055 people it’s hard to be invisible, but somehow I manage. Even though I write for the school paper, am part of the yearbook committee, and attend all of our school functions, you couldn’t pluck me out of the crowd.
My parents have been pretty absent from my life. Mom’s only concern is getting her hands on the next bottle, and Dad works sometimes more than seventy hours a week. Probably to escape his alcoholic wife and recluse daughter. I can’t much blame him. The last time my mother and father had a heart-to-heart conversation with me was when I was twelve, and they explained we were moving from a small town in Arkansas to an even smaller town in Texas. Jefferson, to be exact. I’m just as invisible here as I was there.
* * *
I’m running late today for school which is out of my character. I pride myself on my punctuality, but I couldn’t resist hitting the snooze button one extra time this morning having stayed up late last night writing the school article on how our Bull Dogs crushed the neighboring Honey Bees 14 – 2. That’s my only passion at this point. Sports and writing.
Getting ready for school probably means something different to me than to most girls. Most girls make sure their makeup is pristine and clothes on point, as they say. They probably look forward to talking to their friends in the school parking lot before the first bell rings. Girls swap notes in class and giggle amongst themselves as the boys wink in their direction.
Part of me becomes jealous. I don’t consider myself unattractive. I have blonde, curly locks hanging to my shoulders and what I’m told are unmistakable hazel eyes — a gift from my mother. Even my body seems okay to me — not that you can tell through my baggy clothes and complete lack of fashion sense. The other part of me becomes annoyed. I do wish I had someone who looked at me in that way, who saw me as beautiful and wanted to talk to me, even at the expense of getting caught and the note being read in front of the class. I’d almost welcome the embarrassment. Then again, the other part thinks it’s highly inappropriate and childish and could definitely wait until after class.
After seventeen years, I’ve only had one boyfriend…if you can even count him. He was shy, I was shy, and we basically spent all our time on the phone after school just listening to one another breathe into the receiver, not knowing exactly what to talk about. Sadly, it ended without so much as a first date or even a kiss. Seventeen and still haven’t been kissed. I could say it’s ridiculous and I’m embarrassed of my complete lack of knowledge about the male species, but I don’t mind it. You don’t miss what you’ve never had, right?
Although, there is this one guy…
There is also one other person who might not be the stereotypical “friend,” but we sit together at lunch and study together periodically. It’s more of an alliance than friendship. Her name is Simone, and she might be even more invisible than me.
“So, do you work tonight, Emma?” Simone asks as she slurps her diet soda through a straw at our all but empty lunch table.
“As always,” I mutter. For the past month I’ve worked at Three Brother’s Pizza part time. Trying to do anything I can to earn some money for college writing courses and to get away from my parents’ house as much as possible. The money is terrible and the constant pizza dinners are making my jeans fit a big snug these days, but you know what they say: location, location, location. The pizza joint is just a hop from school and a skip from my house. And remember the one guy I mentioned? Yeah, he’s there. He’s my boss to be exact.
“You’re so lucky,” Simone adds as she picks at a roll on her lunch tray with obviously no intention of eating it. “I wish my parents would let me get a job. It might help me come out of my shell. You know, make friends and such.”
“Well, it hasn’t helped me,” I assure her. I spend my work shifts eyeing my crush and periodically making a fool of myself in front of him.
“You haven’t made any friends in the whole month you’ve worked there?” I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve never been much good at making friends. My alliance with Simone was strictly out of necessity. Who wants to sit alone at lunch?
I shrug. “It’s only me and the owners when I’m there.”
“I think they are all so cute, though.” She sighs, obviously daydreaming as she continues to shred her roll. They are indeed attractive. Although “cute” isn’t the word I would use to describe them. They don’t look like pizza parlor owners at all.
I applied expecting to see three older gentlemen with white powder from dough on their clothes and sweat from the steaming ovens pouring from their foreheads. What I found were three guys, not much older than myself, who could easily be put into the category of “bad boys” by appearances alone. Honestly, I almost walked right out the door before applying when I saw my first boss, Silas.
He was intimidating at first sight, wearing a tight black shirt, baggy jeans with lots of zippers and pockets, and a chain hanging from the front of his pants to the back. His arms are tattooed from top to bottom, and his black hair stays disheveled, yet I think it is meant to be that way, like organized chaos. The whole time he interviewed me I couldn’t get past his piercing green eyes. They never glanced away from mine, and I must admit direct eye contact for too long makes me uncomfortable.
I was basically hired on the spot, and started the next day. It all happened so fast that my head spun, and as it was my first job I was exceedingly nervous and unaware of what to expect from the owners or the customers. When I told my parents about the job, I thought they might be proud of me or give me tips on work ethic or how to present myself. My mom only raised her glass to me and said, “Cheers,” and my dad said, “That’s great, honey,” having never looked up from hi
s computer screen.
“Yeah, they are cute, I suppose. But I never know how to act around them. They are my bosses, but they are so young and quite intimidating.” I grimace at the word “cute” knowing that that was an inaccurate description.
“It’s good that they’re young,” she assures me with a bite of her straw and a wink to me. “How old do you suppose they are?”
“Silas told me he’s nineteen. He bought the place right out of high school with his brothers. Not sure exactly how old his brothers are, but they can’t be much older,” I admit.
“Did you ever think that’s basically in your age bracket, Emma? A two-year difference is nothing!” She leans her head on her folded hands and stares up at me waiting on my response which I’m sure she anticipates will be a theatrical one. Luckily, I’m saved by the first warning bell — my alert to get ready for my next class.
“To be continued,” Simone says eagerly.
“Can’t wait.” I sigh under my breath.
The truth is, I do have a bit of a crush on the youngest brother, Silas. Who wouldn’t? He is gorgeous, he runs his own business, and there is something mysterious about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but I always feel a rush of danger and excitement any time we are left alone for the briefest of seconds. Every time his green eyes meet mine, I have to look away before they can burn a hole through me.
It seems he’s caught onto this fact and rather enjoys my reaction, too. Any time I turn away I hear a hint of a chuckle and find him smirking, which in turn, makes me blush. Yes, I guess you can say I have my first real crush.
Ironically, I still never seem to look forward to seeing him. I’m always so nervous, like I’m not sure what to do with my hands as we talk. More than once I’ve counted back the wrong change to customers because I can feel his eyes on me and I start to panic. Surely the small-town locals think I’m a nervous little bird, but I’m completely normal (as normal as I ever was) until I get around Silas. Then I become a blithering idiot.
There have been times when I considered quitting. Surely a comfy office job where I fetch coffee and type letters wouldn’t be as distracting. Men in suits and ties, with families of their own, with no concept of my existence until their coffee cup needs refilling. In some ways that would be better suited for me, but for some reason I can’t tear myself away from Silas.
Maybe because I’ve never felt the butterflies before now, and I’m afraid if I left, I never would again. There is something to be said about having a crush. Something to think about when you’re lonely, which for me is often. Someone beautiful to stare at and fantasize about. It becomes an addiction, truly.
Today as I shove the remainder of my books in my locker after school and pull out the ones I’ll need for my homework, I smile. I’ll get to see him soon. I know as soon as I do, I’ll shy away and try not to make eye contact, but that’s okay. It’s still the only thrill I get out of life at the moment. Maybe the only one I ever have.
As I walk into the pizza parlor, the familiar scent of pizza toppings and marinara sauce fill my nose. Silas’s brother, Zeke, is at the register ringing someone up, and I peek through the kitchen to see Kutz, the oldest brother, meticulously placing pepperonis on a large pizza with the kitchen radio blaring to some heavy metal band I don’t recognize. It’s such a small place that I’m the only nightly waitress, but other than greeting the customers and bringing out their food, there isn’t much to do.
There’s a fountain where they refill their own drinks, and Silas always helps me bus the tables. So it’s always just the four of us. The phone is ringing as I arrive, and I quickly put on my waist apron and answer it.
“Three Brother’s Pizza, this is Emma, can I help you?” On the other line is a typical order from what I assume is a mother, since I can hear her screaming children in the background. As I’m writing down the order, a feeling comes over me as if I’m being watched. Someone is standing behind me. I turn slightly to see it’s Silas. He’s smiling and nonchalantly crosses his arms across his chest, waiting. I completely lose my train of thought. For a moment, I can’t tear my eyes from him, and the receiver falls slightly from my mouth.
“Hello?” the voice asks on the other end of the phone in obvious annoyance.
Scrambling, I put my pen back to the paper. “Yes, ma’am. I’m here. That’s one medium Italian sausage pizza and an order of breadsticks. It should be ready in twenty minutes.” I quickly hang up the phone and turn around, my back to the counter and my eyes surely widen. Silas simply holds out his hand, and I peer down at it as if it’s some foreign object that I’m unsure what to do with.
He grins crookedly. “Can I have the order, please?”
“Oh!” I say quickly. Tearing the order sheet from the pad, I hand it to him, and he smiles widely as he walks away. I watch him head to the kitchen and hang it from the top bar for him and Kutz to read. Why am I such a spaz? Shaking my head, I notice a table in need of busing. I grab a tray and head to the table, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Silas in the open kitchen, still in eyeshot of where I work.
He and Kutz are smiling and talking, and just when I can admire him from afar for more than five seconds, he glances to his left, right at me. I instantly feel warm, as if I’m the one in front of the hot oven, but this time I can’t make myself look away. The thought that his stare might make me internally combust crosses my mind for the briefest of seconds, but still I can’t tear my eyes from his. The side of his mouth curls up, he simply winks, and my tray drops.
Two
Silas
Despite my flustered display of incompetence, the rest of the night went smoothly. I was far too busy with customers and the phone to make any direct eye contact with anyone else. Obviously for the best. When I make it back home, my mother is passed out on the couch having apparently been watching crime shows, and my father is in his reading chair having no idea I’ve even come through the door.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” I wait for a response but receive none. If I weren’t so tired and this weren’t so typical, I’d be insulted.
Sighing, I head to the kitchen to scramble together something to eat, having been too busy to do so at work. I settle for making myself a half sandwich and toss a few chips on my paper plate for good measure. Nothing like a well-balanced meal. When I get to my room, I kick the door shut. Spreading my books across the bed, I begin studying and toss a chip in my mouth.
I read the words in my history book over and over but nothing sinks in. Ever since I took my job it seems I can’t concentrate on anything anymore. All I ever see is Silas’s face and his piercing eyes. The muscles in his tattooed arms, his squared jaw line, and his messy hair. Regardless, I force the words to melt into my brain somehow and answer the questions on my study sheet half-heartedly. Thank goodness I paid attention in class. It’s much easier for me to learn if I’m told the story rather than reading about it.
I always thought being a junior in high school would be more exciting. In the home stretch, so to speak. Thinking of college and my future. Nothing has changed from my freshman year, though. Maybe I’m learning responsibility from having a job (when I’m not making a fool of myself) but that’s the extent of it. What did I expect though? I’m all alone. I’ve been all alone my whole life, raising myself.
The only people that pay me any kind of attention are Simone and Silas. Zeke and Kutz do too, but only when necessary. It’s almost like they purposely keep their distance, if I truly think about it. Maybe a few sentences between us since I started working there.
I slam by history book shut, having completed my work, and fall back onto my bed, not bothering to pull back the covers, leaving the rest of my dinner on the end table without another thought. Every teenage girl wonders, ”Is this it? Is this all there is for me?“ I’m no exception. Many nights I’ve laid here just like this and wondered what I could have done different in my life to make it more exciting.
Being a sports fan I always wanted to participate in city ball.
Have my mom and dad cheering me from the sidelines, other girls high-fiving me when I came in to score. Never happened, though.
And now I think I’ve surpassed the opportunity to make girlfriends. No shopping sprees and sleepovers for me. There is one thing I can do, though. I can give in to this impulse I have with Silas. Sometimes it’s like he’s not watching me because he’s my boss, but because he sees something in me. It could be that he enjoys the reaction he gets from me with a simple smile or wink. I’d enjoy that kind of control over someone’s emotions, too.
He flirts with me constantly. Still, there’s something dangerous about it. I’ve always been such a good girl. Good grades, honor roll, the type of girl to make the Dean’s list. I can’t wait for an exciting life to fall into my lap, though. So, there is something I can do: give Silas a proper chance to get close to me. Maybe it’s something he wants. Perhaps that’s why I catch him staring at me the way he does.
I try to drift to sleep thinking of him and my plan to be unafraid for a change. When my eyes close, I see him staring at me and picture kissing him in the back of the pizzeria, my hands tangled in his chaotic hair, his arms tightly around my waist, lips locked on mine and our eyes closed tightly. My eyes open long enough to gasp for air, and laugh at myself. As if I could ever be that girl. I shake the image from my head and slowly fall asleep, the same mundane girl I’ve always been.
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