Strong Hate (A Thin Line #1)

by R. D. Berg

  STRONG HATE

  RD BERG

  ASHLEY CHRSITIN

  To my kinda funny, Lil Wayne loving, writing partner in crime. –RD

  Get out of my head. - AC

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, BUSINESSES, PLACES, EVENTS AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER THE PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR USED IN A FICTITIOUS MANNER. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, OR ACTUAL EVENTS IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

  Copyright © 2016 RD BERG AND ASHLEY CHRISTIN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE USED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL, INCLUDING PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, O RBY ANY INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEM WIHTOUT PRIOR WRITTEN CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR EXCEPT WHERE PERMITTED BY LAW AND USE OF BRIEF QUOTATIONS IN A BOOK REVIEW.

  COVER DESIGN BY PINK INK DESIGNS

  EDITING BY ALCHEMY AND WORDS, LLC

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THE MOVE

  FINGER SHOOTING

  VAMPIRES & WITCHES

  THE BREW CREW

  MIKE TYSON'D!

  GIRL GONE CRAY-CRAY

  ONE FOR BAD DECISIONS

  HOSTAGE SITUATIONS

  TEQULIA KISSES

  DEPUTY SPENCE

  CAUGHT RED HANDED

  LOVE-VENTION

  THE LETTER

  A TALE OF TWO PILLS

  THE EAGLE HAS LANDED

  DRUG PUSHER

  KING KONG DONG

  JAIL BIRD

  BULLETS

  LOVE & ENCHILADIAS

  I wonder how much time I would have to serve according to the law in the state of Virginia, for beating the shit out of someone. I’ve watched prison reality TV shows and the show Orange is the New Black, so I already know I would instantly cower and qualify to be someone’s bitch as soon as I entered the place. However, with all this prison knowledge I still find myself debating rather being forced to occupy a five by eight cement wall cell would be worth knocking the smug glare from my boss’s face—who at the moment is sitting directly in front of me—waiting for me to respond after uttering the two words an employee never wants to hear.

  “You’re fired.” She states again, laced with more pride than it should. I give myself a few moments to decide if I’m going to provide her with a swift punch to the jaw or spare the old geezer’s face and attack her with words instead.

  “Did you hear me Lundyn? You’re fired.” The edge of her mauve colored lips tug up into an arrogant smirk.

  My head tilts to the side as my eyes squint in confusion. “Fired?” I question just above a whisper. Her dull gray eyes stare back at me, void of any emotion. I can tell there’s a devilish smile behind them. The steady rise and fall of her chest alerts me that she’s dancing with barely hidden excitement. Internally.

  “Yes, Lundyn. Fired— F.I.R.E.D.” She leans forward, clasping her skeletal-like fingers together, using them as a ledge to rest her pointy chin on. When her overly filled collagen lips turn up into a smug smile, I almost lose my shit. She’s an epic bitch with lopsided lips. I will never understand why women spend money to have their lips resemble Daffy Duck’s beak.

  Prison orange is not your color Lundyn, I silently recite before I offer her a rebuttal. “Usually when someone gets fired, Olivia, there is a reason for their firing presented to them.” I would know since this will be my third time getting fired in the past year. The first two firings I can honestly take the blame for. This one, though, is motivated by a jealous old bitch with an old prune twat.

  A feverish gleam overtakes her face; she’s gloating that she’s finally able to capitalize on punishing me that she’s been preparing for since our company Christmas party two months ago. This party served as a personality catalyst, transforming her usually sweet demeanor toward me into that of a raging, ferocious bitch. It all began when her so called young piece of ass—who also happens to be my co-worker Dylan— expressed his interest in me in front of everyone at that very party. Did I know that old prune Olivia had dibs on him? Well, of course not, it was only my second week on the job, and apparently, I was fresh meat to Dylan.

  Long story short, we had one too many grape vodka shots on the company’s dime and ended up doing the dirty in some storage closet at the venue. This is coming from someone else’s memory because I was drunker than a skunk and can’t recall a thing about that night.

  “You’re right.” She starts to shuffle through a thick pile of file folders that are scattered on her desk until she retrieves one with my name written boldly across the front – Lundyn Spence. Once the file is in front of her, she reaches to her right grabbing her bright red old school Sally Jessie Raphael reading glasses and places them on the bridge of her snout of a nose. “Now, let’s see. Where should we start?” She states with an unusual glee. She licks her index finger flicking through a few papers until she finds the document, smiling down at it with triumph.

  Her eyes rapidly glance over the paper before she offers it to me. It hangs between us, her eyes filled with satisfaction like she’s just provided the judge with a winning piece of evidence. “This is your attendance record, as you see you’ve been late ten times in the past two months.”

  I lean in attempting to confirm what information this paper holds. That’s complete bullshit. It’s only been nine, counting my tardy today. I can’t make out the small print, so I reach out for it to check its validity. As soon as I have it in my grasp, she yanks it back, crushing the paper to her chest. My eyes widen, and mouth goes slack. This woman has apparently lost her fucking mind, but I’m about to find it for her.

  “Let me see the paper, Olivia. That number isn’t right.” My response is eerily calm in comparison to how I am in complete rage mode on the inside.

  She turns up her snout and throws down the top sheet, ignoring my request. Her mouth snarls like a rabid dog, and her eyes lock with mine. I almost throw my hands up to protect my throat. This bitch has gone cray-cray. Our gazes never break, as she begins to list frivolous accusations against me. Using the internet while on company time, complaints from customers regarding my customer service, and a slew of other nonessential things.

  “You know what Olivia? If you have to make up things to justify my firing, go ahead.” I stand and remove my badge from my belt loop. After a forceful tug to free it, I slide it across her desk. “I know I’m a great worker and an asset to this company. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you.”

  Her duck beak falls open then clamps shut. I have to stifle the urge to start quacking like a duck. “How dare you,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

  “How dare I what? Tell the truth?” I place my hands on my hips and jut out my chin. Shit just got real. “You are cancer to this company. Everyone knows it. You treat everyone like crap— well, everyone except the one’s you are fucking.” My mouth turns up in disgust. “And last time I checked that had to be…” I tap my finger against my lip. “The entire accounting team, and maintenance? Newsflash, Olivia. You’re officially the office whore.”

  She gasps in so much air she might blow up like a balloon. My anger has nearly reached its peak. In just a short amount of time, I have concluded that orange might just be my color. Quickly, she stands from her chair causing it to roll backward hitting the wall with a hard thud. She stomps around the desk and doesn’t stop until she’s directly in front of me. Her cigarette smoke infused coffee breath attacks me before she utters a word.

  “Get out of my office, and leave these premises. Immediately,” she hisses like the venomous snake that she is. Her fixated stare is so cold it could freeze the Atlantic.

  The corners of my mouth pull up into a satisfied smile, break
ing through her coldness. “Gladly.” I turn on my heel, whipping my head around with so much force it causes my hair to fly out its bun.

  Lucky for Olivia, my anger management techniques surface just in the nick of time. Otherwise, it only would’ve taken me three point five seconds to turn around and deck the shit out of her. Instead, I take four heavy breaths, unclench my fists, allowing the blazing anger to release through my fingers. With every ounce of determination my five foot three body can muster, I make my way out of the office without an escort or handcuffs.

  Virginia was supposed to be my fresh new start. It was an attempt to find myself after my mom suddenly got married and moved to California, leaving me alone for the first time in my life. It was also to serve as a refuge for my heart that was shattered into a million pieces at the hands of one guy – Maverick Strong. The only thing I have discovered is that there is nothing for me here. Only a new set of problems. There’s one thing for me to do—put on my big girl panties and take my ass back home, where I belong. On the drive back to my apartment, I call my best friend Harlow and let her know her girl is moving back to Texas.

  The smell of dead, dry leaves mixed with burning charcoal wafts through the cool fall air as I poke the sizzling, beefy red steak that I just threw on the grill a few minutes ago. It’s Sunday, which means it’s our first monthly dinner as a family since our parents abandoned us. Ok, not like legit abandoned us, but a few months ago on a whim they decided they wanted year round sunshine and beaches, and since they were both retired, they packed up and moved to Key West. Now the only time I see them is if they text me a sideways picture. My nose scrunches as juice from the steak drips onto the hot coals, causing smoke to rise. I turn it one last time before shutting the grill when – screaming, no, squealing drags my gaze to Harlow, my little sister as she bounds across the patio. Her hair flies up as she leaps off the step with a blinding smile so big it makes her eyes disappear.

  “Harlow, what the hell? You’re gonna scare your neighbors with all the screaming.” Suddenly, she stops in front of me holding her iPhone to her chest and the overly cheesy grin still plastered across her face.

  “They dealt with louder when you still lived here, Mav.” She’s referring to the wild house parties we used to throw while our parents were out of town several times a year. Harlow moved back into their home a few months ago when they decided to retire to Key West. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone occupying our childhood home, so she made some under the table deal with them and bought it herself. I say under the table because knowing my spoiled little sis, she convinced them to give it to her.

  I point the tongs in my hand toward her chest. “Why’re you clutching your phone like it’s a lifeline?” It chimes coaxing another round of squeals out of her. “What’s all the excitement about?” I chuckle at my sister.

  “Lundyn! She’s moving back home!” Harlow’s eyes are just as wide as her grin. Lundyn Spence, my sister’s best friend and my worst enemy for more reasons than just my bad case of blue balls all through high school. Fucking awesome.

  “Should I care?” My voice is even and void of emotion as I turn back to my work at the grill, jabbing the meat harshly.

  “You can’t still hate her.” Her hands wrap around my elbow, yanking me to face her. “I thought of all people you would be excited.” Her eyes swirl with confusion.

  “It’s complicated, lil sis.” I cast my eyes to the ground, watching as the breeze catches a fallen leaf and silently pushes it across the yard. If only she understood just how complicated things were, and still are between Lundyn and me, she wouldn’t be pestering me about my lack of excitement after learning about her return. Lundyn liked to make my life miserable, I liked to make hers miserable, that was our M.O. Until…argh, what’s it matter now?

  “Well, can’t you be the bigger person, for me?” Her hazel eyes sparkle as she looks up at me, and like always, she has me right where she wants me.

  “Don’t pull that card.” What? I can’t give up too easily.

  “She’s my best friend, Maverick.” The sparkle in her eyes dulls, and her shoulders lower in defeat. “I know you’ve always had a crush on her, so it doesn’t make sense to me that you guys hate each other.” She looks at me sadly, tugging at my heart strings.

  “I don’t crush on girls, Harlow; and you don’t know everything. Some things are best left alone.” Even I can hear the growl in my tone. Talking about Lundyn always makes my blood boil.

  “Fine. I won’t mention you having a crush on Lundyn.” Then her voice raises to drive her point home, “All of your life, ever again.” I glare at her – hard. “But can you at least try and be civil?”

  “That little terrorist doesn’t know how to be civil, Harlow!” I thrust my hand out in annoyance.

  My little sister barks out a laugh. “Oh, wow. I can’t wait to tell her that.” Her smile vanishes from her face. “Maverick, get your shit together, it’s been over a year, I’m sure you’ve both moved on from your back and forth third grade flirting.”

  A growl rumbles through my gritted teeth. “It’s not flirting!” I turn back to the grill and pray the meat isn’t burned.

  “Whatever you say, Mad Mav.” She taunts me with the nickname Lundyn gave me back in high school while I flip the steaks. Thankfully, they’re still edible.

  “You two stop fighting,” Finn jokes as he walks outside with two beers.

  “Where’s my beer?” Harlow sticks out her bottom lip and gives Finn puppy dog eyes. Clearly, it’s her fake pout. Why it seems to be working on Finn? No clue.

  “You don’t like beer.” Finn’s confidence in his answer is evident in his stance.

  “Fine.” A breeze catches her hair tossing it across her face, she removes it with a light swat of her hand. “Where’s the vodka?”

  “I didn’t bring the heavy drinking material tonight, sorry.” He shrugs while handing me a cold beer, and then takes a sip of his own.

  “Well, you better get it ready because Lundyn is moving home!” Finn spews beer from his mouth and begins coughing. “Hope you boys are prepared!” Harlow sing-songs as she reaches for the patio door, looking back at us.

  “We’ll get ready to arrest your crazy asses.” Finn and I clink our beers together and laugh.

  “Ugh, you guys have let that badge go to your heads.” She places her hands that are identical to my mother’s, small and dainty, on her hips. Then tosses us a knowing smirk before she continues, “Everyone knows, bad girls don’t get caught.” She winks, directed mainly at Finn and then struts back into the house. She must’ve pegged me for a blind fool if she thinks I didn’t notice the obvious flirting.

  Finn’s eyes follow her until she clears the threshold. “Little Lundy is moving back, huh?”

  “Are you asking me or my sister’s ass?” Hey, best friend or not, that’s my annoying little twenty-three-year-old sister.

  He catches my drift, then turns his full attention toward me where he’s met with my furrowed brows. His hands go up in surrender, sloshing a little beer out of his bottle. “My bad bro.” He swipes his hand down his jeans, ridding it of the spilled beer, then takes another swig. “So, how you feel about Lundy moving back?”

  “Can’t you see my excitement?” He looks at me up and down and then laughs.

  “This year is sure to get a lot more interesting. Speaking of which—you’ve got to download that new dating app I was telling you about. Met this girl last night, took her to dinner and then she thanked me for it, twice.” He holds up two fingers to emphasize his point. “They really dig the man in uniform thing.”

  “You’re a whore, dude.” I have to remind him of this daily. Most people have positive daily affirmations. Finn has daily whorations.

  “Never claimed to be Prince Charming.” His brows raise at me while he grins a shit eating grin. “You should sign up. It’ll keep your mind occupied when we’re not out catching criminals.”

  Taking a swig of my beer I inform him, “I downlo
aded it and swiped left all night. Nothing.”

  “You didn’t see one girl on there you’d at least bang?” His head tilts and disbelief is dripping from his tone.

  “Not really.” I lift one shoulder in the air.

  “Too picky.” Finn shakes his head slowly.

  The bad thing about this entire situation? Having Lundyn back in town is going to cause the bar of my standards to raise even higher.

  “Bitch better have my money.” Rihanna and I sing in the car as I travel down Interstate 35, heading back to Lansing, Texas, or Lan-sun as the locals pronounce it. For the hundredth time, I check my odometer to ensure I’m not speeding – you know since I am unemployed and all, and can’t afford to pay a ticket. The cruise control in my late model dull red Honda Accord went out when N’Sync was still the craze. My favorite part of the song comes on so I leave one hand on the wheel and make a mock gun with the other.

  “Like, block, block, block.” I sing with so much gangsta that I scare myself while I emulate someone shooting a gun out my window. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as I realize a moment too late that I just finger shot at a parked cop car. Trying to keep myself cool I divert my attention back to the road. “Sorry Rihanna, you gotta go.” The music dissipates and so does my ‘wanna fuck you up’ attitude.

  Suddenly, my mouth goes dry, and my chest fills with dread as red and blue lights flood my car.

  “Oh fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.” What is it about being pulled over that makes you rethink every dumb life decision you’ve ever made? Like, I wonder if he will know I smoked weed in the tenth grade or last week—who’s keeping track? Once I’m parked securely on the side of the highway, I lean over my messy console were empty cups and receipts go to die reaching for my wallet and insurance card.

  “Put your hands where I can see them,” a booming male voice demands over the squad car loudspeaker.