Outlaws: A Forbidden Anthology
Copyright © 2021
Yolanda Olson, Abigail Davies,
Ally Vance, J.M. Walker, Jason Hes
Cole Denton, Petra J. Knox
All rights reserved.
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This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.
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Cover Design: Pink Elephant Designs
Formatting: Pink Elephant Designs
Contents
Susurration
Yolanda Olson
Warning
Blurb
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
About Yolanda Olson
Other Books by Yolanda
Unruly
A. A. Davies
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About A. A. Davies
Other Books by A. A. Davies
Her Little
J. M. Walker
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
THE END
About J.M. Walker
Fragile Vows
Ally Vance
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
About Ally Vance
Other Books By Ally Vance
The Scent of Wolves
Jason Hes
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Jason Hes
Other Books by Jason Hes
His Best Interest
Petra J. Knox
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
About Petra J Knox
Other Books by Petra J. Knox
Secrets
Cole Denton
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
About Cole Denton
Other Books Cole Denton
Susurration
Yolanda Olson
Warning
This story contains dark and graphic content that may not be suitable for all readers. However, if you see my name, what did you think was gonna happen?
Blurb
I’d never touched a woman until the day I met her.
She mistook my weakness for being shy.
She though my mumblings were nerves.
And she took advantage of it.
But so did he ...
Her father.
He unified us in front of his congregation because of the baby I’d put inside her.
He was angry.
Not at her, but at me.
He only spoke of fire and brimstone in his small wooden altar complete with a crooked steeple, his words directed only at me.
The first time I saw the devil, I finally understood what he said. I knew that no one would be able to escape from the Hell I had made for myself.
It had always been a whisper before, just a breath, his voice.
But now I know what I have to do ...
I have to save us all.
And I will.
Chapter One
The resident “doctor” put Tallulah on bedrest three days ago, and she’s taken full advantage of it. Instead of her treating me as useless, she’s made me her goddamn gofer, and I still don’t know which is worse.
I guess I miss the silence.
I miss a lot of things, but since it seems like there’s no way to leave, I don’t let any of the past linger longer than it should. I allow myself an hour a day to remember what my life was like before I met Tallulah Bennett-Tillman. The world may have not been in technicolor, but at least it wasn’t full of angry hurricane winds, painting the skies distorted shades of blue and dull hues. I could hear more than just violent whispers and malicious words.
I was different.
I never did have much that I could be proud of, though there were one or two small things.
With a heavy sigh, I run a hand irritably over my face as I glance out the living room window.
The homes on this land are all the same size, except for ours.
Tallulah is the daughter of the man that leads these people.
She sees herself as a princess of sorts and requests to be treated accordingly.
I tried at first to be the man that she deserved, to give her the praise that she’s been so used to for her entire life, but I could never forget what she’s done to me. After some time, the need to be another dutiful pup to the bitch that’s tried valiantly to break me waned, rendering me to nothing more than a shell of the man that I am now.
Shifting in my chair, I clasp my hands behind my neck as I turn my eyes toward the teal and burnt orange sky high above. The sun is setting somewhere in the distance, and that’s when things tend to get worse for me.
Movement outside of the window draws my attention from the sunset back to even ground. The people that live on this patch of land are busily moving about, gathering whatever they can from the small shops before they head home for the evening.
Once the darkness settles, we’re all restricted to being indoors.
It makes me think of the streetlight coming on and calling the children playing in the streets back home. Only in this place, it’s the moon guiding everyone home in place of the artificial lights.
My eyes watch the shapes and shadows of people hurrying home. Anyone that gets caught outside after the low horn blasts through the night air will have to answer to the Abbas. And yet, here I am, still waiting to speak to him of my own free will, completely ignored and abandoned in a place I don’t understand.
Tallulah should be more than enough to keep me preoccupied was the note that came back to me. Her father signed it with a flourish as evident by
the way his signature was scrawled on the bottom. I used an equal amount of showmanship to ball it up and throw it into the fireplace.
He can’t ignore me forever.
I roll my eyes at just the thought of how the morons address him as.
Abbas.
Someone who was smart enough to be able to entice so many people to leave their homes and loved ones behind, to empty their fucking bank accounts and live off the land, surely could have come up with something better.
“Kester.”
I startle slightly at the sound of my name.
I sit up and place both hands on the windowsill and lean out just enough to try and figure out if it was the angry winds, or merely just a voice calling out to me.
A pair of hands quickly grip mine and as I look down at the pale, freckle-covered skin, I smile.
It’s Sylvie.
She’s a lot like me.
She hears the whispers too and not much else.
“Go home before someone tattles,” I tell her in a hushed voice as I pull my hands out from beneath hers.
“I’m making a stew tonight. Come by once Tallulah’s gone to sleep, okay?”
I nod, then get to my feet and pull the glass pane down in place, flipping the latch at the top to lock the window.
Sylvie Bennett.
Tallulah’s sister.
Shunned by her father, hated by her sibling, and the only friend I have here.
She’ll help me if no one else will dare.
Chapter Two
I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and shiver at the low temperatures outside. One of the primary reasons I enjoy spending so much time with Sylvie is because she takes care of me. More often than not, it’s scraps from her table, but she does what she can and always makes sure that she has just enough to fill my belly for the few hours we manage to spend together.
I clear my throat as her small home, identical to every other fucking one here besides Tallulah’s and the Abbas’, forms a sturdy outline against the evening landscape. But even in the darkness, there’s a light to Sylvie’s home that doesn’t shine anywhere else, and it’s the only place I feel safe. I’m allowed to be myself there, and she’s always happy for the company.
I rub my hands together, bring them to my lips, and blow my breath into them in an attempt to warm them as I make my way down the side of her home, toward the back door. There are too many eyes and ears here, and if anyone were to see me walking through her front door, I’d finally have the audience I’ve been trying to get with her father, but not in the way I would want.
Once I reach the back door, I knock three times in rapid succession, then once more five seconds later. It’s a code we worked out so that she would know it’s me and not get in trouble for allowing a stray, so to speak, into her home.
I wait patiently as I hear the sound of her footsteps rushing through the house, and when Sylvie pulls the door open, I grin when she reaches a hand out, then yanks me inside.
“Steady,” I remind her gently with a quiet laugh.
“I’m sorry, Kester,” she replies sheepishly.
I shake my head to let her know that it’s okay.
The problem with only hearing whispers mostly is the lack of balance. I don’t have vertigo, but if I’m moved too quickly without warning, I could easily collapse.
And I think that’s more troublesome than trying to make out what people say to me for the most part. I have control of one thing, but not the other yet. Although I am working on taking back myself one step at a time, it’s taking longer than I hoped it would.
Sylvie shoos me away from the back door, then moves around me to pull it closed and secure the lock in place. She’s always been so damn paranoid about us getting caught, and I don’t know why. Even her father doesn’t come out after dark.
She turns with a flustered smile on her face and ushers me toward the kitchenette. The aroma of the stew is enough to make my stomach growl. Sylvie has always been an amazing cook, and she’s very inventive. She never helps herself to the shop supplies like most people do. She only takes what she feels is fair, and I’ve never seen her take more than one portion of meat at a time.
She’s so different from her father and sister that it’s almost jarring.
I shrug my jacket off and wrap it around the back of the chair she has set out for me, then wait patiently as she begins to scoop some of the freshly made stew into a small, wooden bowl. I sometimes find myself wondering why she’s so low on the totem pole in the Bennett family, but I’ve never asked.
I figure there are some things that shouldn’t be pursued, and I know that Sylvie would tell me if she wanted me to know.
“Thanks,” I say enthusiastically as I take the bowl from her hand and balance it on my lap. Her kitchenette area is too small for a table to fit into, so we make do with the space we have whenever she invites me over for a late supper.
I wait for Sylvie to fill a bowl of her own and sit in the chair across from me. I figure it’s good manners to wait for the cook, and even more so to let them take the first spoonful. She finds it odd; I think it’s a nice way to say thank you.
Once Sylvie’s settled, she dips her spoon into the hearty stew and places it in her mouth, quickly waving her hand in front of it. I chuckle; the steam alone rising from the bowl should have told her that it was okay to wait a little while, but she doesn’t hesitate when it comes to me eating. She’s told me over and over that if it’s the only meal I ever have on any given day, that I should begin to dig in as soon as she’s fixed me a bowl or plate.
She regains her composure quickly, drops the spoon into her bowl, and looks at me expectantly.
“I don’t know if I want to singe my esophagus just yet,” I tease, making a face at her.
Sylvie rolls her eyes good-naturedly, then shrugs as she picks up the handle of her spoon. She scoops up more of the stew, only this time, she pauses briefly to blow on it before cautiously placing it into her mouth.
“Just blow on it, Kester. A breath is all you need,” she instructs with a nod as she swallows her dinner.
I grin when the corner of her eye twitch slightly. Obviously, it will take more than just a breath to cool down tonight’s supper, but I’m in no rush to get home, so I don’t mind waiting for a while.
Chapter Three
“How was your day?” I ask as I begin to gently swirl my spoon in the bowl. I have a theory that this might help cool it down fast enough for me to dig in without letting it sit. I’m afraid that it would make me feel ungrateful, and I know it’ll make Sylvie feel bad if I don’t start eating soon.
I don’t want that.
She feels bad about enough things that happen in this damn place.
She shrugs as she scoops up another helping.
I let out a loud sigh as I let go of the handle and reach across the open space between us. Placing a hand on her knee, I wait until her eyes meet mine.
“What’s he done now?”
“Nothing, that’s just the point. He seems to forget that I’m even alive most days. It’s not fair, Kester. I love him too and he doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore.”
“When was the last time?” I ask her thoughtfully as I sit back and finally scoop up a serving of the stew. I remember that Sylvie told me to blow on it, which I do briefly, before shoveling it into my mouth. The taste is so damn gratifying that I have to fight the urge to attack the rest of it as quickly as possible. Especially since I know that she’ll end up filling my bowl again if I finish too fast. Sylvie will give me what’s left to keep me full and have nothing left for herself.
How the hell is she part of this goddamn family? On what planet does any of this make fucking sense?
“I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me,” I say conversationally as I shovel another spoonful into my mouth. I can feel Sylvie’s eyes on me before I meet them, and I smile slightly. She’s watching me with equal parts curiosity, suspicion, and pride.
“About?” she pr
esses cautiously.
“I want to get out of here. I never wanted any of this,” I confess with a shrug.
“He won’t let you leave,” she replies glumly.
“He will,” I reply confidently as I spin the bowl in my hand. I hold it up to eye level, inspecting the design on it. Clearly, this is handmade and being able to figure out how many lines and small letters are on it, should tell me by who. I tilt my head to the side, my eyes focusing on Sylvie. “You did a great job with this. The bowl and the stew.”
Her pale face turns bright red, most of the freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose disappearing beneath the crimson blush. She’s not used to praise, and while I don’t hand it out sparingly, I really do appreciate the work she put into this.
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