Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Afterword
Acknowledgements
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Book 0
Copyright © 2020 by Melissa Riddell
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
Recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright
owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed
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Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal
and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions,
and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted
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Cover Art by Avdal Designs at www.avdaldesigns.com
Published in the United States of America by: Melissa Riddell
eBook ASIN: B089ZK7J65
www.melissariddell.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Savage Worlds Series:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B084348SBG
The Descendant:Baltin Trilogy Book 1
The Betrayer:Baltin Trilogy Book 2
The Redeemer: Baltin Trilogy Book 3
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Book 0
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089ZK7J65
Ravenlight Cycles:
Ravenlight Book 1
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08CTW2H6H
Ravensong Book 2
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08PQLBJ5W
Fallen Angels Series:
Cursed: Fallen Angels Book One (Spring 2021)
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08C4KXBDB
Fallen: Fallen Angels Book Two (Summer 2021)
Behind the Lyrics: An Enemies-to-Lovers Rockstar Romance
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08MYGBHFH
Works written under Mina Raye:
Dark Nights Series:
Sacha Shepperd Ninnette and the Dark Night
www.amazon.com/dp/B086SH29VL
The Last Dragon: Dark Nights Book 2 (July 2021)
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FFXD56H
Chapter One
“Well, if it isn’t the biggest piece of trash in town,” a high voice squeals. “Tilly Morgan. Ugh.”
“Those shoes,” another female, tone dripping disgust, chuckles. “Did you find them in a dumpster?”
Even over Breaking Benjamin’s “Evil Angel” playing in my ear, each hurtful word is a knife cutting into my chest. Gritting my teeth, I transfer a book from my locker to my backpack. With my spine to the girls, I bite my bottom lip.
One, two, three, four…
Emory Watson, one of Callahan High School’s most popular girls—and my number one enemy—never misses an opportunity to cut me down. I don’t know why, but she’s delighted in my torment since kindergarten. I shouldn’t let it get under my skin, but sometimes it can’t be helped. I’ve never known anyone more hateful—or bitchy.
Don’t do anything drastic, I chide myself. If I go to the principal’s office one more time, Mamma’s going to have a heart attack or ground me forever—probably both.
“Come on, ladies,” Emory titters, and her voice lowers, reminding me of a purring cat toying with a mouse. “We don’t want to stand too close to this loser—she might rub off on us.”
“Good riddance,” I mumble, relaxing my shoulders.
It’s the end of the day—Friday, thank God—and lockers bang shut in the hallway. Other voices echo throughout the corridor, creating a constant thrum of sound. Sweat, fruity perfumes, and the faint whiff of pot slides through the air. A few arms jostle me in passing. Some students call out good-natured insults to one another; others speak in excited tones and share plans for the coming weekend.
Me? I don’t have any, but I’m ecstatic to get away from all these douchebags.
“Hey, Tilly.” From the other side of my open locker door, Maximillian Jacobsen raps his knuckles on the metal, then jerks a wireless bud from my ear.
“Stop that.” Yanking it from his fingers, I refocus on loading my bag. What the hell does he want? Known as our school’s troublemaker and all-around bad boy, he doesn’t usually deign to talk to people like me.
“What’re you doing this weekend?” He tosses a blue stress ball into the air and catches it, leaning around the door and peering into the depths of my locker. A strong whiff of expensive cologne wafts my way.
“Do you mind?” I wave at the air and shoulder him out of the way.
“Not usually.” He smiles wickedly. “So, weekend plans? Yay or nay?” The overhead fluorescent lights catch on a small, silver stud in his earlobe.
“No.” Why in the world is he interested in my plans? “Why? You robbing a store and need a lookout?”
“Hmm.” The ball bounces against my head and he snatches it back. “You offering?”
“What? No.” Pinching my eyebrows inward, I still and search his face. What’s his game? He’s never said more than five words to me before, and they were usually “Get out of my way.”
His blue eyes shine. Dark brown hair slides across his forehead and into his vision. Day-old stubble covers his chin. Pushing himself closer, he forces me a couple of inches to the side.
“Dude, if you don’t step back, I’m gonna bust you in the nuts.” I try to ignore him and continue searching the catastrophe inside my locker.
The ball hits the back of my head and I count to ten and grind my teeth.
“So, yo
u going to the dance tomorrow?” Pop.
Is that what this is about?
“Do I look like I want to go to the dance?” With the meanest glare I can muster, I elbow against his body and concentrate on which books I need for weekend homework.
It might be kind of nice to go, but I’ll never know because it’s almost the end of high school, and then I’m out of this crappy, busybody town.
“No, you don’t seem like the dancing-type of gal, which is why I was wondering what you’re doing tomorrow.” An amused smile tugs at his lips. “If you get bored, I actually do need a partner in crime.” With one last soft thump of the ball against my temple, he saunters away, retro wallet chain swinging from his hip and black biker boots clomping down the hallway.
Shaking my head, I let out a breath and dig through papers. That was so freaking weird.
Something sharp pokes me in the shoulder. He must’ve forgotten something.
“Max, leave me alone. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Several females chuckle.
I clench the strap of my backpack, now sitting on the bottom of the locker. Those giggles mean one thing: Emory Watson and her pack of laughing hyenas have returned.
Ignoring what was probably her long, manicured fingernail digging into my skin, I zip the bag closed and focus on breathing deep, cleansing breaths.
“Oh, poor little Tilly.” A high chuckle. “No one invited you to the Spring Dance. So sad.”
Grabbing a handle, I pivot to face her and the trio of sycophants.
With her long, blonde hair and big baby-blue eyes, she looks like a porcelain doll, but that’s where anything doll-like ends. Since she’s the most popular girl at CHS, if you get on her bad side then everyone hates you by default.
Like I said, I’ve been on her shit list since kindergarten.
“What do you need?” I keep my voice low and even while pulling my cell from a pocket to check the time.
Damn. If I don’t leave in the next minute or so, I’ll miss the bus and have to walk three miles to get home.
Another two weeks and I should have enough savings to buy a cheap car, thank God.
“What do I need?” she asks, widening her eyes. “Nothing from you, that’s for sure.”
The other three girls cackle as if she’s told the funniest joke in the world.
“So, you’re gonna stand here and waste my time?” I try to push my way through the group, but they won’t budge.
I imagine grabbing her long locks and slamming her forehead against the metal door. Okay, that’s violent, Tilly, my inner voice reminds me. Yeah? Well, she’s a little—
“You know, with plastic surgery, like right here—” She taps the end of my nose. “—and a better wardrobe besides ancient band t-shirts and jeans, you might have a chance with a guy like Max.”
Blood boils in my veins. “Never touch me—”
“Well, maybe not.” She shakes her head and pouts her red lips, putting the palms of her hands against her cheeks and raising her eyebrows. “I forgot. With that temper, you’ve never even had a boyfriend, have you?” Twisting away with an evil laugh, she motions her group to follow, but stops and glances over a shoulder. “After all, who’d want to date someone as ugly and angry as you?”
Unable to contain the rising wave of red fury, I swing the backpack toward the side of her head. Twenty pounds of books and unbridled anger smacks her full force. It connects with a satisfying thump.
Score one for Tilly Morgan.
Her legs fold and her butt plops onto the tiled floor.
The flow of traffic freezes. Some students gape while others gasp. Several rush to help her stand.
She rubs her ear as if in slow motion. Eyes wide and unfocused, she blinks and stumbles to her feet.
Oops. I didn’t mean to hurt her too badly, just give her something to remember why she should leave me alone.
“Matilda Morgan,” Mr. Sanders shouts, barreling through the crowd of onlookers. “Go to my office right now.” His balding head reflects the lights from above.
“But she started it—”
“Now.” He stabs a shaky finger toward the administrative section of the school. I know the way to his office all too well.
I sigh, close my locker, and trudge toward my doom.
Everyone either glares or sneers as I pass.
Here we go again. Mamma’s going to kill me.
Chapter Two
“Tilly, damn it.” Daddy positions his rearview mirror, then gives me a stern stare. “Lucky for you it was my day off. If your mother had to come up here and deal with this…” He starts the truck’s engine and pulls out of the school parking lot.
“I know, but we don’t have to tell her.” I stare out the window, glad to see the school and its football field sliding out of sight.
“Oh no, you’re not going to get me on the bad side of your mother’s temper.”
“But you don’t understand how it is. People are cruel.” I hate sounding whiney, but I need to defend myself. “They’re always making jokes about what I wear and how long my nose is.” I raise my voice in imitation of Emory’s high screech. “Hey, Tilly, has anyone tried to ski off that slope on your face?”
“Ignore them,” he grunts. “You’re beautiful, and there’s nothing wrong with your nose. They’re petty, jealous girls who are probably insecure and have their own issues.”
“Yeah, well ignoring them is easier said than done.”
He reaches out an arm and squeezes my hand. “They’re just words, Half-pint.”
“They still hurt.”
He flicks the blinker and pulls to a stop sign. “Kids can be mean. I get it.” After turning onto the road leading to our house, he casts a quick glance my way. “But that’s still no excuse to lose your temper and act like a heathen. Maybe you should think about joining the Air Force, like I did. It gave me the discipline and structure I needed for a flying career.”
“Are you crazy?” I push the back of my head into the seat and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not joining up with the military to let new people push me around.” Snorting, I continue. “After graduation, I’m moving to Florida and living with Sissy. It’ll be nice having a fresh start, away from all these assholes, and I won’t have to pay for a dorm.”
“Well, it’s a great plan—if you graduate.”
“What’re you talking about?” My eyebrows draw inward. I have good grades and I’m not in danger of failing any classes.
“This could’ve been serious, Tilly. Principal Sanders wants to expel you.”
“What?” Alarm races through my limbs and I jerk upright. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
We roll into the driveway. The pickup stops behind Daddy’s pride and joy: his sleek Harley Davidson, with its gleaming chrome tail pipes and leather saddlebags.
“No, I’m not. You’re lucky he and I go way back.” He pops the door handle to the truck, but twists to look at me. “Now, it’s time to get out and face the music. Your mother’s gonna be home soon. Might be a good time to get a head start on supper. Soften the blow, so to speak.” He strokes his short blond beard. “Though, your cooking might be punishment for all three of us.” His eyes sparkle, and he winks before exiting the vehicle and slamming the door shut.
Groaning, I jump out and follow him inside. I despise cooking, but I hate Mamma’s looks of disappointment even worse.
He opens the screen door, gesturing me to go ahead.
With a sigh, I trudge inside, wishing I could skip time forward and be done with all this.
Chapter Three
Beep, beep, beep. The fire alarm’s piercing tone is like nails on a chalkboard.
I wave a kitchen towel over my head, trying to clear the air.
Stupid, oversensitive things. “Shut the hell up. Nothing’s even burning.”
A squeal from the front door, and I lean out from the kitchen, relief flowing through me knowing it’s Daddy instead of Mamma.
Thank g
oodness she’s running late. I can put off her inevitable tongue lashing for a little longer.
Daddy strides into the kitchen and wrinkles his nose. His eyes bounce around the room, probably taking in the colossal mess of bell pepper seeds, onion skins, hamburger meat packaging, and pots and pans littering the counters.
“Shoo. Smells like you’re trying to burn the place down.” Much taller than me, he presses a button on the alarm and the kitchen quietens. “Sounds like it, too.”
“Ha.” Deciding the pasta has boiled long enough, I transfer it to a waiting colander nestled in the sink.
“So, do I need to order pizza for tonight?”
“Daddy.” I pivot and give him a glare, catching him in the act of lifting a lid and grimacing. “The meat got a little brown, that’s all. I already scraped off the crusty parts.” Huffing, I turn off the stove burner.
“I love you, Half-pint.” He ruffles my hair. “But I feel sorry for your future husband. You better hope he knows how to cook.”
Anger wars with humor, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh or glower.
“Who said I’m ever gettin’ married?” The smell of burning toast reaches my nose. “Oh, shit.” Bending forward, I throw the oven door open, grab a potholder, and pull out the pan of garlic bread.
“Better watch that mouth. If your mother hears it…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
When his eyes land on the dark brown, smoking squares, his brow rises. “Can’t wait to eat.” His tone is even, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or being sarcastic. “God help us,” or something along those lines, mumbles under his breath.
“Hey, you’re the one who suggested I cook supper.”
He lets out a deep belly laugh and walks away, shaking his head.
After piling the bread on a plate, I grab a bagged salad from the fridge and dump it in a bowl.
Another squeak of the front door. “Good God, what is that smell?”
I cringe. Uh oh.
Mamma breezes into the kitchen and sets her purse on a counter. “Oh.” She freezes for a second. “You’re cooking supper.” Her green eyes rove the messy area. “What do I need to know?”
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