Broken Trouble (Broken Storm #1)

Broken Storm Series

Copyright 2016 Kristan Billups

Published on 1st Feb 2016

Cover created by: Ravenborn Book Covers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

I am beauty, courage, honor, hope and modesty. They are my steady hold, my purity, confidence, pride, and safety. Apart, we are broken. But together, we are whole again.

              I had to get out of this house.

I had only just got here earlier today and already I felt like I was suffocating. Everyone here was so different than what I was used to, pretending to like me, to understand me, to care.

              If there was anything I knew about my life, it was that no one understood me. And who could?

I had removed myself from the emotions any normal person would express and left only hatred and indifference. No one could even come close to what was really going on inside my head. No one bothered to look past the walls I had built to see the real me, they weren't around long enough to even try.

              Sure psychiatrists had tried to snake their way inside my mind, but I never broke, never acknowledged their prying questions. It was their job to find out what was going on inside my mind, but it wasn't like they really wanted to know.

              I learned long ago that opening up to people would only lead to them hating me more and treating me worse, sometimes even beating me.

              Each new foster home was the same, a different venue, but always temporary, and always filled with people who were fake and heartless.

              I had no interest in wasting my time with them.

              I would be a legal adult within the year, then no one could hold me back anymore. That is, if I didn't end up in juvie again.

              Who in their right mind would set bedtime at seven P.M. for a seventeen-year-old? They're insane if they think that's reasonable, which is why I found myself watching the last rays of sun fade into the darkness as I climbed out the window, hitching my backpack up higher onto my shoulder as I walked.

              Here, in the darkness of night, I felt more at home than I ever had.

              My black boots clunked heavily on the blacktop road as I walked along. I didn’t care where I was headed, as long as it wasn't under the watchful, untrusting eyes of those around me. Everyone was constantly waiting for me to do something wrong because, of course, it would be stupid to trust a girl straight out of juvie.

              The money I had taken from the house would last me long enough to get away from here, buy some food and maybe pay for some shelter until I could get a job. If I couldn’t make it in a new, 'honest' life, then I could always go back to pickpocketing. I have lived for years that way on my own and I wasn't ashamed of doing anything that kept me alive. I didn't feel regretful for stealing from rich snobs who looked down their noses at someone else just because of their appearance or lack of money.

              My black and white dyed hair and Gothic look was definitely something they would look down upon. I dressed to express my inner self, if they couldn't understand that, then I'd give them all a single finger salute.

              A sound interrupted my thoughts, forcing me to glance up and around. Everything was dark, the moon above only casting a soft shade of light across the world around me. There was nothing out here. Every couple miles or so there was a road leading to who-knows-where, but it definitely wasn't the city, not with all of the dirt, heat, and a stench of dung that hung in the air at all times.

              What kind of hicks would live out here in a place like this?

              The sound split through the air again and I cut through a fence and across a field towards it without a second thought. It sounded like something in pain, the sound sliced through my soul and straight into my heart. It was almost like a kindred soul was calling to mine and I couldn't stop my feet from traveling across the field.

              A building came into view and I paused, suddenly nervous. I didn’t know who was in the building or what I could be walking into. The sound definitely hinted at something bad. I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one, inhaling the musky smoke into my lungs and feeling my nerves calm.

              Much better.

              I continued my steps across the field and to the barn, thunks pounded from inside as another scream vibrated through the air.

              Should I go inside or just go on my way? This wasn't part of my plan when I crawled out the window awhile ago. But now, standing in front of an unfamiliar building on a stranger's property, with a pained noise coming from it, I couldn't go back. I couldn't turn my back like that.

              Stepping inside the darkness of the barn, I looked around. The stench that was constantly hanging in this country air was much stronger inside and had an underlying smell of gasoline, forcing me to slip my hand over my nose, breathing through my black glove. I headed slowly towards one of the rooms with the half doors, the noise seemed to be coming from it, drawing me to it.

              Inside stood a gray colored horse, its eyes wide and frantic. Scars covered its body, some old and new. Blood trickled down one of its legs and it carried itself with a slight limp. It was obvious that it had been abused, physically and mentally, just like me. Its eyes shone with panic and fear, something I had seen in my own reflection so many times before. Under all its wounds and pain, I could see it was a strong, beautiful horse just looking for someone to give a damn.

              I took another long inhale of my cigarette and tapped off the ashes as I glanced around, making sure no one was lurking around.

Who were these people who thought they could abuse a fucking horse?

It's not like he had done anything to ever deserve this. Horses weren't human, they couldn't do anything to deserve to be treated this way, but then again, no one could.

              "Let's get you out of here boy, it looks like we're both going to be making a run for it tonight."

              I moved forward, holding my cigarette in my mouth as I reached for the latch on the door, causing the horse inside to let out another scream, pacing around his stall.

"Give me a second boy, I know you want to get out of here just as much as me." I spoke, pausing as he turned, showing a bloody gash on his shoulder. "Maybe even more."

              I got the latch unhooked and a ghost of a smile flitted across my face.

              What can I say? I have a soft spot for animals.

              The horse turned towards the door and bolted forward, slamming itself into it and knocking me to the side as it darted out. It took off out the door of the barn quickly, its hooves thundering across the grass as it ran away, it's head held high as freedom soared through its veins.

              I landed hard on my butt on the floor, which knocked the air out of me and caused the cigarette to fall out of my mouth.

              "Shit." I gasped, flinching as I scooted up, trying to ignore the pain in my backside. I'm sure if a horse had knocked over anyone else, they would be screaming profanities at it.

              Not me. I understood its pain. If I had been locked inside a room and beaten, in pain and alone, I would make a run for it the first chance I got too, no matter who I hurt in the process.

              It was instinct to try and survive, some of us were just more desperate for it than others.

              What I was frustrated with was the fact that my cigarette was nowhere to be found. Where was that thing? Feeling around on the ground, I searched for it, trying to spot any light coming from it.

              That was one thing I didn't do, leave cigarettes lying around burning.

              That was how my parents had died, not putting out their cigarettes. It had only taken one falling out of one of their hands and landing on the carpet soaked with spilled alcohol to kill them. I could still remember their screams and the crackle of the fire as it had burned them alive.

              They had been neglectful parents, forgetting to buy food and instead buying a case of beer, or leaving me to walk four miles home from school by myself through the rough neighborhood we had lived in, or occasionally locking me out altogether. It wasn't like I had lost very much with their deaths, but I could never get that memory out of my head, adding another scar to my ever darkening soul.

              A door slammed loudly not far away, jerking me from my memories, and I snapped my head up to glance around.

              Someone was coming towards the barn and fast.

              I abandoned the search and jumped up, running back out the way I came and darting across the field. There was no way I was going to stay there a second longer. If someone abused an innocent animal like that, there was no telling what that person would do to me after what I had just done.

              Voices started yelling from behind me and my muscles strained as I pushed myself to run faster, when I hit the paved road I kept going. Glancing back, I could see people pouring from the house and towards the barn, but none of them seemed to pay any attention to me, they were focused mainly around the now well lit barn. I slowed down, gasping for breath and watched as the light grew brighter and brighter, until realization hit me with the force of a train.

              I was watching their barn go up in flames.

              I sat beside my parole officer, Mrs. Hinndle, in her small car, trying to prepare myself for the sight that lay ahead. I hadn't been back here since that night when I watched their barn become engulfed in flames.

              The judge had sent me back here to help them rebuild their barn and myself. He had said this would be my last chance to turn my life around, otherwise it wouldn't be juvenile detention again, but prison. My future lay in the hands of the owners of the ranch.

              The beat of rock music thumped from the ear-buds in my ears, my parole officer rambled on about how I should behave and handle everything from this point forward. I wasn't paying any attention, we both knew whatever she said wouldn't matter anyway, I did what I did and there was nothing she could say that could help. It was her job to say these things though, so she kept talking and I kept listening to my music.

              The car slowed to a stop in front of the massive ranch house, the blackened pit of despair was all that was left of the barn sat opposite of the house.

              I avoided looking at it.

              The front door of the ranch house opened and a woman stepped out, drying her hands on her apron before waving in greeting. Mrs. Hinndle smiled what I'm sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile at me before getting out of the car to talk to the woman. I slipped my ear-buds out of my ears to hear what they were saying, but could only hear the soft twang of the country music they were playing somewhere nearby.

              Mrs. Hinndle shook hands with the woman on the porch before they sat on the swing, talking to each other while I continued waiting in the car. I wouldn't get out of the car until they told me to, I didn't want to stand there awkwardly with them while they talked about me like I wasn't there. I’d done that before and staying in the car was the least humiliating way to go.

              So here I sat, trying to listen to the murmur of their voices, which were just that, a murmur, making it impossible for me to make out what they were saying to each other. Instead, I studied their expressions to judge the atmosphere I would be walking into. Mrs. Hinndle had her usual calm, collected, all-business expression she always used, making it impossible to know how it was going. The other woman appeared contemplative and understanding, which didn't make much sense since I knew they were talking about the person who had burned down their barn: me.

              Even though it had been accidental, I was sure this woman would be feeling much differently than she was right now, when she came face to face with me.

              Mrs. Hinndle stood up from the swing and motioned to me to get out of the car. The other woman's eyes turned and locked onto the car, following me as I took a deep breath and stepped out of it. I slung my backpack of belongings over my shoulder and closed the door, spotting a couple guys leaning up against some fencing a short distance away, watching me. I kept my head down and went to the porch, deciding that maybe it would be best not to look directly at people unless absolutely necessary. This way I wouldn't have to see the pure disgust on their faces, something I was far too used to seeing when people looked at me.

              As I reached the top of the steps, I slowed down even more, ambling to a stop a couple feet from where Mrs. Hinndle and the woman sat. There was plenty of space to be able to take off running if I needed to, though I probably wouldn't be able to outrun the bullet from their gun, which I was sure they had hidden somewhere close. All the books I'd read seemed to contain some country hick shooting or killing trespassers and city folk.

              Last time I was here; I didn't pay any attention to being on someone else's land. Now, after all that had happened, I felt like I was trespassing more than I ever had before. I shouldn't be here and their stares embedded it into my mind more and more with each passing second.

              "Nova, this is Mrs. De la Cruz."

              I glanced up and met the woman's eyes, only to find her form coming at me. I instinctively flinched away, but I wasn't fast enough to get away before her arms were wrapping themselves around my body. I mentally prepared myself for her to snap my neck like an assassin in a movie, but only found her arms wrapping around me tighter and tighter.

              Nope, she was just going to squeeze me until I suffocated to death.

              "Honey, ya can call me Polly! There's no need to be all formal here,” the woman spoke before finally releasing me from her clutches.

I stumbled back a step and breathed deeply, trying to get air back in my lungs. Was I hallucinating or was Polly being nice and actually smiling?

              Maybe this was the southern charm everyone was always talking about.

              I just nodded, watching her closely for any signs that her being friendly towards me was just a show for Mrs. Hinndle. It wouldn't be surprising and it definitely wouldn't be a first for me, but she seemed to be genuine. What was up with this woman? Why wasn't she screaming and cussing at me for causing them so much trouble when I let their horse loose and accidentally burned their barn down?

              Which reminded me, where was the horse? Had he gotten away? I hoped so. According to the judge and them, they rehabilitated and trained horses here, raising cattle on the side. Maybe they hadn't been abusing the horse, but that didn't make me regret letting the horse free.

              Glancing around, I scanned the property for the horse and didn't spot him right away, only seeing more guys crowding near the fence to watch me. I quickly looked away and let out a breath of air, wondering if they have the same southern charm Polly was showing me.

              "I think we're going to be just fine, Mrs. Hinndle. Thank ya for bringing her here,” Polly smiled and hugged Mrs. Hinndle, who awkwardly hugged her back, obviously surprised by the sudden affection from Polly too.

Then she put a hand on my shoulder, her eyes checking over my expressionless face before she walked down off the porch, "Call me if you need anything. I'll be in touch."

              I stood in silence with Polly on the porch as Mrs. Hinndle got in her car and drove back down the road, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. I swallowed hard and soaked in the awkward silence that now filled the air, neither of us speaking as we watched her leave, the only sounds were animals in the distance and bugs buzzing through the air.

              "Dylan, come show Nova to her room!" Polly called to the group of guys, turning away from the dust cloud that had yet to settle from Mrs. Hinddle's car. "He'll show ya to your room. I'll introduce ya to the rest of the boys after you've freshened up a bit, I'm sure you're tired from your trip. I'm cooking supper now so ya should have a few hours to get settled in before it's ready to eat. Ya like peach pie, don't ya Honey?"

              I nodded again while she rambled on, resisting the urge to watch one of the boys near the fence make their way over to us. When he climbed the steps of the porch, I finally sneaked a peak. His brown hair was cut short on the sides with it a bit longer on top, making his hair stick up and around, like he ran his hand through his hair too many times in attempts to keep it out of his eyes. He wasn't overly muscular for a cowboy, with an average build that only reached over my 5'7" frame by a couple inches. I could feel his fawn brown eyes sweeping up and down my body until his gaze landed on my chest, then lingered there for a moment too long.

              I crossed my arms and stared at him until his eyes snapped up to meet mine. I gave him a glare, one that said I had caught him staring and I didn't like it. It wasn't hard to get a good glare aimed at the guy perving on me. Even if I hadn't already been annoyed, uncomfortable and angry, the black eyeliner usually did the job for me, darkening my expression even more.

              He glanced away, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.

              Maybe I should have chosen a different shirt than my black skull print corset shirt that barely covered my chest. In my own defense, I didn't know I was going to be encountering anyone anywhere near my age group here.

              Didn't only old people live on ranches?

              I got the feeling he was just taking in as much of me as he could to report to the other guys, who all still stood watching by the fence. Well, all except for the chest staring, I was sure that was all for himself.

              I hoped the rest of them weren't going to be any hotter than he was, otherwise it would be hard to focus on ignoring them. The last thing I wanted was to get attached to anyone here.

              Dylan walked past me to go inside the house and I hesitated before entering behind him, wishing I had worn a hoodie. Regardless of how hot it was outside, I felt I needed it to hide inside, away from everyone's prying eyes.

              My gaze darted around the house as I followed him through the house and up a set of stairs. The ranch house was more like mansion out of a country magazine and I didn't doubt it could hold all of the people that lived here plus some.

              At least I hadn't burnt down their house, yet. I rapped my knuckles extremely lightly against the wood railing, I needed all the luck I could get without cursing myself into something bad happening.

              My door was the farthest down to the left of the long hallway of doors and I was glad for it, it would put me farther back away from everyone else, giving me more privacy and peace.

              Dylan opened the door and gestured to the room. "Here's your room," he said before striding off down the hall quickly, probably wanting to get away from me as fast as possible.

              At least he hadn't been completely rude.

              Stepping into the well-lit room, I closed the door behind me. Wait, did this door not have a lock on it? Who didn't put a lock on their doors?

              Glancing around the room, I grabbed a wooden chair sitting in front of a desk on the other side of the room and propping it against the door handle. That's all I needed was for one of those guys to walk in on me.

              I turned and heaved a sigh, I was finally alone.

              The room I was staying in was the exact opposite of what was me. Bright yellow walls with flowering wallpaper covered the walls with pink curtains hanging on the window. The whole room was blindingly bright.

              I shrugged it off though, it wasn't like I would be staying here for long. Plus, this was probably the most colorful place I'd see for a while if I ended up in jail, which was no doubt where I would be heading soon.

              I yanked the curtains closed, cutting off some of the light and darkening the room a bit. Much better.

              I walked over to a dresser and shoved what little clothes I had in it. I didn't bother carrying much with me anymore and after the last few moves, I had narrowed everything down to what would fit in my backpack. It made leaving quicker and took much less effort to pack and unpack.

              I strode to my temporary bed and flopped down on the quilt covering it, placing my ear-buds back in my ears and letting Hollywood Undead erase my thoughts with every beat.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

              A knock sounded on the door sometime later and Dylan spoke from the other side, "Supper's on the table."

The sound of his footsteps faded off down the hall as he went back downstairs.

              Now that I had my ear-buds off, I could hear voices and noise coming from downstairs. I sat up, contemplating food.

Did I really want to go downstairs and meet everyone? Did I really want to suffer through the awkwardness of meeting the rest of the family that lived here right now? Polly had seemed kind and Dylan hadn't been rude, so perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as I originally thought, and maybe they wouldn’t completely hate me.

              Plus, I was starving and a piece of the pie Polly had mentioned earlier was sounding pretty good to my grumbling stomach right about now.

              I sat up and glanced at myself in the mirror over the dresser, making sure my eyeliner wasn't smudged. My black and white hair framed my face and ended with gentle, natural waves around my face and over my shoulders. My eyes stared sharply back at me, the eyeliner and silver eye shadow made my whiskey colored eyes pop.

              I contemplated changing, but shoved the thought out of my mind quickly. Why bother?

              I removed the chair from in front of the door and stepped out, checking the hallway quickly before continuing on. From the sounds that were coming from downstairs, it sounded like everyone was already down there.

              I took a pit stop at the bathroom I passed before heading downstairs, stalling the inevitable. My stomach was tight with nerves, but when it rumbled in hunger I knew I had no choice. I needed food. I followed the sounds until I came to the doorway of the dining room and paused there.

              Sitting in chairs around a long table in the center of the room, were five people and, with the exception of Polly; they were all men.

              One of the guys glanced up, brushing his dirty blonde hair aside and clenching his strong jawline as he narrowed his icy blue eyes at me. His piercing stare stabbed me and made me shrink back. If looks could kill, I would be a pile of ashes.