King of Slaves (Jenna's Story) (The Slave Series Book 5) (45 page)

A lot of push-pull effect between the characters.

More humor.

Written in first person perspective

Crazy plots with twists and turns.

More psychological drama and depth.

Less violence.

Less graphical sex scenes, although there will be some.

As a bonus you can now read the first four chapters in the first book, which honestly had me both crying and laughing out loud as I wrote it.

Black – Book 1 in the Clashing Colors Series.

Some people grow up with caring families, summer camps, and birthday parties.

Not me!

If you saw me, your first thought would be: Goth girl – and then you would look the other way, like everyone else. But that’s okay, I get it, and I don’t care. Caring is a luxury I can’t afford. My life isn’t about caring. It’s about surviving, and it’s been that way ever since I ran away from home seven years ago.

When twenty-one-year old Black, is arrested for shoplifting, she’s forced to reach out to the father who never wanted anything to do with her. As expected, her father rejects her again, but to her surprise his stepbrother, Gabriel, a decorated war hero who has just returned from duty in Afghanistan, shows up, committed to do the right thing and include his new stepniece in the family.
Good thing Gabriel’s specialty as a battle engineer is to break down walls and blow up things, because it will take someone special to penetrate the dark Goth armor that Black wears as self-protection.

Here are the first four chapters for you.

Enjoy!

BONUS

The first four chapters of

Clashing Colors - book 1 (Black)

CHAPTER 1

Black

When I was seven, someone broke into our house. Thinking back, it must have been some really desperate thieves, because it was a shitty neighborhood and none of us had anything worth stealing, even on a good day.

Nevertheless that break-in stayed with me for a long time and made me afraid of going to bed at night.

I used to hug my Hello Kitty teddy bear and tell her we would be all right. It would have been nice if my mom had offered me a goodnight kiss or a lullaby to make me feel better, but hey, I didn’t have that kind of mom.

My mom, Tina, was seventeen when she had me.

My dad is the asshole who took her virginity behind the bleachers after a high school dance, and handed her a hundred dollars to “take care of the problem” when she told him she was pregnant.

Needless to say, I grew up with my mom, and of all the childhood memories, that for the most part aren’t very good, the one about thieves breaking into our home has played a major part in my career as a criminal.

This might surprise you, but criminals have morals and values too. Some criminals even say they have honor. I don’t know about the last part, but I, at least, have a set of rules.

I don’t commit any violent crimes, CHAPTER 1

Black

When I was seven, someone broke into our house. Thinking back, it must have been some really desperate thieves, because it was a shitty neighborhood and none of us had anything worth stealing, even on a good day.

Nevertheless that break-in stayed with me for a long time and made me afraid of going to bed at night.

I used to hug my Hello Kitty teddy bear and tell her we would be all right. It would have been nice if my mom had offered me a goodnight kiss or a lullaby to make me feel better, but hey, I didn’t have that kind of mom.

My mom, Tina, was seventeen when she had me.

My dad is the asshole who took her virginity behind the bleachers after a high school dance, and handed her a hundred dollars to “take care of the problem” when she told him she was pregnant.

Needless to say, I grew up with my mom, and of all the childhood memories, that for the most part aren’t very good, the one about thieves breaking into our home has played a major part in my career as a criminal.

This might surprise you, but criminals have morals and values too. Some criminals even say they have honor. I don’t know about the last part, but I, at least, have a set of rules.

I don’t commit any violent crimes, and I don’t steal from private homes – because it’s a violation of people’s privacy and can be traumatizing to kids.

Neither do I steal from small mom-and-pop shops with hard-working people who are just trying to make a living.

I also don’t hustle or steal from the following categories: old people, sick people, mentally or physically handicapped people, and of course children.

So who do I steal from? Mostly companies with big fat insurance policies who will get compensated for the shoplifting I do.

Now before you have a moral hissy fit about me, don’t! You’re wasting your energy and my time. I might as well tell you straight up, I’m a lost case.

People see me walking on the street and look the other way. I dress as I feel, and that’s why my friends call me Black. My hair is black, my nail polish is black, my clothes are black, and most of the time I’m wearing heavy, dark make-up too.

Most likely you’ve seen people like me. And most likely you’ve looked away too.

I get it. And I don’t care.

Caring is a luxury I can’t afford. My life isn’t about caring. It’s about surviving, and it’s been that way ever since I ran away from home seven years ago.

Today is my twenty first birthday, which means I can officially drink alcohol. The thought alone is laughable. The first time I drank I was ten. The second time I was eleven and got drunk with my mom. That night I puked so hard I thought I was going to die, and as a result I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol ever since.

If watching my mom’s alcoholism taught me anything it was that happiness isn’t found in bottles.

For me, happiness comes in the shape of little white pills with the letters OP on top. In my opinion it should say UP, which would be a good allusion to the high I get from taking them. My friend Daniel gave me my first rush for my nineteenth birthday, and I can honestly say that I’d never experienced anything like it. Never felt so good inside.

My head is usually full of bad memories and fear of the future, but that night – oh man, it was freaking surreal to feel completely free of worries, pressure, and pain. I was on a euphoric high and it only took that one time to make me want more. I guess you could say that the first pill got me hooked and now, two years later, I’m in a lot of shit because of it.

The first problem is that those Oxy pills are damn expensive. Depending on supply on the street, it’s between fifty and a hundred dollars for just one pill, and when you’re a street artist like me, you don’t make a lot of cash.

That’s why I have to shoplift, which leads me to my second problem. My looks.

Mostly I do my shopping after the stores are closed, because I’m easy to spot with my black Goth looks; shop detectives get automatically suspicious when they see me. I’m good at what I do, and only take what I need to survive.

Unfortunately, today I got impatient and went to Bartell Drugs to help myself to a few Oxy pills.

I would have preferred an after-dark field trip to Costco but the last time I went there, I only barely got away. There was no way I could have known that the night guard at Costco got a new badass Rottweiler. He used to have an old German shepherd that slept most of the time and was practically half deaf, but this new dog – shit, I’m a fast runner, but that black devil chased me down like a rabbit on the run, and I only barely escaped.

Sneaking out a few bottles of pills isn’t rocket science, so I’m a bit ashamed that I got caught red-handed today.

It’s a damn shame too, because I had already stuffed my back pack with several bottles of Oxy pills. I could have made a fortune on the streets with that many and kept a good portion for myself.

I’m sure I would have made it out, if not for my stupid walk through the store to get a bottle of whiskey. I wanted to surprise Daniel with one for his birthday next week, but that won’t happen now, since my little walk landed me in police custody. That’s what I get for being a good friend.

I have a pay phone on the wall in my holding cell, but no one to call. If my mom is even alive, I still would rather stab my eye out than call her for help. 

My dad… well, I’ve only seen him once. The night I ran away from my mom when I was fourteen, I went to his house thinking he would take me in once I told him about the horrible things that were happening at my mom’s place, but I never got that far. He wouldn’t even let me into his fancy house or listen to me.

He had a new family with a wife and three children, and the only thing I got from him that night was two hundred dollars and the message that he had been right to give Tina money for an abortion; he had known she wasn’t mom material and he felt sorry for me, for being born.

Sure, he had been right about her, but she had been right about him too; Brent was a bastard and probably always will be.

Still, it’s not like I’d have anything to lose by giving him a call. He has money, lives in a fancy house, and if anyone could afford to bail me out of this hole, it’s him. I hadn’t spoken to Brent in seven years, but that only meant there was a slim possibility that he had found Jesus or grown a conscience since I last saw him, so I reckoned I might as well try it.

I had his number on a scrap of paper in my hand. The police officer had been nice enough to look it up for me, and it turned out that Brent still lived in the same place.

As I was listening to the sound of the phone ringing, part of me was hoping that he wouldn’t pick up. I didn’t want his help. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

“Hello.” His voice was slightly nasal, like someone with a cold.

“Hey, this is Black… I mean Darcia, your daughter.”

Silence.

“I need your help… Dad.”

“How did you get this number? I told you to leave me alone.”

I sighed. “I know, but I was arrested.”

“You were arrested?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole a few things.”

“Were are you?”

“Downtown at the police station. They told me I’ll see a judge within a few hours. I think it’s basically just to charge me and set the bail.”

I waited for him to say something, but there was only silence.

“Could you come down here and help me get out? The bail shouldn’t be more than a few hundred dollars.”

He was still quiet, so I swallowed my pride and added a soft “Please…”

“I don’t think so,” he said in a low voice. “You caught me in the middle of an important family celebration and I can’t just leave. I’m sorry, but you know what they say: don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

That arrogant bastard! I squeezed the phone enough to make my knuckles white. “So you’re just going to let your own daughter rot here, while you celebrate with your
real
family?”

“You know I don’t think of you as my daughter,” he said in a cold voice.

What an absolutely redundant thing to say. The man hadn’t been in my life for twenty-one years. The fact that I was his dirty secret and biggest regret didn’t come as a shock and, yes, I know I should have just hung up and cut my losses, but I give as good as I get, so of course I had to have the last word.

“You know,” I said sardonically “Talking about crime and time… you shouldn’t have made a child if you aren’t prepared to be a father.”

“That’s not the same thing,” he said calmly.

I kept my cool too. “No, in your book, stealing a bit of medicine is a much bigger crime than leaving your baby to an alcoholic and abusive teen mother, and later sentencing that same child to a life on the streets.”

I didn’t give the shithead a chance to say more after that. I hung up, plunked myself down on the steel bedstead that held the thinnest mattress in history, curled my legs up to hug myself, and, yeah, you guessed it – I felt fucking sorry for myself.

My dad comes from a large and rich family. The kind that sends their kids to summer camps, goes on vacations, celebrates Christmas, and gets into colleges. They are my family too, even though I’ve only seen them from afar. I know I have two half-brothers and a half-sister, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and apparently they were having a family celebration, right now.

With a pout I rested my chin on my knees, and imagined them all laughing and sharing jokes, while I sat here, alone and unwanted. The outsider no one cared about. And it fucking hurt!

CHAPTER 2

Gabriel

I don’t like formalities. I never did.

Sure, I can dress up in my fine black uniform, keep an excellent posture, and do a perfect salute, but that whole ceremonial thing that comes with receiving a medal is not my favorite thing.

My family, however, is going overboard with their pride, and every one of them wants pictures with me in my uniform, now decorated with the Silver Star medal.

Mom has arranged for both family and friends to come and celebrate, even though I told her not to.

I can’t blame her. I’m her only son and I don’t think she’ll ever understand how unworthy I feel to receive recognition for my actions and valor in war, when so many of my friends and colleagues didn’t even make it home. They gave their lives, and in comparison my sacrifices seem insignificant.

Sure, I could have died; it comes with the job description of being a sapper. As a combat engineer my job is to pave the road for others by building bridges, blowing up things, and coming up with creative solutions in the field. I love my job, and I know I’ve made a difference and saved lives. And
that
is why I became a soldier. To save and protect!

Now I’m ready to pass the tradition on.

I’ve taken my turn and been deployed in Afghanistan three times. That’s a total of thirty-six months abroad, and it would be an understatement to say that I’m excited to be home.

Not that I’ll be in Seattle for long, but at least my next job won’t be in a war zone. It’ll be in Missouri, as an instructor on the Sapper Leader Course. 

But first, I’m going to chill and enjoy four months of doing as little as possible – except of course, catch up with family and friends, which is turning out to be easy since my mom is hosting this party in my honor.

I wasn’t supposed to overhear Brent’s phone conversation but it’s hard to turn off the alert sensors after being constantly on edge for years, and something about his facial expression when he took that call made me instantly alert.

He pulled away from the crowd and went inside. I discreetly followed him. If my stepbrother is in some sort of trouble, I’m not just going to look the other way. Not that we are close but we are family, and family stick together.

The way he hissed “How did you get this number? I told you to leave me alone.” confirmed that whoever was on the line was no friend of his.

His next sentence – “You were arrested?” – told me the person was bad news. Hearing him mutter – “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” – revealed that he was harshly refusing to help the person calling for help.

But it was his next sentence that blew my mind: “You know I don’t think of you as my daughter.”

Thirty seconds later he put down the phone and took a deep breath.

I stepped forward asking the obvious. “You have a daughter?

Brent stiffened. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

But I fired my next question at him. “How old is she?”

He banged his phone rhythmically against his palm. “I’m not sure… nineteen or twenty, perhaps.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me?”

Brent’s eyes were zigzagging between me and the glass door leading out to the patio and the pool area. Our entire family was barbecuing, and he raised a hand and waved to Janice, his wife, before he made a subtle signal for me to follow him.

We ended up in the mud room with him leaning against the dryer, looking just as annoyed as the time I found his collection of porn magazines and threatened to tell Mom if he didn’t let me borrow his Nintendo for a week.

“Listen, G,” he said. “It was a stupid mistake. I was just a big high school kid and accidently knocked up a girl from a different school.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know her and it doesn’t matter.”

“But you had a daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And she got arrested?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

Brent looked at his nails. “Theft… some medicine, I think.”

“And she called you to get your help?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you know her?”

“Of course I don’t know her. I already told you she was just a stupid mistake from my past, and I don’t want Janice or the kids to find out about it.”

“Why not?”

“Listen, I appreciate your concern, but the kid had it coming. I mean she literally admitted to being guilty.”

I used to look up to Brent. He is ten years older than me, and when I first came into this house at the age of seven he was practically a grown man in my eyes. Right now, I wanted to strangle him for being such an ass.

“You have to help her, Brent. She’s your daughter; you can’t just turn your back on her.”

He laughed. “That ship sailed a long time ago. The minute Tina told me she was pregnant I let her know that I didn’t want a kid.”

“That’s not the girl’s fault. How can you be so cold to your own child?”

Brent stopped laughing. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t want anything to do with her and that’s that!”

He tried to push past me, but I’m a head taller and have forty pounds more muscle than him. If I don’t want to move, I ain’t moving.

“Move, G,” he said with a scowl.

“Not until you tell me that you’re helping her.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you want so badly to help her, then why don’t you go down to the police station and get her out? You’re the hero in the family, aren’t you?”

When I spoke it came out through gritted teeth. “What’s her name?”

“Darcia Nielsson.”

“You have to tell the others about her,” I said.

“No.” His answer was quick and firm. “And don’t you dare reveal my secret, either! I’ve kept her away from us for all these years and protected our family from the shame. I can’t stop you from going there to help her, but I refuse to let you bring her back here.”

I moved enough for him to open the door and leave the small room – mostly because I was afraid I might actually hurt my brother if he said one more selfish thing.

He left me no choice. If he wasn’t going to do the right thing, I would have to do it for him.

⦓∞
⦔

When I walked into the police station I was still wearing my black uniform with my Silver Star.

I don’t know if I thought I would be able to just sneak away from the party for a short while and return without anyone noticing, but I had left the minute Brent and I were done talking, and on the thirty-minute drive to downtown Seattle I had gone over the few details he had told me and arrived at one clear conclusion: I had a niece, or at least a step niece, and she was in trouble. If I could, I would help her, like any uncle would.

“I’m here for Darcia Nielsson,” I told the officer at the counter.

He informed me that until she had been in front of the judge and the bond had been settled, she couldn’t leave.

“She’s already been taken to the holding cell behind the courtroom, but you can speak to her lawyer.”

“She has a lawyer?” I asked and he gave a sharp nod.

“Yes, she asked to have a defense lawyer appointed for her.”

“All right, sure, I’ll talk to the lawyer then,” I said and was taken to meet a young man who looked like he was straight out of law school.

“Michael Young,” he said and shook my hand.

I tried not to smile at the irony of his looks and his last name. This was no laughing matter.

“I’m sorry, I have very little information, so anything you can tell me about Darcia would be nice,” he said.

“Ehhh…” I cleared my throat. “I’m her uncle, or rather step uncle, but I only just found out about her today.”

“Oh.” Michael wrinkled his forehead. “I spoke to her a few minutes ago and it sounds like she doesn’t have any family at all.”

“What about her mother?” I asked.

“She doesn’t have any contact with her mother.”

“As I said, I only heard about her today, but I’m here to help.”

Michael looked through a few papers. “That’s good; according to her this isn’t her first time being arrested. There was another incident three years ago when she was eighteen.”

“Oh, I was told she’s eighteen or nineteen.”

Michael let his finger slide to her info. “Her birthday is May fourth and she’s twenty-one.”

“May fourth. That’s today.”

Michael arched a brow. “Not the best way to celebrate a twenty-first birthday… but anyhow, she was arrested for civil disobedience at a demonstration in the Queen Ann district, three years ago, but luckily she got off with a warning.”

“Does it say what they were protesting against?” I asked.

Michael read the papers and nodded. “Yes, it was in relation to some budget costs that resulted in the closure of a homeless shelter.”

“Do you know why she was arrested today?”

“She’s been charged with theft in the third degree. Also called shoplifting.”

“Is she going to jail?”

“It’s too early to say… it really depends on the judge. It’s what we call a gross misdemeanor, and that can mean up to 364 days in jail and up to a five-thousand-dollar fine.

I whistled. “All right, so what do you want me to do?”

“The best you can do is let me do all the talking and be present in case the judge has questions for you.”

Thirty-five minutes later I sat in the courtroom, ready to watch my first arraignment.

The judge entered and asked everyone to take a seat and for Miss Darcia Nielsson to be brought in.

When my niece entered the room, wearing handcuffs and an orange prison uniform, she looked small compared to the two armed police officers behind her. Her head was bowed and her long raven-dark hair covered her face.

“Miss Nielsson, I’m going to have you stand up there next to your attorney,” Judge Kent said and pointed.

Darcia walked over and now had her back to me.

“Please state your name and address for the court record,” the judge said.

Darcia lifted her head up and spoke in a clear voice. “Darcia Nielsson, 5070 NE 124th Street, Kirkland.”

“Miss Nielsson, I want to advise you that you are charged with theft in the third degree. That is a gross demeanor punishable by prison for up to 364 days and a fine of up to five thousand dollars. Do you understand the nature of the charge?”

Darcia looked at Michael Young, who nodded.

“Yes,” she said.

“You have the right to be represented by an attorney    and in the event you can’t afford one, and you economically qualify, the court will appoint an attorney for you to act on your behalf.”

The judge kept on educating Darcia about her constitutional rights in a speedy, monotone manner before he said, “Mr. Young, how does Miss Nielsson plea?”

“She is pleading not guilty, Your Honor,” Michael said.

A date was set for the first court hearing and Judge Kent set bail at three hundred dollars.

“A last piece of advice, Miss Nielsson,” the judge said. “Since the alleged crime involved theft of drugs, no sentence will be imposed in the state of Washington until a
chemical dependency evaluation has been made.
I would strongly advise that you start and complete any needed treatment, as it can help you
avoid being placed on active probation by the court.”

It all went extremely fast, and then Darcia was taken out again.

I stood there a bit confused about my next move, until Michael signaled for me to meet him outside.

“She doesn’t have money to pay the bail. Do you?” he asked.

I nodded.

Michael turned out to be a really nice guy; he was twenty-nine like me and had an older brother in the military who had been in both Iraq and Afghanistan.

I don’t think it was really his job, but Michael stayed until Darcia was released and made our first meeting a bit less awkward.

“Darcia, this is your uncle, Gabriel Thomas.”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“Nobody calls me Darcia except when I’m in trouble,” she said. “People call me Black.”

“Hello, Black.” I offered her my hand and she hesitated for a few seconds before she shook it. “Nobody calls me Gabriel except my mom; feel free to call me G.”

“Nice uniform, G,” she said dryly.

I didn’t comment on that.

“Do any of you have any last questions for me?” Michael asked.

Darcia, who reminded me of a Goth chick I used to know in high school, put her hands in the pockets of her black military pants. “What did the judge mean when he talked about the chemical evaluation thingy?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, I should have mentioned it myself, but he’s absolutely right. Since you were caught with drugs in your backpack and charged with breaking into a pharmacy the judge is going to want a chemical dependency evaluation. No matter what category you will be placed in, it’s a good idea to do the counseling now.”