Sweet Destruction

By Paige Weaver

There’s a fine line between love and hate and they were about to cross it.

My name is Samantha Ross and this is my life.

I existed in a world that few know. Rundown trailers and crime-ridden streets were my home. Drugs and alcohol were the norm and happiness was the exception. I lived from day to day never knowing if I would have a roof over my head or food in my stomach. My life sucked. It took from me and gave nothing back.

But there was one certainty in my life. A black smudge on my window of hell. Cole Walker.

He was a criminal. A thief. He brought hell and damnation with him wherever he went. He hurt and destroyed. He took and gave nothing in return. He was heartache and despair wrapped up in a perfect gorgeous package. Fast cars and fast women were his hobbies. His vices. But he had many. I was one of them.

I was his addiction and his craving. His enemy on this earth. I feared him. I hated him. I loved him even more. He would either be my destruction or my salvation...

Maybe even both.

Full length, Standalone, New Adult Contemporary Romance novel.
Recommended for Age 18+

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paige Weaver
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780989269872

Book preview

Chapter One

-Walker-

We got a deal?

I eyed the little weasel, tired of his bullshit. His punk-ass purple hair was a joke and so was the damn tattoo crawling up his head, making him look like he had road rash.

I don’t race anymore, I said flatly, crossing my arms across my chest and peering down at him. I consult. A good stiff wind blew against me right then, ruffling my black hair and sweeping it across my forehead.

You consult? Ha! the little weasel said with a snort. Rumor is that you’re the one to beat. The mother of all street racers. You know your cars and you know how to drive them. If you go up against that asshole over there, you’ll easily double your money. Just toe the line, Walker. Toe the fucking line.

I glanced over at the opponent standing a few cars away. The guy was big, at least two-seventy. His shaved head and numerous lip rings gave him a badass appearance. Didn’t help that his nickname was Edge. From what I heard, the guy had a thin hold on his sanity. Hence the name. Edge of crazy.

I checked out his ride. A 1970 Chevelle SS. Nice car. Decent performance. A little on the slow side, in my opinion.

I turned my gaze back to the weasel in front of me. He was bouncing from foot to foot, his eyes the size of saucers. Most of the people out here were either on something or about to be on something. It was obvious this guy had already snorted or smoked whatever he got his hands on for the night. Add to that the summer heat and the man was sweating buckets, rivers of it. It ran down his face and soaked the collar of his shirt, turning the material darker.

I’m retired, Milo. Race your own damn car, I said, ending the conversation and walking away. Truth was I didn’t race anymore but that had never been my specialty anyway.

Grand theft auto was.

But his is a piece of shit, Walker! A goddamn trash can on wheels. I want some action on your car! the guy shouted at me.

I ignored the little runt and headed toward my best friend, Bentley Ross, or as everyone liked to call him – Bent. He was one of the fastest street racers around. A real daredevil. He was leaning against my car, a 1971 Plymouth Duster, talking to some chick in fishnet stockings and whorehouse stilettos. My gaze ran over her, liking what I saw. The girl was blonde and built like a Victoria’s Secret model. Low and behold, she had a friend, too. A brunette standing right next to her. My night just went from good to goddamn perfect.

Walker! I was just talking about you. You in or out? Bent asked as I walked up, pushing away from the car to face me.

I glanced at the brunette. If you’re talking about her, I said, nodding toward the girl, my eyes drifting down her body. I’m in. All the way.

She was wearing thigh-high boots and an itsy-bitsy skirt. Just what I liked to see on a girl.

Bent smirked, reading my mind. "I meant are you racing? I know that’s what Milo wanted."

I glanced around. Mustangs and muscle cars shared space with Hondas, Nissans, and Mitsubishis. This was my old stomping ground. The place where I once felt alive. The roaring of the engines. The screeching of tires. I loved those sounds. They used to be my life.

Now they were Bent’s.

Milo can talk all he wants. I’m not racing, I said. I didn’t street race anymore. Nor did I steal, chop, or go on joy rides with other people’s cars.

What I did was drink.

I took the beer that Bentley offered and popped the top. The aroma hit my senses, making my mouth water. It was my vice now. The one thing that dulled my senses and made me forget everything else. Alcohol. Tonight I needed it more than ever. It was damned hot, like a furnace cranked on high, and I was antsy, abnormally so. Only an ice-cold beer could calm me down and cool me off.

The brunette took a step closer, eyeing me up and down again with interest. So if you don’t want to race, what do you want to do? she asked in a seductive voice, the smell of her expensive perfume surrounding me.

I didn’t tell her that what I wanted to do was drag her to my car and bend her over. Flip that little dress up and show her just how fast I could make her cross that finish line.

Instead I took a step toward her. Time to lay on the bullshit. Tell her what all girls wanted to hear. Sweet-talking crap. It slipped as easily from my tongue as saying my own name. I played the game all the time. See who I could get, set my goal, and achieve it. Walk in with no emotion. Walk out with even less.

I snaked my hand around her waist, planning on telling her what I would much rather do than race a damn car, but Bent’s voice stopped me.

What the fuck is she doing here? he snapped, staring across the clearing at someone. His nostrils flared and his teeth were clenched. The man was a driver but damn if he didn’t have the attitude of a fighter instead.

I turned my head, searching the crowd. People milled between the cars and by the old industrial building. Talking. Laughing. Exchanging joints or passing booze back and forth. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of college kids breaking laws and bragging about cars.

But then my gaze landed on her.

Samantha Ross.

My enemy.

Chapter Two

-Samantha-

In my neck of the woods there were three things you did in the summer. You worked at a boring sucky job, went to parties, or hung out and watched illegal street races. At least that’s what the kids on the south side of town did.

And tonight was no different.

Six days a week, forty hours a week, I flipped burgers at Red’s Meet and Eat. Stupid name but the hamburgers were awesome. It wasn’t my dream job but it paid decent money. The real kicker was I got free food. Many nights I went home with hamburgers and fries, sometimes a chocolate shake too. Some people might take that for granted but not me. I went to bed most nights with a full stomach, something I didn’t do very often growing up. So despite having a less-than-stellar job, it was turning out to be a good summer. At least it started that way…

I had put in a full day at the Meet and Eat, getting off in enough time to go out. Tonight there was a gathering of party-goers at the old Western Plastics industrial plant. It was in a deserted area of the city, surrounded by empty roads. Perfect for drag racing and drifting, just a few of the illegal activities occurring around here.

Weeds had taken over the broken pavement surrounding the building and there was more graffiti on the metal walls than there were windows. But it was clear of cops and set far enough away from town that no one could hear the roar of the engines or the screeching of tires.

It was every street racer’s dream.

But I gotta say, it wasn’t mine.

I was here for something different. Something that would bust your eardrums and make you scream.

The music.

The abandoned plastics factory had been converted into a so-called club by the owner’s great grandson a year ago. It was crude and operated under the radar of government regulations or city ordinances. I figured they knew about it but turned their heads. Not many people wanted to mess with the locals on this side of town. We were a nasty bunch and it took a real ballbuster to deal with us.

I was here with my pseudo-boyfriend, Lukas, to hear Dark Paradox play. They were a local hardcore punk band, which wasn’t my favorite type of music but he loved them so I tagged along.

Lukas Ryan was a year older than me and played bass with his own alternative rock band. They made a name for themselves around here, booked most weekends. It didn’t hurt that the band members were all gorgeous. Girls seemed to have a thing for guys who knew how to rock and carry a tune. Not me. I hung out with Lukas because I had known him since high school. We had recently started dating but before that we were only friends.

I glanced back as Lukas and I wove our way through the sweaty, dancing crowd. He was following me, keeping close enough that if I needed to I could reach out and grab his hand. His dyed-black hair was long, covering most of his face and hiding the tattoos that ran up his neck. He had at least five earrings in one ear and wore nothing but black. Black shirt, snug black jeans, and black Converses. He was a social reject. A misfit. A black smudge on the face of society. At least that’s what the other kids in school had said. His dad was a doctor who sampled his own medicine too often and his mother was a stay-at-home mom who was more concerned about her nails and hair than Lukas. But at least he had both parents. I only had one and she was high or drunk most of the time.

At nineteen, I was also a misfit. I considered myself withdrawn and misunderstood. I had few friends and even fewer reasons to smile. I would rather get lost in an Edgar Allen Poe book than watch the latest reality TV show like other kids my age. I never attended sleepovers or sat around and giggled with girls from school. Steven King and Anne Rice were my best friends, telling me stories that made my own life seem innocent and sweet. I was afraid to get close to anyone because if I did, they would leave. Everyone always did.

I was different. Unlike the other kids, I knew what it was like to go hungry. To wonder if I would have a roof over my head the next day. To know I was only one second away from being homeless. If living like that made me weird, then I was weird.

Hot, humid summer air hit me as soon as I walked out of the club. My thin cotton dress stuck to my skin, soaking up my sweat. I pulled it away from my body, hoping for a breeze. Instead a gust of southerly wind lifted my long hair and swirled it around my face, blocking my vision. I grabbed a chunk of the black strands and tucked it behind my ear, my short red nails snagging a few pieces.

I hadn’t always had black hair. The day I turned eighteen, I decided I needed a change. A big one. So I dyed my blonde hair black. It was still long and thick with soft curls at the end, but now the tresses were the color of midnight, making my green eyes even brighter and livelier, even if that’s not how I felt.

I had one lip ring but no tattoos. It just wasn’t my thing. And, unlike Lukas, I didn’t wear all black. I preferred pink or white. The more feminine and retro, the better. And since I could only afford discarded clothes from the local thrift shop, it worked out perfectly. They were packed full of dated outfits that fit my style to a T.

With my inky-black hair and over-the-top girlie clothing, I was a contradiction in style, confusing those who didn’t know me. That’s why Lukas and I were perfect together. He had his own ghosts to deal with and I had mine. Everyone thought Lukas was the epic emo but I thought he was just deep. We spent hours sitting around and talking about life. He had this wicked outlook on living versus dying that I found interesting. Even the band he played in sang songs full of lyrics about emotionless human beings trying to love. I sometimes didn’t understand them but the music was crazy good and fun to dance to.

Guess that’s what I liked about Lukas – he didn’t conform to anyone’s expectations. Kind of like me. The difference between us was he knew what he wanted out of life. I was just hoping to get through the next day.

We crossed the weed-infested area of grass in front of the factory and headed for the strip of concrete straight ahead. At least twenty cars, maybe more, were parked along both sides. American muscles cars sat next to foreign imports. A real hodgepodge of powerful, fast machines. Whenever there was a party or a strip of empty road, you could find street racers gathered to show off their cars and race for title of fastest car around.

Tonight was no different.

I walked between a slick black Shelby GT500 and an electric blue Honda Civic, Lukas on my tail. Both cars were pimped out, sitting on high-dollar rims and tires. Tuned out to the max with the latest performance parts. I knew all this because my brother loved his cars.

Almost as much as he loved women.

That band was pretty sick, Lukas shouted over the sound of screaming engines around us. I mean that bass player really blew my mind. What did you think? Was that some messed-up shit or what?

Instead of answering him, I scanned the crowd, watching for my brother. Chances were he was here. If there were fast women and faster cars meeting somewhere in town, he could be found.

But I was hoping he wouldn’t see me.

I waited for an old Chevelle to coast past, its music turned up to ridiculous levels. The driver craned his neck to look at me but I ignored him. Taking long strides, I rushed between the cars, Lukas jogging to keep up with me. The wisps of hair along my hairline started to curl with perspiration and I could feel a trickle of sweat roll down between my breasts. It was sticky hot tonight and I wanted to be in Lukas’s car as soon as possible, the A/C blowing cool air on my face.

My gaze stayed glued to the cars parked out in the distance, away from the street racing action. Lukas’s Acura was among them. All I needed was to get past the group of racers and I would be home free.

Did you hear me, Sam? What did you think of the band? Lukas asked again, walking behind me.

As far as punk goes, they were good, I said over my shoulder. But I like your band better.

"We are frickin’ awesome, Lukas said with a laugh. Could have blown them away, if we wanted to."

Wow. Talk about humble, I said smiling.

You know it, Lukas chuckled, reaching out to entwine his fingers with mine.

I turned around, walking backward while holding his hand. What now? I’m not tired and it’s early. Let’s do something else, I said, hoping he would agree. I really didn’t want to go home. Home meant a rundown trailer and a drugged-out mom. I just wanted to escape, if only for one night.

Well…I can hang out at your place the rest of the night. Isn’t your mom gone? Lukas asked, raising one eyebrow.

I tapped down my nervousness. The thought of being alone with Lukas was not a bad thing. I had known him forever. We had been dating for a couple of weeks. He was nice and treated me with respect. Deep down I knew he would never hurt or use me but he was also a man, which meant he would want sex eventually. They all did. But I would never go through with it.

I didn’t want to be like my mother.

When I was little, my daddy left to work the oil rigs stationed in the Gulf of Mexico. The day he walked out, he left a note saying he was never coming back. I remember lying in bed that night and listening through the paper-thin walls of our trailer as my mother cried herself to sleep. For weeks she waited for my daddy to come home but he never did. Life was decent until he walked out. We had food and new clothes. We were a family. After he left, my mom struggled to make it from day to day. She started drinking and taking pills in order to cope. My sweet, caring mother was gone, just like my dad. The woman that replaced her was someone I didn’t know and wasn’t sure I liked.

She didn’t care if there was enough food to eat or a home to live in. By the time I was nine, all she cared about was sex, drugs, and drinking. Men and little pills were her hobby. Her children were not. At first she was looking for love, hoping to fill the void my daddy left, but after she got hooked on drugs and alcohol the sex turned into a business arrangement. The men used her and in return they supplied my mother with pills and booze. If they paid in cash, the money always went to her vices, never to food or bills. It was no secret; everybody knew she was the town slut. I had a feeling a quick lay and my mother’s name went hand-in-hand.

Sometimes I worried. Would I be like her in twenty years? Drinking myself to death and moving from man to man, hoping to find someone to love me? I shuddered to think it was a possibility, but when you came from the piss poor side of town, you couldn’t help but wonder if it would happen to you. I saw the downward spiral that most people took, ruining their lives. It was hard to break out of this life I had been born into, but I was going to fight it every step of the way.

Then there was my brother, Bentley. He was two years older than me and would kick anyone’s ass that even thought of trying to have sex with me. He took overprotective to an all new level. Bentley was a real hardass, scaring away most of the guys who came around me. Lukas was one of the ones that stuck around the longest, but it was only a matter of time before he too was forced to run.

I pushed the thought away and grinned at Lukas, still walking backwards. So are you asking to spend the night? I asked, peering at him from beneath my thick black mascara.

Yeah, something like that, he said, drawing me to a stop between two slammed trucks.

My smile disappeared as he pulled me toward him, his eyes dropping down to my chest. I stopped a few inches from him before he could pull me against him, close enough to see the details of the tattoo racing up his neck. He touched my cheek lightly, his gaze landing on each feature of my face.

You’re so damned beautiful, he whispered.

I might have blushed if I was that kind of girl. But I wasn’t. I didn’t blush. Nor did I swoon, grow breathless, get butterflies, or feel giddy over a boy. They weren’t worth it. I considered myself levelheaded, sensible, and without all the drama that most girls my age seemed consumed by. I knew what men were capable of and it wasn’t always so nice.

I watched as Lukas focused on my lips. I knew my red lipstick drove him crazy, just like the off-white shirtdress I wore. It hit me mid-thigh and showed off my legs perfectly. That’s why I wore it tonight. To feel normal. Accepted. A part of me wanted that while another part of me wrestled with the thought of being like my mother.

I’m not sure you should spend the night, I told Lukas, giving him a weak smile. What if my brother comes home? He’ll kill you.

Lukas’s grin faded away. Well, we can go back to your house and watch a movie. Just hang out for a while. See what happens.

I opened my mouth to remind him how much Bentley didn’t like him, but stopped. I was nineteen. If I wanted to take a boy home, who was going to stop me? Surely not my hell-raising brother and definitely not my alcohol and drug-induced mother.

Let’s go, I said before I changed my mind.

Lukas’s smile returned, wider this time. I fought the nervousness that threatened to bubble up. It was obvious he thought he was going to get some tonight.

But I knew it would never happen.

He followed behind me as we wove our way between cars and people. I noticed two vehicles were getting ready to race, both of them sitting at a crudely drawn starting line. Their engines were revving, smoke billowing from freshly burnt rubber. Men and women were standing nearby, talking loudly as they waited for the go signal.

I didn’t stop to watch. I had been to my share of illegal street races, thanks to Bentley dragging me along. I just wanted to leave before I ran into him or any of his friends.

Lukas let me go in front of him when we came to two closely parked cars. We emerged on the other side beneath one of the streetlights. Bugs swarmed high above us, their wings making little buzzing sounds as they flew around in the light.

I glanced up. From the time I was a little girl I liked to watch the bugs in the streetlights that lined our neighborhood. They reminded me of little humans, zipping around feverishly. I saw the light as something we all wanted, every single one of us. It was a need, a craving that made us swarm around eagerly, knocking into each other without care. To me that light represented love. If you got too close to it, you were a goner. It could destroy. It happened with those little bugs and I saw it happen with my mama. She was sucked into my daddy’s light, unable to resist him. For that she got zapped and still hadn’t recovered. The smart ones stayed away from the light, flying a safe distance from it. I planned to be one of those smart ones.

I was staying away from love.

I quickened my pace, wanting to leave behind the street racing crowd. But then I heard it – a deep voice, calling my name. Apprehension raced up and down my spine. I scanned the area, my eyes moving swiftly. Then I spotted them. My back stiffened and I swore my claws came out.

My brother was leaning on his best friend’s car, staring at Lukas and me intently. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his arms were folded over his chest, making him appear at ease. I knew it was just a façade; my brother was never relaxed, especially when he saw me with a guy.

But I wasn’t worried so much about my brother. I was worried about who was next to him.

Cole Walker.

The one person who could zap me like that streetlight. Destroying me.

~~~~

Cole Walker came along about the time I had given up on my dad ever returning home. It was about the same time I gave up on just about everything, including having a normal life.

The first time I met Walker was when he and his father moved down the street from us. Their trailer was brand new, a pristine white color that reflected the sunlight brightly. The steps leading to their front door were not crumbling or rotting like ours. They were a nice solid wood that looked like they wouldn’t give under the slightest weight. Their tiny home still had an attached screen door. Ours just had one that hung on the doorframe by two rusty nails and some bailing wire. But their yard looked like everyone else’s in the neighborhood – just dirt and weeds and not much else. No plants or shrubs could be found. But if there were any, the blazing sun and heat would’ve killed them anyway.

The day I met Walker, I couldn’t take my eyes off his trailer as Bentley and I walked past it early one morning on our way to school. We were late again but I wasn’t worried. I was more concerned about our new neighbors. Who are they? Where did they come from? Do they have kids? I was nosey back then, to say the least.

I couldn’t help but imagine a woman walking out the front door, waving goodbye to her daughter, a loving smile on her face. Or a dad throwing the ball for his son, slapping him on the back with pride when he caught it. What I never imagined was a boy barreling through the screen door, violent and angry.

He flew down the porch steps like a bat out of hell. The front door slammed behind him but I don’t think he cared. With furious strides he hurried, looking like the devil was on his tail.

A second later the door popped back open, smacking the outside of the metal trailer. A big man appeared in the doorway, wearing only a white tank top and dirty loose jeans. He stepped out onto the tiny, wooden porch, his eyes narrowing on the boy running down the driveway.

You better git, Cole Walker, or your ass is gonna be on fire! the man bellowed, shaking his fist at the boy.

My eyes widened when the boy turned and flipped the man off, his middle finger raised in anger. Then he did it again with his other hand.

Bent, did you see that? I whispered in awe as the boy started walking down the street with hurried, long strides.

Hush, Sam. Mind your own business, Bentley scolded.

I did what my brother said because to me Bentley was a god. He was strong and brave, not afraid of anything. I looked up to him because he seemed to have all the answers. But ten minutes later my curiosity got to me again. Who is the boy and why is he so mad? Is that his daddy? Is he mean like my mama is sometimes?

I wanted to ask Bentley what he thought but it was probably best I didn’t. He was pissy that morning. Mama forgot to pay the water bill again so we had to brush our teeth with a half-empty can of orange soda Bentley found in the trashcan. I didn’t mind, but Bentley was mad. He got that way a lot with Mama.

So I guess it was good that Bentley and I kept our distance from the new kid as we walked to school. My brother was in no mood to make new friends. But even if he was, I knew he wouldn’t attempt to talk to the kid. Bentley took his job as my older brother very seriously. At twelve years old, he was the parent I never had. He made sure I had something to eat at night, even if it was just a bowl of cereal. He helped me with my homework as best as he could and took care of me when I was sick. He was my mama and daddy all rolled into one. He had to be in order for us to survive.

See, we lived in the ghettos. Unlike other places around town, a person had to know how to survive here. Crime was high and happiness was low. Murder, gangs, and drug dealing were the norm. Kids playing ball with their dad or blowing kisses to their mom were as foreign to me as having money in our pockets. It just never happened and never would.

I stayed quiet and continued to watch the new kid for another block as we walked far behind him. In fact, I was so busy watching him that I didn’t notice the car driving slowly behind me. It wasn’t until the driver rolled down his window and tooted the car’s horn that I noticed.

Hey, sugar, the man said.

I glanced over and held back a groan. It was my mama’s current boyfriend – Pam Man. That’s what Bentley and I nicknamed him. His hair was so greasy, he looked like he sprayed Pam cooking spray in it. I know it wasn’t nice of us to call him that, but the guy was creepy.

I inched closer to Bentley and waved at Pam Man hesitantly. I didn’t trust him. Sometimes I would catch him staring at me, a weird look on his face. I told my mama once but she had gotten mad and accused me of trying to come between her and Pam Man. She even said I was flirting with him. I denied it but she didn’t believe me, giving me a slap instead.

After that argument, I didn’t try to tell her again how much Pam Man scared me. But Bentley knew. He refused to leave me alone when Mick Rodriquez (Pam Man’s real name) was at our house, even going so far as to sleep on the floor in my bedroom when Mick spent the night with Mama.

You need a ride to school, sugar? I’m headin’ that way, he called out to me, driving at a slow pace next to us. Even his voice sounded greasy.

I shook my head and inched closer to Bentley, seeking safety. At ten years old, I didn’t talk a lot. I didn’t have much to say. I was a sad child, full of so much grief from my daddy leaving. I blamed myself most days. Sometimes I even wished I was invisible so people wouldn’t see how sad I was. But so far that hadn’t happened.

You hear me, sugar? Pam Man asked again, glancing at me then the road.

I grew scared and inched closer to Bentley, hiding my face.

We’ll catch the bus, Bentley said, grabbing the strap of my backpack and pulling me along at a faster pace.

Pam Man’s beady eyes stared at Bentley from the driver’s seat as he coasted beside us. I ain’t talking to you, boy, he snarled, meanness in his eyes. Keep quiet.

Yes, sir, Bentley retorted, saluting Pam Man sarcastically.

Pam Man frowned, but when he glanced back at me, a slick smile lit up his face.

You need a ride, Sam? he asked again, his lips lifted in a grin.

I hated the way he said my name and I really hated the way he looked at me. When he spent the night with mama, I heard him grunt and groan in her bedroom, sounding like a pig eating its dinner. Sometimes she would cry out in pain. Those nights I put a pillow over my head, begging God to take me away or take Pam Man away from my mama, but it never happened.

We were almost to the bus stop when Pam Man insisted I get in the car with him again. By that time my heart was racing too fast, just like it did when I was nervous. It was almost like I knew something bad was gonna happen.

And I wasn’t wrong.

Pam Man slowed the car to a stop beside the curb and threw it into park. He climbed out as we continued walking, his large frame unfolding from behind the wheel.

I stumbled, afraid, as I watched him amble around the front bumper of his car toward us. Bentley grabbed my wrist and tried to make me move faster, but I was too frightened to make my feet work properly.

We had only taken a few steps when suddenly Pam Man stepped right in front of us. He smelled like coffee and cheap cologne, two smells I hated.

Bending down, his long beak-like nose came within inches of mine. Did you hear me, young lady? Get in my car and I’ll take you to school. I’m practically your daddy now and that’s what daddies do for their daughters.

I curved my slender shoulders forward, hunching my back and making myself appear smaller. My long blonde hair fell forward, covering my face and hiding me. I was shutting down. Withdrawing. Something I did quite often.

Bentley took over. He pushed me behind him and straightened, facing Pam Man like a grown man would. She ain’t going nowhere with you, mister. You ain’t our father so stop trying to act like one, he said. He was being mighty brave considering who he was talking to.

I peeked around Bentley’s arm, afraid of how Pam Man would react. He hit my mama once. I had seen it with my own two eyes. I didn’t want him doing that to Bentley or me.

His thick, wet tongue licked across his lips, reminding me of a lizard. Gazing down at my second-hand dress, he grinned again.

I shook and hid behind Bentley but there was no escaping Pam Man. The man had power around here and he liked to throw it around. His thick hand shot out, grabbing Bentley’s upper arm.

Now you listen here, you little shit, he said, jerking Bentley forward and backward like a rag doll. I might be bangin’ your mama but you got no right to talk to me that way, you hear? Your little sister there is gonna git in my car and you ain’t gonna stop her. Back off or I’ll whoop your ass from here to next Sunday.

I ain’t gonna back off! Bentley exclaimed as Pam Man tossed him to the side like a piece of trash. The momentum sent Bentley falling backward. With the heavy backpack on his shoulder, he lost his balance and fell, landing in the soft grass of someone’s yard. I cried out and started to go to him but Pam Man grabbed my upper arm, yanking me back.

Come on, girl. I’ll take good care of you, he said in a nasally voice, tugging me toward his blue and white sedan. His fingers bit into my arm, squeezing until I thought the bone would break.

I reached for Bentley and cried out, dropping my Hello Kitty backpack on the sidewalk. Pam Man ignored my cries, dragging me off the curb and over to the back door of his car. I tried to fight him, to pull back, but he was stronger.

I dug in my heels but it was no use. He yanked me forward, making me lose my balance and fall. I landed on the sidewalk, scraping my knees and hurting the palms of my hands. My cries grew louder. My knees were burning and my arm felt like it was breaking from his grip.

But I wasn’t giving up yet.

I let out another loud scream. I was making quite a bit of noise, but I was afraid it wouldn’t matter. In my neighborhood not many people would get involved in a scuffle involving someone like Pam Man. People tended to mind their own business around here. And they didn’t want anything to do with someone like him.

A dirty cop.

Even ten years old, I knew that getting in a car with this man was not safe despite the badge on his shirt. So I let out another scream. And another. I just didn’t stop screaming.

Pam Man yanked open the rear door of his sedan and tried to push me inside, but I kicked out with my feet. When that didn’t work, I grabbed the edge of the car door, getting a firm grip and holding on for dear life. I knew if I let go, he would stuff me into the car and I would never see Bentley again.

With tears racing down my face, I twisted around, struggling to see my brother. He was climbing to his feet, fists at his side, his eyes on Pam Man. I cried out for him just as Pam Man pried my fingers from the door.

I started fighting him, beating him with my small fist as he tried to stuff me inside the car. But it was no use. He was too strong for me.

I screamed one last time. That’s when a movement caught my attention.

The new kid had turned around and he was running toward us. He was tall, almost as tall as Pam Man. At least a head taller than Bentley. And he looked angry. So angry that he scared me. I watched him run toward us, something out of hell heading my way.

Once I saw a drawing of the devil. One of the blue-haired ladies at Saint Mary’s Church and Mission had showed me the

Reviews for Sweet Destruction

[Crystal Franke-Carlisle · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Really hard to take the female lead character seriously when the author says she's a fan of both "Steven King" and "Edgar Allen Poe". If you don't know what you're writing about, don't. You can't make the reader believe in a character's intelligent when the author makes these kinds of mistakes.