Stolen

By J.P. London

What Happens When the Only Way to Do What’s Right is Do Everything That’s Wrong?
Stolen is a pulse pounding cross between True Romance and Natural Born Killers.
Everything in Max’s life has gone wrong. After a series of tragedies, Max has a shattered family, a mountain of debt, and a sister who will never be whole again.

Seeing no way out, Max tries to rob a liquor store only to have the entire heist go completely wrong. But, that’s where Max meets her.

Jenny is everything Max could want in a lover, except Max isn’t looking for love. He’s just trying to survive and take care of his sister. That and Max just kidnapped Jenny at gunpoint.

The mysterious and beautiful Jenny isn’t afraid of Max. She seems to see something in him. But as the law begins to close in on them, will their love be enough to save them, or will their feelings doom them?

This New Adult Contemporary Romance takes you on a wild ride through greed, lust, desperation, and love. Down to the last page it’s never clear which emotion will win out.

Find out what happens to Max and Jenny. What does fate have in store for these confused and desperate lovers?

Get Your Copy Now and Find Out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.P. London
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310562280

Book preview

Prologue

Fear is the trouble only of the gazelle, I think to myself as the door of Rick’s Liquors swings open. This store has a familiar setup. The cash register sits high up on its altar, directly in front of the door facing the aisles of booze. It’s set up this way so the clerk can peer down from his post and see if anyone’s going to steal from him.

I don’t necessarily scream thief. But then again, a wolf in sheep’s clothing still bares teeth.

It’s a small store. The aisles are only twenty feet long or so, each adorned with two racks that create a small space between the four aisles. I walk along the front to the far aisle and then take it all the way back to the refrigerated walls. I want to see who’s in the store. Aside from a clerk who won’t take his eyes off me, there’s only one other occupant.

She’s a cute blonde with curly hair that drapes down past her shoulders. A large hat is perched on top of her head and sunglasses hang from her low-cut shirt. She has light, narrow features.

The girl glances up at me as I walk past her. Her blue eyes attempt to meet my gaze, but the only thing they’re able to catch is their own reflection. She quickly darts her eyes away from me, avoiding my gaze. I can tell she is trying not to look at me.

I walk along the far corner and pass by the glass doors. Beer, orange juice, sodas. Ah, here we are—the Holy Grail. Energy drinks.

I open the glass door and grab the red can—the can of energy.

I open the can with a Sppshhh. I take a long sip as I walk through the wine section. Another slow sip of the energy takes me past the cardboard Absolut Vodka display. The blonde beauty is there again, on my left side. I can see her, but she can’t see me. My eyes are covered by dark reflective aviator sunglasses.

I can see the clerk staring at me. He must really think I’m going to steal something. I should be offended by his profiling views, but then again, he has no idea how right he is. Approaching the counter, I set the red metal can down.

The clerk looks to be a tall man, but he’s stationed high on his pedestal so who really knows? His skin is tanned and he has a dark beard, which extends down from a full head of brown hair. He wears a blue and white checkered button down short-sleeve shirt.

That all? the clerk asks with an air of suspicion. For a moment, I wonder if he’s actually being weird or if it’s just my guilty conscience.

His eyes aren’t breaking away from mine. Something is wrong. He’s staring way too hard. Seconds tick and fall off the clock with the subtlety of a hand grenade.

Yes, I reply with a nod. Then I reach down as though I’m going for my wallet, but instead, my grip fastens against the chrome handle of Strength.

I pull the gun from my belt and raise it, aiming it at the clerk’s face. He doesn’t ever appear to break eye contact with me. The engraved letters on the chrome barrel stare back at me.

On second thought, I would like something else. Give me the cash.

He freezes, but he doesn’t look scared. In this kind of situation, your best defense is a good offense. If he’s shitting his pants, you’re pretty much good to go. Usually, they step back and throw their hands up, begging for mercy, but… he’s not.

In fact, he hasn’t moved an inch since I got to the counter. He’s just staring at me dead-eyed. My first thought is of a deer in headlights, but that’s wrong. He’s a jaguar on the hunt.

Did I fucking stutter?! I shout. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I hear a loud slam. The door to the back office closes and, for a split second, I glance at it. That split second is too long. The dastardly clerk won’t show me his hands because he has a hammer in one of them.

He takes a wild swing and lands the striking side of the hammer perfectly on my fingers. In a gut reaction, I let go and drop the gun on the counter. My hand retracts back close to my chest as the clerk reaches out to grab the weapon.

He has it, but his grip isn’t secure. He’s too far away for me to wrestle him for it. I race for the front door, but realize it’s too far.

I hear the first shot as it echoes through the store. The sound reverberates back and forth in my head. It’s much louder than I imagined it would be. I can feel the impact on my arm, and the force almost knocks me down. And at that point, everything goes numb; all senses, all thought. We have now entered survival mode.

Please keep your seatbelts on and your tray tables in the upright and lock position. We are going to be experiencing some turbulence.

I dive behind the aisle. I can see my blood splattered on the black and white checkered floor tiles. I reach my hand over to my right shoulder, touching the wound. My senses return, especially pain. I can feel the bullet hole in my sweater and the hole in my arm.

I look up. I can see the door, but can I make it?

Bang! Bang! The gun screams again as I watch the bags of potato chips around me explode and glass liquor bottles break. The dull sound of my ear drums dying overtakes everything.

The ringing in my ears is deafening, but not loud enough to block out the sound of my heart beating. I can hear it pounding and pulsing through my entire body. With each beat of my heart, my arm hurts more. This is not good.

I start to move, trying to stay low. The fiend has blocked my escape through the front door. Scaling the black and white tiled floors, I move desperately, aiming for the back of the store. Maybe that door I heard close isn’t locked. Maybe it leads to an exit.

My feet begin to move quickly.

Bang! Bang! I hear again. Two more shots fired, this time further away. I can hear the bullets getting expelled from the gun and the empty shells being tossed to the floor.

Think you can rob me?! he calls out.

I make it to the back door and grip the handle.

Shit, it’s locked. My thoughts overwhelm me.

I can hear his footsteps getting closer as the clerk moves with haste and purpose. He’s about to round the corner and achieve a direct line of sight.

I move as quickly as I can. I hide behind the wall of the aisle. With my back to him, the only thing between us now is a thin aluminum wall and bottles of pinot noir.

Another shot is fired from the gun. This one almost hits my foot. I continue to shuffle. I’m now on the back wall of the store, pinned in the corner, away from the back door or any windows. Giving up my escape, I sink into the corner.

I’m cornered off, out of places to go. The only hope I have is that this crazy son of a bitch doesn’t shoot me.

His footsteps come closer. I raise my hands in the air, the universal sign for, Don’t shoot.

The clerk steps out from behind the coverage of the aisle, his weapon drawn. He looks down at me. My eyes are now exposed, no longer hidden behind my dark reflective lenses. My heart is raising and my breath is struggling to keep up with it. I can see in his eyes that he wants to kill me. This is personal for him.

No more room to run, no place to hide, he taunts me. What’s going to protect you now? His words hang in the air.

My eyes fix on him as he raises the gun. The glimmering chrome is now focused. The business end of this beautifully detailed death machine is now aimed at my face.

I can’t move. I’m frozen.

Then a metal on metal clicking sound breaks the silence. My view expands from the chrome barrel of doom pointing down at me to the bearded man standing behind it, outward to the chrome barrel behind his head and a flash of blonde hair. Then a soft, demanding voice spoke.

A Queen always protects her King.

Chapter 1

A few months earlier…

Given enough time, everyone graduates. I don’t mean from school necessarily. Well, that, too, but it’s also with everything else in life. Eventually, if you’re given enough time, you’ll move on, forge forward. No one wants to be in the same place forever. That’s why I don’t buy the Christian notion of Heaven. Anything that’s forever will eventually become miserable and boring, no matter how good it is.

Think of the best time of your life.

For me, it was college. It was four—well, okay, four and a half—years where I did what I wanted, when I wanted. I lived the way I wanted and all I had to do was make sure I got my drunken ass to class enough times to pass. That was it. Everything else was mine. What I ate, what I did, when I went out, when I got home. Everything. Everything was exactly how I wanted it. I would drink all night, wake up to go to class in my pajamas, and then go back to bed afterward. I wouldn’t even bother showering until seven or eight o’clock at night. What was the point in doing it earlier? I would just be going back to bed, anyway.

But I’m past that now.

Even college, the constant party, the constant influx of girls, booze, and drugs, had to come to an end. And it was time. I sometimes feel like I maybe should have partied a little harder. But then I look at all the people who I left behind—all the broken people who whose lives crashed on coke binders and DUIs while mine continued on this path.

Fuck going harder. I’m just glad I made it out alive.

As I stand on the grass of the PNC Art Center, I wonder how many famous people stood here before me. Not from my school, of course. I mean aside from a football player or two, who in the fuck went to my school? No, I mean for the concert hall, for the graduation ceremony. The presence of legends graces this place. They once stood where I’m standing. And now, I am here.

What really defines someone as a legend? What makes our tale worth telling? Is it the champagne glass at the summit of the mountain or is it the struggle of the climb?

Here I stand at the summit of my own climb. It took four and a half years of work and—I won’t lie—a fair amount of play to get here, but here I am. Finally, at the peak, to receive my diploma and head off to the real world, where legends are made.

I glance down at my phone. My sent text still reads, Text me when you get here, to my sister, Kelly. It says it has been delivered. Why hasn’t she responded yet?

The dean and his name calling begin to get closer to mine.

Maybe she forgot? Maybe they’re out there right now, taking pictures? They’ve waited for this as much as I have. With remorseful anticipation, I force a smile upon my face. Focus on what’s at hand here. The climb is over; we are the summit. Step up and take your glass of champagne.

*

Forty minutes later, I’m frantically checking my phone again. The ceremony is over at this point, and the parking lot has turned into an after-party of sorts. The parking lot of this place has been the site of more celebrations than the arena, I’m sure. Between the tailgating of concerts, graduations, and other random shows, not to mention the aftermath of them, this place has seen its fair share of blood and vomit.

This, however, is very tame, all things considered. Everyone has their families here. The party is in the past and the bright unsteady steps of the future lay beyond us. It’s an uncertain future. Will the propaganda live up to the reality? Or will we fall the forgotten children of a misguided ideology?

I wish my parents were here. Why aren’t they here? I call Kelly and then my mom and dad.

No one answers. I don’t get it. I hope they’re alright.

Hey, Max, a voice calls out.

Hey, Alex. What’s up? I respond.

Where are the folks?

MIA, my man. M I A.

Yeah, mine just left.

Already? Aren’t you supposed to like go spend the day with them or something? I ask, the weight of my family’s absence heavy on my shoulders.

Nah, fuck that. I have to move back in with them, anyway. I figure I might as well enjoy my last few days at my house. Wanna come grab a beer? he offers.

I take one last look at my phone and then one last look around. It doesn’t appear as though they’re coming.

Sure, what the hell, right? It’s not like anyone is going to be missing me, anyway, I think to myself. They can’t even be bothered to show up for my fucking graduation.

My family always seems to find a way to get under my skin. Over the years, they’ve developed quite a talent for it. But I’m still pretty surprised they didn’t come today, especially my sister.

Kelly’s always been there for me. It was me and her against the world growing up. She’s a few years younger than me, and even though she’s already seventeen, she’s still always going to be my baby sister.

Where the fuck is she?

Chapter 2

By the time we all get back to Alex’s house, I’ve given up on trying to reach anyone from my clan. They obviously aren’t answering me, and I don’t want to talk to them at this point, anyway.

Cheers, me amigo, Alex says as he slides the beer across the counter to me. I pop the tap and the cool Sppshhh sound of the air escaping the can puts me at ease. I love this sound. It’s my own short soundtrack to my college life.

Cheers, I reply and raise the can up in the air in a salute to my co-conspirator, then take a long deep swig. My mouth fills with beer and then I swallow it. Rinse and repeat as necessary.

So, what now? Alex asks me.

Fucked if I know, dude. I shake my head. Now, I guess I enjoy the summer and then start looking for a job.

Any idea what you’re gonna look for? he inquires.

I don’t know. What do you do with a business degree? I counter.

I don’t know. Business? Alex jokes.

We both laugh. I know, right. What about you?

My uncle got me a job doing sales for this promotional company.

That’s cool, man. That sounds like a legit job. What’s your title, good sir? I elevate my voice in a mock fancy tone.

New business engineer, he jokes. We both take another sip of beer. The cans clink against the fake granite countertop. Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll be outside all the time going to different businesses, meeting people, shaking hands, you know. He moves his hands in and out to a wheeling and dealing gesture.

That’s cool. At least you’re not trapped in a cubicle, I reason with him.

Yeah, no box for me, brotha. Alex pauses. You want me to see if there are any job openings? He begins twirling his blue and silver beer can.

Nah, not yet. I want this summer to play out first. But I might take you up on that in a bit.

I glance around. The massive four bedroom, three and a half bathroom house that Alex and five other guys call home is quiet…dead quiet. It’s a first. This house has its own pulse and it typically follows that of an EDM baseline. This oddly large colonial house has a full unfinished basement with a Bilco door that leads outside, which makes it clutch for parties. People can go in and out without ever having to go upstairs.

The kitchen, which, aside from housing the fridge and normally overflowing garbage can, has little merit in a college house such as this. This makes the encounter seem even weirder, as we happen to be standing in the kitchen. It feels unnatural. It feels abandoned. Today, I like the kitchen. I can relate.

This place is fucking dead. I chuckle. I’ve never seen this house so quiet.

Yeah, well, you know. There are only a few days left on the lease. And besides, the guys were all here for school, so now that school’s over, what’s the point?

Everyone racing home?

Yep. He lifts the can to his lips. I join him in a sip.

Anxiously awaiting their life sentence of employment, I say sarcastically.

That’s a way to put it, he replied.

I nod in agreement. It’s true, though, man. Everyone’s racing to start something that there’s no real finish to. I feel like we’re all programmed with the ‘what’s next’ clause.

Alex raises his eyebrows. The ‘what’s next’ clause?

"You know, first was grade school. You don’t really have a choice about grade school; you’re just there. You go because you have to. I mean you’re like five or six when you start. You don’t have any choice at all. Then there’s high school. You don’t really have to go there, but you don’t really have much of a choice, either. I mean you can drop out, but you’re still a kid so you pretty much have to do what your parents say."

Alex nods.

Then comes college, because after high school, you need to go college. Either that or you get a job right away. And who the fuck wants to do that?

Alex nods in agreement.

"And that’s really the first choice we ever even get to partially make in terms of our future.