Revenge of Rivals (Book 2 Eternal Feud Series)

By Lauren Salem

After Johnny Cockit survives being electrocuted to death on Chair Trials, he discovers that he has inherited divine, supernatural abilities that are only active on the Sonoran Desert utopia of Walnut Cherryville. It becomes clear that descendants of the Cockit and Quinton families can live forever, but not together. If one of them finds a sacred dagger, it can be used to eradicate the competition, allowing for a bloody end to the feud. Despite Johnny's efforts to resolve the feud peacefully, an underground group known as the Resistance plans to overthrow the Quinton government, pulling Collins and Vincent further into a new side of the feud. Meanwhile pregnant newlywed Laura struggles with being a Quinton and is forced to take on a new job hosting Chair Trials. Laura and Vincent reignite their affair, which escalates into a deadly disaster that may permanently alter the two-sided balance of the feud.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren Salem
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310599675

Lauren Salem

Lauren Salem currently lives in Pennsylvania with her boyfriend, Brian, and her cat, Oswald George. She works for a user-experience consultancy as a research associate, compiling data and organizing spreadsheets about digital design trends. Reunion at Walnut Cherryville, a third-prize winner in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards, is her first published novel. In her spare time, she enjoys swimming, cooking, baking, and playing games.

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Revenge of Rivals

Lauren Salem

Copyright © 2015 Lauren Salem

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 1517513790

ISBN-13: 978-1517513795

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My novels are written for me, but I’ll gladly share them with you. I am grateful for the tremendous amount of patience that you, the readers, have shown in waiting over two years for me to finish the Eternal Feud sequel to Reunion at Walnut Cherryville. Rest assured, the wait is finally over. I appreciate your support and always enjoy hearing your feedback.

I would like to thank my sister, Julia Salem, for being my first editor and trusted advisor. With every book I create, she revises the most difficult drafts and somehow manages to show me ways to write for myself while keeping my readers in mind.

I would also like to thank my world-traveling Aussie cousin, Zack Doherty, who has helped me with Spanish translations. He is an aspiring writer who has lived in South and Central America.

Lastly, I’d like to thank Brian Lehman, my boyfriend, for teaching me how to alter code in my website. As a writer, it’s great to live with a software developer who is willing to accept my affection as payment. I’m enthusiastic about what the future holds for us.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Collins

Chapter 2: Vincent

Chapter 3: Johnny

Chapter 4: Laura

Chapter 5: Collins

Chapter 6: Johnny

Chapter 7: Vincent

Chapter 8: Laura

Chapter 9: Collins

Chapter 10: Johnny

Chapter 11: Laura

Chapter 12: Vincent

Chapter 13: Collins

Chapter 14: Johnny

Chapter 15: Vincent

Chapter 16: Laura

Chapter 17: Collins

Chapter 18: Vincent

Chapter 19: Johnny

Chapter 20: Laura

Chapter 21: Collins

Chapter 22: Johnny

Chapter 1: Collins

Collins Greene was a high school senior determined to become a professional basketball player in the NBA. In spite of his witty jokes and handsome physique clothed by his orange janitor’s uniform—a sign of diligence and hard work—he was a failure.

Those who knew Collins Greene may have thought that Jordan Bryant, a freshman at Arizona State University, showed an uncanny resemblance to Collins, but rest assured, they’re not the same person. I should know. I was Collins Greene. And I am Jordan Bryant. Jordan Bryant lived in Tempe, Arizona, and studied biochemistry. He grew up in a small town, graduated from a normal high school, and was the point guard for the Sun Devil men’s basketball team. Collins had died tragically in a car accident after attending a graduation party where underage drinking was involved. I read about it in the newspaper; what a sad story.

* * *

I stood on the sunny lawn by campus housing, one of about a hundred hopeful freshman boys waiting for the Alpha Dogz pledge initiation to begin.

Jordan Bryant will be everything that Collins Greene never was, I thought. Alpha Dogz was the coolest and most recognized men’s athletic fraternity in the school; every year they only allowed ten students to join. It would be an honor to be recruited as a freshman.

As a group of chiseled, shirtless men approached us, the chatter halted, and I heard faint awes of admiration.

Attention, maggots, said a man with wavy blond hair. Welcome to the first part of the Alpha Dogz initiation. I’m Donnie Summers, a senior Alpha Dog, and I will be administering your first test this afternoon, so I hope you all came prepared. After receiving thousands of applications, photos, and videos, we’ve narrowed it down to the top one hundred freshman athletes standing before us.

Everyone applauded.

So what does it mean to be an Alpha Dog? Donnie continued. Does anyone know?

The initiates raised their hands, shouting and jumping with excitement.

You, the maggot in the basketball jersey—what’s your name?

Jordan Bryant, I answered.

What does pledging Alpha Dogz mean to you?

It means I’m the best of the best.

Exactly, Donnie said. To be an Alpha Dog, your BAILS must always rank in the top 10 percent of your class. Who here knows what the acronym BAILS stands for?

Beauty, athleticism, intelligence, leadership, and socialization, another freshman blurted out.

Correct. Who said that? Donnie asked.

Joey Travito, came the reply from the back of the crowd.

Why does that name sound so familiar? I thought. Oh, wait. That’s because he’s my roommate. I had met Joey two weeks ago. Why hadn’t he told me that he wanted to pledge Alpha Dogz? After I moved into the dorm, I had little opportunity to talk to my new bunk buddy, since we had such different class schedules. I remembered that he was studying anthropology and that he had made the wrestling team. He was a fairly hairy Italian fellow who smelled like a sandwich joint. Maybe that was why I had a strange dream about pepperoni the other night.

Every semester, your BAILS will be evaluated, and if you fall below the top 10 percent of your class, you will be eliminated from Alpha Dogz, Donnie continued. No matter how difficult, tough, challenging, or stressful your life gets during these next few months, you must not let yourself go. Keep up your grades, stick with the commitments you made, and, for God’s sake, don’t forget to manscape.

Everyone chuckled.

We’re all busy guys, but this doesn’t give any of you the excuse to walk around campus like a tubby hobo with an unruly beard and bedhead. Many pledgees don’t take beauty and hygiene seriously, and that’s going to pull down your BAILS score. The challenge I give you today will be the first of five, and only eighty of you will continue to compete in the next test. Your first challenge, the beauty test, will evaluate your attractiveness among women. Take off all your clothes except your boxers.

The freshmen gasped and whispered among each other nervously.

Come on, guys. Don’t be shy, another senior shouted out. Take it off.

I initiated the strip party by taking off my jersey and tossing it into the DMV zone—the empty space between the freshmen and upperclassmen. Everyone turned to watch me as I dropped a beat by Nelly: ‘It’s getting hot in here. So take off all your clothes.’ I danced as I sang and got undressed. My black T-shirt was the next thing to go. ‘I am getting so hot. I wanna take my clothes off.’

Good leadership, Jordan, Donnie announced, hinting to the other freshmen to start stripping.

The others followed my lead and even joined in singing the song. When the basketball shorts reached my feet, I kicked them off, and they became airborne before an upperclassman caught them.

I thought I saw my chemistry professor walk by our group, so I squinted and used my hand as a visor to block the sun.

Hey, Dr. Jones, I shouted, stepping out of the crowd waving. It’s a warm, beautiful day, isn’t it?

She shot me a smirk and nodded as she quickly walked along the sidewalk.

By the end of this semester, I’m going to be her favorite student, I thought. She’ll never see it coming.

The upperclassmen were bent over laughing at my gesture. Can you believe that guy? someone said.

* * *

Surrendering my clothes to the Alpha Dogz reminded me of the time when Johnny, Vincent, Laura, and I were captured and imprisoned by Walnut Cherryville secret watchers. Kenneth, the maniac son of the governor of Walnut Cherryville, had made us strip in front of each other, and I had stood in nothing but my boxer briefs until he gave us uniforms. The only difference between then and now was that instead of stripping in a jail cell, now I was stripping on a college campus. I was so glad those days were behind me. Nothing in the world could possibly convince me to go back to Walnut Cherryville.

After four long months of being on my own, I could now look back at my Walnut Cherryville days as an insightful experience. Overall, it had boosted my confidence and taught me that I had to fake it until I made it. Everything in life was an act in a play, and I was an actor trying to entertain the people around me. Collins on the reality TV show, Chair Trials, which punishes Walnut Cherryville lawbreakers. He was a repeat offender who was never voted to die, because the community loved his sense of humor. Collins stealing a truck driver’s identity, and now Jordan Bryant—I faked it until I made it, and I even put on an encore performance, thanks to perception filters. Without perception filters, I wouldn’t have been able to start my new life and avoid the Walnut Cherryville secret watchers. Since I had changed my identity, I didn’t feel the need to wear a perception filter in school, but I always wore it in the hood. It disguised me as just another gangsta while I was out on the streets.

Shortly after I ran away from the car crash that possibly killed Amy Chang, I found work in downtown Phoenix. Over the summer, I assisted some slingers with the weighing and packaging of their products to make some quick cash. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but at the time, I didn’t know what else to do.

The opportunity fell into my hands in the form of a half-full Starbucks iced coffee that a woman intended on throwing away. I had been having a bad day, stressed over the fact that I had lost my perception filter and couldn’t find it anywhere, even after retracing my steps. I had another one, but it was back at Amy’s apartment, at least ten blocks away, and I was hungry, hot, and tired. Even a rat was looking like lunch to me at that point.

When the woman saw me chug her abandoned drink, she approached me and offered me a job. I couldn’t believe it; I was grateful for her scraps but, more importantly, for her work. I asked no questions of her, and she asked none of me. I weighed and packaged bath-salts in potpourri bags, shampoo bottles, and tubes of cream for sixteen hours a day. I worked with two thugs, Biggie Jesus and Duty Calls. Da Boss, as we called her, sold bath products as her cover business. I was cheap labor, and she gave free meals. My thug name was Grizzle, which was used to protect my identity.

In June, I lived in Amy’s apartment, but by July, I was kicked out for not paying rent. The apartment cost one thousand dollars a month, and that amount of money felt like too much to throw away on rent. Instead, my coworker Biggie Jesus let me stay at his place and bunk on his couch for two hundred dollars a month. It was a win-win situation. He got extra income, and I saved a lot of money. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping situation. Since I was too tall to lie across it, I slept scrunched up in a ball every night. At first, it was difficult to fall asleep, but eventually, I got used to the feel of the springy couch and the sound of gunfire in the distance and hoodlums driving recklessly by.

Every morning except Sunday, I’d wake up around midday to the smell of weed and bacon. Biggie Jesus smoked weed with breakfast instead of drinking coffee like Da Boss. He didn’t smoke on Sundays because that was God’s day, but he did take me to church. He loved pork and had the belly to prove it. To keep fit for basketball, I was constantly doing push-ups, sit-ups, and crunches to counteract a diet rich in fat.

One day, I was helping Biggie Jesus clean up the living room, and I found a shoe box full of old photos underneath the coffee table. That was when I learned about his little brother, who had died in a shooting when they both were in high school. If his brother was still alive, he would have been voted most likely to succeed by his peers and teachers. It sounded like he had been a smart kid, and Biggie Jesus missed him a lot. When I told him that I was trying to save my paychecks for college, it brought tears to his eyes because I reminded him of his little brother.

Biggie Jesus thought he wasn’t smart enough for college. I didn’t think that was true. If you wanted it bad enough, studied hard, and didn’t act like a fool, anyone could make it into college. Look at Collins Greene. He had come from a correctional school, and he would have made it into college if he was still alive. May he rest in peace.

Besides hooking me up with a place to live, Biggie Jesus also introduced me to Swift Thrift, the man I purchased my new identity from. He sold me Jordan Bryant’s fake driver’s license, social security number, birth certificate, high school transcripts, and so forth. By the beginning of August, Jordan Bryant was born, and I applied to Arizona State University. When I was accepted into ASU, I received financial aid, but it wasn’t enough to pay off my tuition. Da Boss was nice enough to give me a loan—after I got down on my hands and knees, begged for the money, and promised to pay her back. She cringed at first and said no about a thousand times, but I eventually wore her down enough to reach an agreement.

The arrangement was simple: I would continue to work for her at least thirty-two hours a week until I paid off my debt. In addition, she influenced my choice of major, since I was her investment. She wouldn’t loan me the money to waste it on studying something fluffy like English or history. She required me to study something that was useful. But what degree would lead me to a useful profession in this downward-spiraling economy?

After doing some research online, I knew biochemistry was the answer. It was a degree that wasn’t limiting. I could work for a pharmaceutical company, work in a chemistry lab, do drug testing, or possibly be some sort of doctor. The medical industry seemed like a safe bet since drugs were always in demand. Everyone was happy with my decision. Biggie Jesus and Duty Calls even helped me create Jordan Bryant’s application and video for Alpha Dogz during our downtime. I didn’t actually expect to be selected as a top contender, since we more or less made the video as a practical joke. It would be cool to be part of Alpha Dogz, but I probably didn’t really have time for it with school, work, and basketball practice.

* * *

Listen up, maggots, Donnie said, bringing me back to the present. You have one hour to get as many ladies’ phone numbers as possible. We will provide you with pens; you must get her first and last name, along with her phone number, written somewhere on your body. Remember, only the eighty of you who collect the most phone numbers will advance. Good luck, and meet back here in an hour for the results.

I walked away from the mountain of clothes, grabbed a pen from Donnie’s pen box, and went inside the nearest campus-housing building to begin. I started with the lounge. It was empty except for a bangin’ cheerleader with ebony-colored skin who was sitting by herself reading a premed book. I loved how school spirit came in short skirts.

Damn, that girl is fine, I thought. A smoother beat by Ginuwine dropped in my mind: I’m just a bachelor. I’m looking for a partner.

When I approached her table, she didn’t notice me, so I pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. She lowered her book, glanced at me, and then ignored me and continued reading.

Hi, I said, trying to start a conversation. I’m Jordan.

I don’t care, she said quickly. I’m busy. She went to write something down in her notebook, but suddenly her pen ran out of ink.

Here, take mine, I said, handing her the pen.

She looked up and laughed. You’re walking around almost completely naked, but you happen to have a pen. Why?

So I can get your number.

Why do you think I’d give you my number?

Do you like what you see?

You are ridiculous.

Not as ridiculous as it would be to get your digits.

You’re not the first guy today that’s asked for my number. That’s why I came in here: to sit alone and study without being bothered by Alpha Dog wannabees.

I promise I’ll call. I wouldn’t ask for your number if I didn’t intend on calling you. What’s your name?

Mmm-hmm, she sassed. "Right. The key word in that sentence is intend."

Really. I’m serious.

Look. I know what you’re doing, so don’t waste my time. If all you want is to add my number to the collection of numbers on your body, move on. You’re not getting mine.

Does it look like I have any other girl’s number on my body? I said as I stood up and turned slowly. Yeah, I caught her looking, but she was actin’ like she wasn’t.

She buried her head in her book and pretended to look busy.

To be honest, the only reason I didn’t have any other digits was because she was the first girl I asked, but she didn’t need to know that.

That’s not all I want… I said, hovering over the table and peeking at her paper, Eva Williams.

Startled, she jumped up and quickly flipped her notebook over so that I couldn’t read it anymore.

That’s a beautiful name. Where you from? I asked.

OK, she said, followed by a frustrated laugh. Let’s say I give you my number just so you go away. What would you do with it?

I leaned on the table by her premed book. I felt that she was starting to warm up to me and give me more of her attention. Actually, I prefer your e-mail address because I don’t own a cell phone, but I will ask you out to lunch.

You’re admitting to me that the only reason you approached me was to get my number for Alpha Dogz?

No, that’s not true. Maybe the Alpha Dogz challenge was the reason I approached you, but it’s not the reason I continue to stick around. I want to get to know you. If you give me your e-mail address, I’ll ditch this whole Alpha Dogz challenge.

That was the boldest move I had ever made to impress a girl. I could see that I made her smile, but she was trying to hide it.

Why would you do that? she asked.

Maybe getting to know you would be a better opportunity than pledging Alpha Dogz. I don’t know, but I’m willing to take that risk.

As we peered at each other, she let her smile grow without holding back. I agree. I’m way better than Alpha Dogz, she commented, before we laughed together. She clicked open the pen that I gave her, grabbed my hand, and tugged me closer. The pen tickled my skin as she wrote her e-mail on my forearm. Out of all the fraternities, why did you choose Alpha Dogz?

I just thought it would be fun to be part of a group where there’s a close network of brothers all interested in the same thing. I’m new to this school, new to the basketball team—

You’re a freshman? she interrupted.

Is that a problem?

Wow, she laughed, slightly embarrassed. You’re good. I can’t believe I just let a freshman smooth talk me into giving him my e-mail. You’re younger than you look.

Thank you?

It’s OK. Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t trying to insult you or anything. I’m a junior, by the way. What did you say your name was again?

Jordan Bryant, I said, extending my hand to her.

Hi, she said, shaking my hand.

Eva and I talked until she had to go to class. Not once did she call me a jerk or slap me across the face. This was a first for me. I had never had a real conversation with a woman that I was attracted to before. Come to think about it, no woman had ever taken me seriously when I asked her out. Eva and I planned to meet in the cafeteria for lunch the next day.

I hope she decides to come, I thought, for real.

Chapter 2: Vincent

Every day, about 50 percent of suspicious-activity cases went unreported. I called these special-interest cases, since I watched all of the events unfold before reporting them to Alejandro, and many times, I deliberately neglected reporting them.

After I fixed the zombie computers and hacked into the government security feeds, the resistance assigned Veronica and me with the task of being the lookouts for suspicious activity. I was told to report everything I saw—rapes, murders, theft, confrontations, trespassers, and the like—even if I didn’t know why it was happening or what it meant. It wasn’t my job to interpret the videos that streamed through the feeds, but how could I not? Deciding whether to report suspicious activity was a challenge, as was keeping Veronica occupied so that I maintained control over the incoming information. The less she knew, the better. I had someone in the government to protect, and letting Veronica report everything she saw to Alejandro could put Laura in danger. If something sparked my interest, I’d make up an excuse to get Veronica out of the room. I’d often send her to get me food or supplies that I needed for computer upgrades and maintenance. She knew nothing about fixing computers, so it wasn’t difficult to fool her.

For the past few weeks, I had been working on a side project that I hadn’t told anyone about. When the time was right, I’d install it on ComCon.

I missed Laura so much. Watching her on screen through the corner of my eye as I worked was just teasing me. Lucky for me, she spent most of her time on the Quintons’ private floor, where there were no security cameras, so I didn’t spot her on the feeds too often. That was all right, because I was far too busy for distractions. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Laura as Vincent for four months, so I believed she still thought I was dead.

When there wasn’t much suspicious activity occurring on the feeds, I let Veronica watch them while I visited Laura. I would pop into the Quintons’ private quarters every now and then, but always as the housekeeper, the semester, or the loyal servant. With the perception filter on, Laura didn’t realize who I was. I never told Veronica what I was doing when I left the basement. I didn’t know if I could trust her.

As the official neighborhood watchman, I knew the layout of the basement like the back of my hand. And I knew the inhabitants too. Real basement dwellers possessed certain physical and behavioral qualities that the surface people did not. Basement dwellers were pale skinned; their eyes were sensitive to light, and they were always very dirty. Since many of them had been living in the basement for months, even years, they had developed excellent night vision. They concealed themselves in the shadows and could quickly find hiding spaces when trouble lurked. The physicality of a basement dweller was most often thin, strong, and limber, unlike government guards, who had bulky muscles. One of the most interesting things I learned about them was the fact that they never wore shoes. I didn’t understand the reason behind this. I still had my shoes.

The basement dwellers lived in the parts of the basement that had been abandoned by the government because they were structurally unsafe. The entrances to those areas were blocked off with plastic, yellow caution tape. Basement dwellers would never pass the caution tape and wander into government territory during the day, unless they needed to do something urgent. It increased their risk of being seen by the government guards; plus, the hallway lights hurt their eyes if they didn’t wear sunglasses. If they did cross the line, they usually did it at night when the lights were turned off.

As far as I could tell, the government used the basements for the storage of goods and materials, which the resistance often raided in groups. All of the