Hard Luck: Blackout Series

By KA Ware

Ellis James is my kryptonite, has been since the very first time I tugged on her braids and she slammed her tiny fist into my face.

We came together like magnets and life was perfect...until it wasn't. Like always, I screwed it all up and I've been living with the weight of my failure ever since.

She's the only person who could drag me back to Vegas after I promised myself I was done with that life. I pushed her away because she deserved better, but one frantic voicemail was all it took to get me on my bike and crossing state lines.

I'd bleed for her, I'd die for her, but can I save her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: KA Ware
• Release date: Apr 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386251804

Book preview

One

Nixon

I resist the urge to flip off the infamous Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada sign as I come ripping down Las Vegas Boulevard. There’s nothing fabulous about the real Vegas, it’s a city dependent on drunk tourists, where the crooks and conmen get rich while the citizens either slave away in menial service jobs or turn to crime to survive. I tried to stay away, but like a bad rash, I’m back.

Riding my bike down the strip wasn’t necessary, it didn’t get me to where I was going any faster, but it felt crucial. That fucking sign was the last thing I’d seen in my mirrors as I was hauled off to jail at nineteen, it was only right it’d be the first thing I’d see of my hometown when I returned.

After spending six years locked up in High Desert State Prison, I didn’t want to face what I’d left behind in Vegas so I made my way to California and busted my ass to get on my own two feet again. In hindsight, I was thankful my parole requests had been repeatedly denied and I was required to serve my entire sentence, at least with my full sentence served, I wasn’t subject to parole. I’d managed to keep myself out of trouble on the west coast, but I wasn’t so sure I’d have been able to say the same if I was forced to stay in Vegas. My home state hadn’t done anything but throw the book at me after seeing my juvenile criminal history, and frankly, I couldn’t blame them for it. On paper, I was a lost cause.

Son of a single mother straddling the poverty line, in and out of juvie since I was fifteen with a long list of behavioral issues—my rap sheet read like a how-to guide for career criminals. The story the list of charges and convictions didn’t tell was one of a kid just trying to survive in a world of impossible obstacles. But I wasn’t that kid anymore, I was coming home a man, hardened by the system and prepared to do whatever was necessary to make sure the people I loved were safe.

A giant knot had formed in my stomach while listening to Sawyer’s voicemail this morning and it hadn’t let up during the last eleven hours on the road. The room was spinning and my body ached from a night of heavy drinking and self-pity when I checked my messages, but my little brother’s frantic plea for help was more than enough to sober me. As soon as I heard him say her name, I was on my feet and stuffing clothes in a bag.

If anyone could drag me back to this shithole, it was Ellis James. She was my kryptonite. Had been since we were ten.

---

I noticed her when I got on the bus, there was no way not to. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.

Hey new girl, I said, reaching over the back of the seat and tugging on one of her shiny black braids, willing her to look at me.

She slapped my hand away, but didn’t turn around.

Sawyer snickered next to me. Oh burn!

Shut up, I said, punching him hard in the thigh.

Ow! I’m gonna tell mom!

Whatever, cry baby, I said, turning my attention back to the girl. Her dark hair was parted down the middle, the two sides braided close to her head. I wanted her to talk to me, but I wasn’t exactly sure why.

Reaching over the seat once again, I tugged on the other braid. Hey, I’m Nixon, what’s your name? I asked.

Leave me alone, she said, swatting at my hand again.

She still hadn’t turned around, but at least she was talking. Her voice was pretty, soft and sweet even when she was being rude.

I just wanna talk, I said, getting on my knees so I could lean over her seat.

She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to look at me even though I was hanging halfway over her seat. C’mon. Tell me your name, I pressed, getting in her space.

I was waiting for her to stop ignoring me when the bus jerked to a stop and I almost fell into her lap.

Nix, it’s our stop, Sawyer hissed, stepping into the aisle.

Falling back into my seat, I searched for my backpack that had been at my feet before our sudden stop. Peering underneath the seats, I saw the red canvas bag two rows ahead and just out of reach. Popping back up, I was going to ask the girl if she could reach it, but she was gone.

Nix, c’mon! Sawyer called.

Looking up, I saw my brother was almost to the front of the bus, the girl with the braids just ahead of him. Darting out into the aisle, I stopped to snatch up my backpack from the floor before hustling to catch up with them.

Hey! I yelled, leaping onto the cracked sidewalk in front of our apartment complex. Sawyer waited for me, but the girl kept walking as if she hadn’t heard me.

I ran after her, intent on at least finding out her name. I didn’t know you lived in our complex, I huffed, reaching out and grabbing a handful of her pink backpack.

Without warning, she spun around and punched me right in the face. The hit surprised me and I lost my balance, unfortunately for the girl, I still had a hold on her backpack. We both crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, scraping knees and elbows as we connected with the concrete.

Groaning, I pushed up into a sitting position, rubbing at the soreness in my jaw. Ow, what was that for? I asked, shooting a glare at the girl.

Glassy brown eyes stared up at me for a beat before she scrambled backward. You scared me, she whispered, her body frozen.

She reminded me of Mrs. Glenn’s cat Binky when Sawyer cornered her—like she was going to make a run for it at any second.

Didn’t mean to scare you, I mumbled, getting to my feet.

She followed suit, taking two steps backward like she didn’t trust me not to hit her back. I wouldn’t do that though, I knew better. You don’t hit girls, ever.

You shouldn’t grab people like that, it’s not nice, she said, taking another step away.

My gaze drifted to Sawyer who was watching us with wide eyes. Sighing, I brushed the gravel from my palms and offered the girl a small smile. Sorry.

Nodding once, she turned on her heel and quickly walked in the opposite direction from our building.

Can’t believe you let a girl beat you up! Sawyer snickered before she’d even gotten out of earshot.

Shut up, butthead! I said, punching him in the arm.

Ow! You’re a butthead, he complained.

It’s Ellis, a voice said above Sawyer’s whining. My head snapped up and I had to shield my eyes from the afternoon sun to see the girl had stopped by one of the carports.

What? I called back, confused.

My name. It’s Ellis, she yelled before immediately turning and running away again, her pink backpack bouncing with every step.

---

That’s all it took. A punch in the face when I was ten and Ellis James had owned me ever since. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen her in almost eight years, her hold on me was the same either way.

Reminiscing about the past had me so preoccupied, I barely noticed when the landscape started to change—manicured lawns and housing developments giving way to cluttered front lawns and crumbling apartment complexes. My old stomping grounds left much to be desired. The crime rate nearly tripled in the five-mile stretch of Savannah Heights compared to the rest of the city. It was a wonder any of us made it out alive.

I slowed, searching for the address Sawyer had given me. Half the house numbers were missing, but thanks to years of filth and grime, I could still make out the outline of where most of them had been under the dim street lights. Finding the right one, I pulled into the driveway of a tan house. A rusted-out Volkswagen bug on blocks decorated the front lawn, plastic sheeting covered the windows, and the stucco on the exterior of the home was cracked and deteriorating. All in all, it was a dump.

Cutting my engine, I walked to the front