Madison's Life Lessons (Road to Hell series prequel): Road to Hell, #0

By Gracen Miller

Fate can mark one early for a particular future. And sometimes fate has nothing to do with one's potential.

Madison Wescott's life is Hell on earth. Her father, a Baptist Preacher, convinces her she's morally corrupt when men notice her. She strives to be unnoticeable, but nothing satisfies her condemning parent.

Temptation rears its head when Micah Dominus visits her father's church on Christmas morning. She is unprepared for her physical reaction to him. Frightened by her own emotions, she is grateful she'll never see him again, but when he shows up at a friend's funeral, she's swayed by his charisma. Micah becomes her white knight through the good and bad, but can they create the perfect life together? Or has she just located the beginning of the Road to Hell?

Supernatural forces more powerful than fate can claim one's destiny. Or is there power in each of us to resist the design of others?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bama Girl Press, LLC
• Release date: Aug 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393380450

Gracen Miller

Gracen is a hopeless daydreamer masquerading as a “normal” person in southern society. When not writing, she’s a full-time basketball/football/guitar mom for her two sons and a devoted wife to her real-life hero-husband. She’s addicted to writing, paranormal romance novels and movies, Alabama football and coffee...addictions are not necessarily in order of priority. She is convinced coffee is nectar from the gods and blending coffee and writing together generates the perfect creative merger. Many of her creative worlds are spawned from coffee highs.

Book preview

Life Lesson 1

Y ou’re morally damned , Madison Grace Wescott! Bruce Wescott screamed the outraged whisper into his daughter’s face. It shames me to recognize you as my daughter.

Madison shrunk further into the corner of the church bench, wishing she could shrink out of sight. Maybe if she were out of Daddy’s sight, she’d be out of his mind too, she thought as she blinked back stinging tears. A hurried peek around the church sanctuary confirmed no one else witnessed his condemnation.

Unsure what she’d done to receive his censure this time, she offered a weak, Yes, sir, I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll try to be better.

Not that an apology ever appeased him.

It’s not me you should apologize to, young lady, but the Lord. He sniffed and stood straight at five-six and stared down his nose at her. If you don’t repent and alter your ways, God’ll see you burn in Hell.

Yes, sir, I understand. She hoped she sounded meek enough to suit his temper or she’d find herself on her knees after church service praying for her soul. Depending upon his mood, she could pray for hours without a restroom break or a knee break. And boy, oh, boy, could her knees suffer brutal agony in that position.

When he deemed her sins unforgiveable, he punished her by forcing her to kneel on grains of rice. That penance hurt the worst.

It’d help if she knew what sins to repent so she could avoid the burn of Hell. A typical complaint centered on her appearance. Her hair was too blonde, her eyes too blue, her boobs too big and her figure too lush for her too-tall frame. At fifteen she was already three and a half inches taller than him. All these complaints apparently forced men to sin against God by lusting after her.

Like she had any control over her appearance. She dumbed down her outfits and didn’t wear makeup to enhance any features. She often kept her hair pulled back and off her face.

Not that she encouraged men’s desires. She barely looked anyone directly in the eyes in an effort to avoid sin. When others coveted her, it was a mark against her soul. Always her fault in Daddy’s eyes.

Brother Wescott, Becca Slayter said with her hand extended to her father. Cheap red lipstick smeared the outside lip-line of her saggy mouth. The over-abundance of lipstick did not give her the appearance of fuller lips, but instead gave the woman a clownish look.

That reminded Madison of another one of her father’s complaints—her lips were too full and sensual. Thanks to the reminder, she pinched them together.

Mrs. Slayter gave Daddy a smile. I wanted to extol how much your sermon last Sunday enriched my life this week. Why I was telling Cynthia Jones...

Madison stopped listening to the church-goer’s conversation because ‘Sister’ Becca’s high-pitched voice annoyed Madison. And the woman was old, like thirty or thirty-five, and Sister Becca loved to brag to the other Christian ladies about some new object her husband gifted to her.

In Madison’s opinion, bragging wasn’t Christian-like.

Madison peeked around the sanctuary and took special care not to openly snag the gaze of any man. Opening her worn leather-bound Holy Bible to the Gospel of Luke, she began to read and mentally pray God would forgive her for whatever sin she’d committed. If she were lucky, by the time Daddy finished his morning sermon he would forget all about her morally damned soul.

She licked moisture off her upper lip while her knees itched at the idea of spending the afternoon kneeling.

Life Lesson 2

Daddy didn’t forget .

She should’ve known he wouldn’t. He never forgot her sins.

Madison set the Holy Bible beside her on the backseat of the family car and snapped her belt buckle into place. Daddy and Momma slid into the front, but instead of starting the car, Daddy swiveled to face her. His right arm flattened along the bench seat of the Cadillac. With his eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth pinched in a white line of displeasure. Maybe in anger or disappointment. Either way, she would soon discover his emotions.

Inwardly cringing, she lowered her gaze and waited for his explosion.

Even after I singled out your despicable behavior, you failed to modify it.

Madison’s hands trembled as she laced her fingers together in her lap in an effort to hide her distress from him. Yeah, he’d pointed out the shame he felt toward her, but she had no idea what blame lay at her feet. I require guidance on which behavior to modify, Daddy.

Momma sighed dramatically in the passenger seat, flipped the sun visor down and popped open the mirror. Madison glanced up and caught her mother’s gaze in the mirror as Momma pretended to fix her appearance. Her mom ran the pad of her middle finger along the outer edge of her mouth as if correcting her lipstick. Perfect like always because Momma didn’t settle for less than a flawless appearance.

Are you guilty of so much you pretend not to know your sins? Daddy demanded.

His hand curled into a tight fist and she shifted her stare to him. Recognizing that tone, she knew now wasn’t the time to lower her eyes for fear whatever action he accused her of would indicate acknowledgement of guilt.

Bruce, women are inherently sultry creatures, Momma said in her silky voice, the one reserved for when she wanted something pricey and Daddy pretended they didn’t have the money.

Madison flashed a surprised peek at her because she’d used that voice and Momma rarely defended Madison. Momma’s reflection winked and executed a slow, assured smirk, as if they shared a provocative secret.

And then her brain snagged on the one word in the sentence that answered all her questions... sultry. Madison wasn’t sultry. She felt like a freak with her height and curves. No one at school had developed the same way she had, and it’d brought unwanted attention from the boys. That made her a pariah to the girls.

Madison wanted nothing more than to be average and unnoticeable. No matter how hard she tried to hide from the attention, five-foot-nine girls with big breasts remained noticeable.

Half the men in church were lusting after her, Celeste. I saw the way she licked her lips at Harold Beeker, how his eyes widened, his nostrils flared and— Daddy’s voice lowered to a scandalized whisper, —how he adjusted himself!

Adjusted himself? Gross! How could Daddy think she intentionally provoked Harold Beeker’s lust?

I didn’t— she attempted to argue, but Daddy’s withering glare terminated her dispute.

It’s embarrassing to have such pious men fornicating with her in their mind, Daddy whispered to Momma.

Sounded to her like his pious church goers were the ones who should spend the afternoon on their knees praying for forgiveness.

The Wescott dirty little secret, Daddy sneered. My daughter’s got the devil in her and my church members—women included—want a piece of her ass!

Madison gasped.

Daddy ignored her shock over his declaration. It’s a lot like trying to manage Sodom and Gomorrah.

Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to blink them away, but she caught Momma’s reflection.

Strange that she grinned as if pleased by Daddy’s rant. Her odd behavior was too much to focus on right now though because it horrified her that anyone thought she wanted to inspire lust.

Did everyone in the church believe that too? If they did, she wouldn’t be able to face any of the parishioners without being mortified.

Bruce... Momma’s placating tone was followed by her skimming her fingertips across Daddy’s jaw and into his hair. Daddy visibly shuddered as if Momma’s touch eviscerated him with exquisite pleasure. "You’re being melodramatic, and you sound ridiculous. Madison is a good girl. She is your daughter," she said, scrunching her features into a brief disgusted expression.

Did Momma think being a ‘good girl’ was a bad thing?

I don’t want to be b-bad. Madison’s voice hitched on her final word and she fought to hold back tears.

Daddy snorted and glared at her. Madison, your soul is so damned, I would suggest you pray without ceasing.

Momma rolled her eyes and snapped the sun-visor shut. "Bruce, enough."

Daddy huffed and jerked around to face the front of the car. Mark my words, her soul is damned, Celeste.

As he jabbed the key in the ignition, Momma turned to peer at Madison. "Madison, your soul is destined for eternity in the ultimate kingdom. Her mother reached out to squeeze one of Madison’s hands. Do you believe me?"

Madison nodded. Yes, Ma’am.

Not really, but Momma didn’t want to hear the truth any more than Daddy wanted to hear her arguments.

She wished someone would love her for who she was.

Life Lesson 3

"C an’t you just feel the presence of Christ! Daddy flung his arms toward the ceiling, fingers spread wide. His grin and brown eyes were wet with what others would call ‘the spirit’. Can I get an amen?"

Yanked from bed before dawn to attend Daddy’s special Celebrate Christ at Dawn Christmas sermon, Madison scanned the sanctuary as several vociferous amens circulated.

Hiding a yawn behind her hand, she executed an eye-roll because all this hoopla felt over dramatized. She felt the presence of nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. So, either these people were nutty, or Christ skipped her, which wouldn’t be surprising since she was a sinner damned to Hell.

One of the Brannon brothers winked at her and she did a double take. A slow, amused grin dragged Nolan’s lips into a roguish curl. When Marcus realized they held her attention, he joined his brother’s exploits and blew her an air kiss, coupled with a wink.

Unsure what to make of their attention, she knew only one thing. They were nothing but trouble. The kind of mischief she didn’t need. Twins, so double the trouble.

Single, with dark brown hair and gray eyes, good-looking, tall and broad shoulders. All the girls oohed and ahhed over them, but they weren’t her type. In their early twenties, they rarely attended church. And when they showed up, they flirted with all the ladies, married and single alike.

Madison snapped her gaze forward and she thought one of the brothers nudged the other one, making her the butt of their private joke.

She hoped Daddy hadn’t caught their interest. She didn’t wish to serve pittance on this one day a year that Daddy loved the most.

Antsy to vacate church, Madison shifted from foot-to-foot as they sung a gabillion songs, did a bunch of praying and thanking the Lord for His gift of Christ. Madison would thank him a lot more if he’d guarantee her a spot in Heaven instead of the hot seat Daddy was convinced she’d receive. Why they had to work so hard for forgiveness confused her. And she couldn’t make out why every thought and action was considered a sin.

If she asked for an explanation, Daddy scolded her for being a thinker and questioning God’s judgment.

I mean, sheesh, thinking a sin is as good as committing the sin. How unfair! Especially when she could think things she would never dream of actually doing.

If she went north or south depended upon this commanded, she was already doomed. Madison might as well embrace her fiery resting place with these rules. She just hadn’t worked up the nerve to be as bad as Daddy thought she was yet.

Maybe instead of carving R.I.P. on her tombstone, someone would be clever enough to carve R.I.F. for Resting In Fire. It’d be poetic in nature, right? Knowing Daddy would disapprove of her thoughts, a tiny mental smile flickered bright in her mind’s eye.

Finally, Daddy called for the closing hymn and invited church members to join him at the front in prayer. And wouldn’t you know it, more than three dozen members trickled down the aisle.

That will delay our departure.

The congregation sung Victory in Jesus until her eyes crossed and she sounded like a marathon sprinter at the victory line. The entire congregation grew breathless by the time Daddy called for a halt and wished everyone a safe and Merry Christmas.

In their house, Daddy insisted they say Christ-mas instead of Christmas. Otherwise, it took Christ out of the holiday.

If I don’t have Christ in my heart, why should I care who we celebrate?

As Daddy strode down the aisle, he motioned with his finger for her to join him. In her haste to scuttle off the bench after him, she dumped her purse onto the floor and the contents scattered. She sent up a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t that time of the month and no personal hygiene products were dispersed into plain view.

With a swipe of her forearms, she dragged all the pieces toward her. Not wanting to give Daddy any reason to be angry—if he wasn’t already because he never beckoned her