The 5Th Crimson Rose

By Rachel Simion

Seventeen-year-old Shannon Baker is the only one left to care for her feisty but ailing grandmother, Gladys. Medicare covers only so much, and Shannons job at Knotts Berry Farm barely helps. Even with the support of her best friend, Jessie, and the attention of her new lab partner, Sean, the situation looks grim.

Then she meets Derek Knight. Hes more domineering than Sean, but he seems to be concerned about her well-being, while Sean has pulled away. Hesitant at first, Shannon finally warms to the idea of Derek. He promises to pay her bills and take care of her and Gladys if shell swear loyalty to him. Its a welcome change until Derek becomes too possessive, and Shannons suspicions about Derek and his fathers hotel heighten, while Shannon is haunted by a poem her mother wrote before she died.

Now trapped in an elite gang, Shannon finds herself in the middle of a drug deal gone very wrong. She wants out. A mysterious, tuxedoed man might be the answer to her problems, but the price may be too high.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480826083

Rachel Simion

Rachel Simion lives with her family in Phoenix, Arizona. In her spare time, she is a volunteer chaplain, and she enjoys weekend road trips, creating new recipes in the kitchen, and spending time with her girls.

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Copyright © 2016 Rachel Simion.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-2606-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2607-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2608-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016901822

Archway Publishing rev. date: 02/22/2016

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Acknowledgments

About the Author

To all those who think they're beyond God's grace and to the lineage of women I'm apart of who embrace it---my late grandmother, mom, and daughters. To God be the glory.

Chapter One

E go te baptizo in nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . Shannon had bolted from St. Basil's baptismal service yesterday, but the priest's benediction echoed in her mind. She argued with herself to make it cease and desist, but it wouldn't let go. A wave of heat brushed over her entire body and seared her conscience like a hot iron.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The coast was clear behind her, but the I-5 traffic ahead bore the signs of the Monday, three-o'clock rush hour. She reluctantly eased her foot off the gas pedal.

She blasted the radio to drown out the priest's benediction, but the tuner wouldn't budge from a preacher's talk show.

God's always knocking on your door, giving you the opportunity to invite Him in. But make no mistake about it: He will not bulldoze your door like some religious hypocrites do, trying to convert you. That's not His way. He's a gentleman, and He loves you. You may not answer today, tomorrow, maybe ever, but He'll keep trying right down to your last breath. My question for you today, Anaheim, is simply this: You know your Creator is knocking so He can have a real relationship with you, so why aren't you answering? What are you running from?

Ha! Shannon said. Right now? I'm running from an entirely real, fully loaded cliché...sex, drugs, and about five bullets.

The preacher continued. God knocks to intervene in your struggles because He's gracious. This is Pastor Greg Anderson with Anaheim's Throne of Grace. I'm standing by to take your call. I'll leave you with this: First Corinthians 10:13, which says, 'No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.'

Oh, somehow I doubt that, preacher! There's no escaping what I've just done, not even the past year. But I do want out. I want out so bad, but they'd kill me first.

Turning off the radio, Shannon redirected her comments to the stirring air in hushed tones.

I know I'm bad, and probably disgusting in Your eyes, but I'm begging You, though I don't deserve it, please help me. I want out.

Shannon floored her grandmother's large, silver Crown Victoria to ninety miles per hour, dodging in and out of lanes. She had to get to her grandmother and move her to a safe place until everything simmered down.

Her thoughts raced faster than her driving. What am I going to tell her? This will finish her for sure---the only person left in this Godforsaken world who cares about me. Where am I going to take her?

Rush-hour traffic came to a screeching halt, bumper to bumper, leaving Shannon stuck in the middle lane. Stress took over every nerve and muscle in her body as she stole another glance in the rearview mirror. Blue-and-red lights flashed a half-mile back. About a quarter mile ahead, the culprit of the standstill lay flipped over on its side---a black car.

Her heart nearly heaved out of her chest. She right signaled to a disgruntled BMW driver so she could exit the interstate, but he inched forward. Behind, the lights were nearing and the siren was screaming its impending arrival. Shannon inhaled deeply and tried to slow her breathing as the images of the previous half hour's grave misfortune reeled in her mind.

RedRose.tif

S hannon stood in a back alley between industrial and commercial buildings, mostly abandoned. A black case filled with money was handed to her, but the pimp abruptly withdrew the case.

Wait a minute. Candy, come here, doll. He snapped his fingers at a tall, slinky, alabaster woman propped up on six-inch heels.

Candy flipped her long, red wig out of her face, exposing exaggerated rouge lipstick that illuminated sickly, blue undertones in her complexion. She submissively hastened over and leaned her head down to the thin line of white powder laid out on the black hood of Julio's Jaguar. She inhaled deeply through her nose, then straightened. She attempted to resume her sultry posture, but Candy's face lost all color. Her thin nose bled profusely, and her lengthy limbs twitched involuntarily, sending her eyes to roll back in her head. She fell backward and hit the street with a thud, her head landing on the curb. Candy lay in a pool of blood, which leaked out around her red wig as her body convulsed. Within seconds, her extremities relaxed and her form stilled.

Julio's Latin accent thickened as he stared down and shouted, Oh, hell no! She was what kept da customers eating out of my hand. You just made a beeg mistake. I'm going to rip you to pieces!

Shannon froze and stared into the pimp's narrowing, dark eyes, her blue eyes wider than ever.

"Or maybe there's other ways for you to reimburse me and keep it coming, a pretty gringa like you---blonde, blue eyes, like Barbie. Si, blondie?"

Julio grabbed her neck and slammed her lean frame against the back wall of the adult video store and spread her legs apart with his knee. Shannon frantically searched under her large, red T-shirt for the chrome piece she kept holstered there, suddenly remembering it had gone missing the previous night.

Enh, enh, enh. Looking for dis? Julio held up Shannon's shiny, custom .500 Magnum and waived it tauntingly in front of her face. "Mmm. Smells good, no? Like betrayal. What do you say now, blondie---want to be my new peach? After everybody's had a bite of you, you'll wish you died today. But first, I need to sample my fruit. Make sure it tastes sweet, si?"

Julio tightened his grip around her neck and cocked his head to one side, leaning in for an invasive kiss as his large, gold crucifix danced in blasphemy about his thick, gold chain. Shannon's adrenaline pumped hard and her pulse quickened. In an act of desperate self-defense, she stroked his arm that was around her neck and reached to grab her gun out of his other hand. She almost had it. He released her neck and slammed her back into the wall, her head absorbing instantaneous pain. He held the gun to her face and pulled back on the trigger. A shot fired, but not from Julio's gun. As if hit, he fell backward, but he didn't seem to be bleeding. He scrambled on all fours for his car, leaving Shannon paralyzed with shock.

He drove off, shouting, Dees ain't over, Crimson Rose! I will hunt you down and finish you!

Realizing someone else was in the alley and armed, Shannon slid down the wall and picked up her gun, which thankfully Julio had dropped. She examined it to see how many bullets were inside---still all five. She had loaded it late last night in front of her boyfriend, Derek, the Crim's wealthy gang leader, and Derek's right-hand man, Sean. Spinning the chamber back into place, she ran her fingertips along the barrel and found a small, rough spot that had not been there before. She flipped it over and read the new inscription that had been added to her piece: The 5th Crimson Rose.

The fifth? Did Derek put that on here, and why did Julio have my gun? Shannon wondered.

Heavy footsteps fast approached and then abruptly stopped in front of her. She shook with horror, afraid to look up.

The shoes were of freshly polished, black leather. His pants were perfectly creased. She slowly followed his long extremities up to his shiny, silver belt buckle. She couldn't bear to raise her head any farther. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, wondering if it would be her last.

He kneeled on one knee and looked deep into her eyes with his glowing, blue ones. They were so bright, she had to turn away. Unblemished complexion, prominent cheekbones, his nose protruded like a tower of strength. A gust of wind blew past them, and she turned toward him momentarily to catch a glimpse of his wavy, brown hair blowing in the breeze, his eyes still resting upon her. She turned away again.

He cupped her chin gently in his strong hand and set her gaze directly into his. Her body immediately stilled, yet her senses were heightened. He didn't look the part of a hardened criminal, though she could feel a large, rough scar pressing up against her chin. She bit her lip, puzzled by his attire. He wore a black bow tie and a dazzling, white tuxedo shirt with pearl buttons. She wondered who this freak in the back alley of an adult video store was. He looked as if he had taken a detour on the way to his own wedding.

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out in her face. It smelled like a fresh breeze after an early spring rain. Peculiar, Shannon thought.

She mustered up the bravest voice she could. What do you want?

What do you want, Shannon?

How do you know my name?

I've been here the whole time.

Oh. Was that you, then, who fired the shot?

More importantly, what are you going to do about this? He turned toward Candyce's body.

I don't know. I never meant for that to happen. All I was supposed to do was make the exchange. I never touch the drugs. I just make the drop and get the money.

But you play a hand in it. Doesn't that make you a dealer?

Yes. . .Yes, I suppose it does, she said, her voice growing smaller.

So, you dealt a very unfair hand, he stated calmly.

I did and I'm so sorry for it, more than you know.

I believe you, but I don't think you know what to do. You know what's right, but not what to do.

Who are you? Are you going to turn me in?

I don't need to. Her blood will speak on her behalf.

Shannon gulped hard, bile rising in her throat. Her stomach was a bundle of nerves, and finally, an upheaval of vomit reached her esophagus and spewed out of her mouth as she jerked her face out of his hand. He held her ponytail for her until she was finished and then pulled a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her mouth. She couldn't help but notice the pleasant aroma of lavender filling her nasal passages.

Get up, he commanded.

She stood, swaying back and forth.

I'm going to help you.

What? she asked, incredulous.

Go back to your friends and warn them.

What do you mean? Warn them of what?

Betrayal, Shannon. I've been through something like this myself. Death is in the air. You said yourself that you only deal the drugs, but what about the others? You indicated that there are other people involved. So why would they have you deal something that's been tainted?

I. . .I don't know.

This Julio---he threatened you. He plans to deliver. He's all about the money. You know what they say?

Shannon looked at him, waiting for the answer.

Follow the money. Your friends are in trouble.

If I go back to my leader with no fifty grand and tell him Julio's favorite girl is dead, I'm afraid I'll be next.

Well, my dear, a very tricky hand has been dealt this day. You need to call the bluff, but I don't recommend doing so without first finding your ace in the hole.

What are you talking about?

Come on. You trying to tell me you've never played poker?

Oh, well, yeah. We play all the time, but the dealer always cheats. Shannon stopped, cocked her head to one side, and thought out loud, The dealer always cheats.

The elegant stranger stepped back and threw his black tuxedo coat over his shoulder. The dealer. And who's always the dealer.

It's---

No, no, no. That wasn't a question. You won't win this hand without your ace in the hole. He turned to walk away.

Sir, wait, please. You said you would help. What do I do?

If I were you, I'd pray.

Shannon lowered her head in hopelessness, knowing God wouldn't hear the prayers of someone like her.

Go! I'll send help ahead.

Shannon peeled out of the alley, realizing she had barely escaped with her life. She tore past an unmarked steel door. Ah, of course, Shannon thought, he's a dealer for the poker room behind the adult video store. It was an underground gambling hall, where only the corrupt and elite played for high stakes and favors. But, I've never seen him there before. He didn't reek of cigarettes and alcohol. Oh, great! Help me? Yeah, he's gonna help me all right. A dealer who tells you to pray? Shivers crawled up and down her spine. I'm probably going to end up owing this guy my life. She shook her head between ragged breaths and threw one last look over her shoulder before she exited the alley.

The man stood silently over Candyce's body and grimaced at her fate.

RedRose.tif

F inally Shannon found a hole in the right lane. She would exit the interstate and go through all the traffic lights, but all she could fit into that hole was her front bumper. The siren now blasted her eardrums, and Shannon laid a heavy hand on the horn for the drivers to make way.

Blue-and-red lights lit up her rearview mirror as the police cruiser pulled to a stop behind her. A black uniform filled her side mirror. Her saliva caught in her throat, leaving her mouth dry. The officer patted his gun, reassuring himself it was securely holstered. She forgot to breathe. Beads of sweat formed above her upper lip and glistened on her forehead.

As he approached, he gestured and pointed to the cars near the off-ramp. Her hands trembled. The past year's events whirl-winded through her mind, each and every detail, and not even she could believe it. So why would anyone else? Especially a cop.

But now, for the first time in twelve months, the fog lifted from her eighteen-year-old head, and her large, blue headlights came on. What else do I have to lose before I'm dead or in prison? And with that thought, Shannon instinctively reached down and thrust the gearshift into drive. The wheels of the old, silver Crown squealed and spun, creating a thick cloud of smoke that engulfed the highway patrolman and forced the cocky BMW driver to grant her passage.

The accelerator was glued to the floorboard and Shannon's hands to the steering wheel. She fled on the off-ramp and weaved between cars, barely slowing down. The car squealed as she made a right turn within inches of oncoming traffic.

The officer finished clearing traffic, making way for the ambulance to assist the driver of a flipped black car. He put a radio call to the dispatcher. Debbie, this is Officer Moore. I'm on the I-5, clearing rush-hour traffic for a turned vehicle. I need a ten-fourteen on a silver Crown Victoria, license plate number RO5E, possible stolen vehicle.

Roger that, Officer Moore. Static played over the radio as he waited for the confirmation of his suspicion.

That's a ten-seventeen on the possible stolen vehicle, Moore.

No? But---

Stand by. I have another call from Homicide.

Standing by.

Officer Moore, this is Dispatch. There's a possible homicide four miles south of your current location. A student ID was found on the ground near the body. Checking if the address on the ID matches the owner's address of the license plate you're inquiring about. Please stand by.

Standing by.

The officer clenched his jaw and grew anxious awaiting the reply.

Officer Moore, this is Dispatch. Is your injured driver on the way to the hospital yet?

Affirmative.

The black Jaguar he was driving is reported stolen. Hang on; still verifying addresses.

I'll call Command, Moore informed.

You might want to hold that call. Moore, are you ready for this? We have ourselves a match. Student ID of a Shannon May Hansen Baker, eighteen years old, residing at same address as the owner on file of the silver Crown Victoria. Did you get that?

Roger that. I'll call Command.

RedRose.tif

J ust five more miles. Oh man, what if she's hurt. . . Or dead? Shannon's thoughts were screaming.

She picked up her phone and dialed, fearing the worst with every unanswered ring. She dialed again and again; no answer. The tires screeched and squealed through every red light, turn, and finally, into their driveway. There were no other cars parked in front of the old one-story house---its white lattice interlaced with yellow, budding green ivy over the entryway. She left the engine running and burst through the front door, startling her grandmother awake on the sofa.

Shannon?

Yes. Sorry, Gramma, but---

You're in some kind of trouble, Gramma stated, fighting obvious drowsiness.

How'd you know? And why are you so groggy? Are you okay? Shannon gently nudged her to open her eyes.

I can't control it, honey. I just can't stay awake, but I've been dreaming about you all day. Gramma's speech was slurred, and she jerked her head forward to keep from nodding off. Somebody pointed a gun in your direction, and you felt so be--- She drifted off.

Gramma! Please, wake up! I'm so sorry for everything and I'm sorry I can't even explain everything to you right now. But we have to go. I'll pack a quick bag for you. We can't stay here. It's not safe.

Shannon, you've always been such a good girl. It will all be fine. If it's not safe, then call the police.

I can't call the police. Gramma, I am not a good girl, but I really do love you. In fact, for the past year, I've lied to you about everything. I've done horrible things with really bad people. And you know what's the worst part about it?

Shannon? Her grandmother's sparkling blue eyes diminished behind black, dilated pupils. She was a young at heart, pizza-eating seventy-year-old, but her vigor had significantly decreased since last year's hit with the big one.

I am one of those really bad people.

It's gonna be okay, sweetheart. And not you, nor anyone else for that matter, will ever convince me that you are a bad person. Now, if we really must go, just grab my emergency hospital bag from my closet. Her head bobbed around as she forced herself to stay sitting up. Shannon helped her grandmother outside, buckled her in the backseat, and threw their bags in the trunk. She ran back inside to the kitchen and grabbed her grandmother's medication off the counter. She reached for the Mediset still filled with the past week's morning medication. The nighttime anti-anxiety pills were missing.

Oh, great!

Shannon slammed the car door and peeled out of the driveway.

Gramma, change of plans. You're going to the hospital.

Chapter Two

S hannon Baker? I'm Doctor Vitale. You can come on back now. Shannon followed the young ER doctor down the hall to her grandmother.

He observed the heart monitor and scribbled a few notes on his clipboard. Shannon was appreciative of his attentiveness and care but watched the second hand of the clock above the bed.

Gramma, you all better now?

Ms. Baker should be just fine, but I'm going to keep her here for a couple of days for observation. We need to be sure her blood pressure is under control and get rid of some excess fluid in her lower extremities.

The doctor turned and directed his comments to Gramma. You're not going to forget to take your morning diuretics and blood pressure pills anymore, right Ms. Baker?

Who said I forgot? Ya know, doc, just because one gets old, doesn't mean one's forgetful.

Ms. Baker, then why didn't you take them?

How would you like to spend your whole day in the bathroom? Those doggone things keep me peeing every twenty minutes. I can't get anything done and I can't get any rest, so I decided not to take them for a few days and opted for the anti-anxiety pills instead. I was worn out and needed some sleep. My heart had been racing off the charts, and it scared me. I feared another heart attack. I can't have another. I need to take care of my granddaughter. Gramma sobbed a little, and the young doctor handed her some tissue and scooted his chair closer to the bed.

Ms. Baker---

Gladys, please, Ms. Baker said.

Gladys, you should've gone to see your doctor to cut back on the dosage. It could have spared you this hospital visit. Why didn't you go to see him?

Gladys and Shannon exchanged a knowing look, and Gladys reluctantly answered him. I don't have the money. My open-heart surgery ate up everything Medicare didn't cover, including this little gal's inheritance. Gladys pointed at her granddaughter. So you gonna kick me out of here now 'cuz I don't have any money? I'm so sorry about that. My daughter used to work here as an RN. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lay back on her pillow and exhaled slowly.

Where's your daughter now?

She died five years ago, Shannon answered.

I see. I'm sorry.

Thank you, but now what do we do? Shannon asked,