Ms. Pinkie, Battle Songs: The Gift, #7

By Kara Beth Huddleston

Pinkie Burns, the rough talking martial arts instructor and cellist, tries her hand at romance. A hero in skivvies, Michael Jones, is a willing object of her affections and hires her to teach music and self-defense at Jones School for the Gifted.

After years teaching self-defense to women, Pinkie comes home to reconnect with her real mom, but her foster family and friends provide the emotional support she needs to overcome past hurts and present difficulties. As a rape victim at thirteen, she fears being helpless in another attack and holds fast to the resulting hate and unforgiveness.

Pinkie's memories of the rape and of the mysterious hero who had saved her many times in the past keeps her from committing to anyone. Her spicy mouth and hot temper deter anyone from committing to her!

As she tries to overhaul her personality, she has the opportunity to confront her tormentors. How many of them will survive? Does she have the spiritual strength to fight the darkness that frightens and torments her? Will she ever find the love of her life that will accept her, imperfections and all?

Caveat Emptor

Books by KB may contain a few naughty words, occasional, mildly inappropriate behaviors, conservative viewpoints, religious ideologies, politically incorrect scenarios, activities beyond 'neuro normal', and plain old imagination.

If any of these things would cause offense, feel free to keep on walkin' down the line and buy someone else's books.

If you want a fun read, come on, grab a glass of iced tea, pull up a chair, sit a spell, and enjoy.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara Beth Huddleston
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201724597

Kara Beth Huddleston

As a lifelong learner, Kara Beth self-identifies as a silver-haired, seasoned, sophisticated matron who wishes her creative efforts be widely dispersed before she leaps enthusiastically into eternity. Her three daughters call her quirky. It’s all about perspective. She could never keep in the lines in a coloring book or follow a recipe. Marching to the beat of her own drum gives a whole new meaning to syncopation. Though every authority has told her to write a serious bio, this is the best she can manage. She and husband, Ronald, recently celebrated 50 years of putting up with each other. They have the best kids (and their spouses) in the world, and grandchildren are their constant delight. Kara Beth is a Texan by birth, Yankee by schooling, and Georgian by retirement. She has degrees in music education and media communications. Through the years, she led children’s classes and choirs, wrote and produced Christian children’s musicals, and taught elementary music and private music lessons. She was also a homebound tutor for a large high school and has costumed for churches, schools, and regional theater.  She believes that the mind is capable of much more than anyone can imagine and believes in love at first sight. She is a staunch right-wing conservative. She believes in God’s supernatural power and His desire to interact with mankind. If you want to know the real Kara Beth, check out her blogs.

Book preview

Chapter 1

PINKIE BLEW OUT A BIG breath to calm her frustration. If there were another outlet for her to play her cello, she wouldn’t bother with the second-rate orchestra. And that idiot, sexist, pompous, windbag of a conductor! I’ll never work for him again!

Pinkie admitted Trey Hanson was reasonably talented, but he demanded the orchestra members dress in full tuxes to play in a sweltering, below level orchestra pit. Totally unreasonable! He wouldn’t provide any air conditioning or even a fan except for the small unit he kept at his feet behind the enclosure to cool only himself. What a jerk!

Since Pinkie was the only cellist in the area who was available for this show, she didn’t care what she had done to aggravate Trey. He wouldn’t have fired her. Once in the pit and out of sight of the audience, she consistently slid her long culottes up around her knees and put her blonde hair up in pigtails during the three-evening gig. Anything to cool off!

Trey glared when she fanned herself during the rests but after the dressing down he had received for critiquing her cooling methods, he didn’t dare say another word to her. The other women in the orchestra could swoon like the mindless, high school students Trey usually taught, but she wouldn’t. He wasn’t her type at all. Maybe that was one reason they butted heads. Thankfully this was the last night. She would think twice before she committed herself again.

The last performance of the musical drew a good house. That and the wedding reception at the venue next door to the theater caused the parking lot to be overloaded. Due to Atlanta traffic, Pinkie arrived at the last minute and had to park over a block from the theater. She regretted her decision to play the cello instead of the flute. She picked up the instrument for the long trek through the alley and down the flight of stairs into the church parking lot at the bottom of the hill.

Pinkie smiled at the complaint. She really did love the cello. Her foster mother’s serious demands that Pinkie excel in music countered her foster dad’s mentoring in the martial arts. Both activities had kept Pinkie focused, and both met the emotional needs of the young teen rejected by her drunken mother. The more severe trauma that sent Pinkie to foster care was addressed by her foster parents’ love and counseling, but the anger remained and simmered unhealed. She shook herself and refused to think on anything but the ice cream sundae she had promised herself as a reward for fulfilling the unpleasant musical obligation.

Pinkie jumped when a door in the alley opened. She went into alert mode until she saw her friend bring out the garbage from his restaurant.

Hey, Jeff.

What are you doing out here by yourself?

Just finishing a gig. Need any help tomorrow? She picked up a few dollars waitressing at Jeff’s place and though she didn’t like the heavy drinking there, she got good tips.

Yes, please. Come in about seven. I never know if Macy will be feeling good enough to help. His wife suffered from the effects of cancer treatments, so Jeff could use someone like Pinkie who didn’t want fulltime work but could work most weekends or at a moment’s notice.

I’ll watch till you get to your car. The older man offered.

Pinkie smiled. Jeff was short, overweight, and a jillion years old. He would be absolutely no use in a street fight. I’m good.

I’ll watch you to the top of the stairs.

She smiled her appreciation. Sure, I’d like that, thanks. She didn’t know many people here, but those she did know were wonderful to her.

Except for my mom. Pinkie had made one last attempt to make a connection with her mother. It didn’t work. The first week after Pinkie moved in to stay for a while, her mom left with a new lover and left Pinkie with back rent payments. That and the three months of unpaid utilities used up Pinkie’s emergency savings. Making a deal to clean the pool twice a day and pull weeds around the complex allowed Pinkie to stay at an affordable rate. As long as she kept commuting to Atlanta to teach at the martial arts academy, she would be fine financially.

She did like the area she was now calling home. It was close to the city yet far enough away for Pinkie to re-establish her independence. She hadn’t found her purpose since finishing her time in the military. Pinkie had stayed a few months with her foster parents and though the time was pleasant, she felt stagnant.

She thought getting things straight with her mom would help. It only caused more hurt. Life isn’t fair. Suck it up, sister! She quoted her mantra. I really need to get a better self-affirmation slogan. That one isn’t makin’ it! She hefted the cello onto her shoulder and tightened her grip on her keys as she moved down the stairs. She shifted the cello again as her ring caught on the strap of the case. The only lights were the beams from her keyring flashlight and the glow from the second story of the church school complex where she parked. She concentrated on the steps and missed the movement in the bushes that would have warned her of danger.

Two men stepped from the darkness as Pinkie opened the trunk and put her instrument inside. She felt their presence, turned toward them, and greeted them politely. Good evening, gentlemen. She left the trunk open. From the looks of the men, Pinkie was sure she was in trouble. She damned the high-heeled shoes she wore. She would have to run in them or slip them off if she were to try that defense. The men stepped within three feet before they spoke. She could tell she was in for some serious trouble. Lord, if You’d like to have Gabriel suddenly come to my rescue, I wouldn’t beg him to stay with me this time.

I hear we got us a little musician, Tonga. Think she’ll make us some sweet music?

I don’t know. We’ll give her an audition before we let her join our troupe of lovelies.

Pinkie sized up her attackers. She said nothing as she considered jumping in beside the cello, closing the hatch, and locking herself in, but she knew she didn’t have enough time. They were too close for that plan. She closed the hatch and slid to the side of the car. The men followed.

Pinkie flashed an SOS with her flashlight toward the church window that had darkened. She hoped fruitlessly someone would notice and understand her signal. Who am I kidding? There’s no such thing as a hero anymore. If there ever was a hero in anything but fairy tales. Or in my past and wishful thinking. Nope, I’m on my own. She refocused on the task at hand.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she made her plan. The closest man grabbed her purse and flung it into the bushes. Pinkie offered no resistance.

The toady was small and gaunt. The larger man would be a challenge. They moved closer. Gentlemen, I suggest you don’t do this. Her gun was tucked in her back waistband but with the jacket and vest, she was sure her timing wouldn’t be right.

The men made a few more lewd comments. The toady grabbed her arms, fondling her breasts on his way. In the middle of his vulgar brag, Pinkie grabbed the little man’s jacket front and head butted him in the nose. She leaned against the car for leverage and viciously kicked the man backward. She knew he was out when his head hit the concrete.

The other man stood by and laughed at his friend’s predicament. His already sagging pants were pulled down further, revealing his intentions toward his victim. He proudly filmed the situation with his phone.

Tough girl, huh?

Pinkie didn’t flinch. She hadn’t been prepared as a helpless thirteen-year-old. This time, she was ready. The coiled wrist bracelet she wore held not only the key to her vehicle but also the key to her salvation. She clicked the specially designed tool into position. Sir, you really don’t want to do this, she warned as she planned her moves.

Come on. Let’s have a little fun. I think you’ll be real impressed! He grabbed her by the pigtail and pulled her head down, still filming and talking to the phone.

Pinkie turned her body, made a swiping motion toward his lower abdomen, jerked away, and kicked the man’s knee. One more kick to the abdomen and he crumpled, screaming in pain.

In case you are wondering, sir. I’ve seen more impressive than that on my grandma’s Chihuahua. She wiped the blade and her hands on her culottes.

Pinkie was sure her attacker’s blood was spurting at an alarming rate and wondered where the flunky had thrown the purse containing her phone. Maybe she’d let him bleed out before she tried to call an ambulance.

Her body hardened as she heard someone approach from behind. Pinkie was finally able to release her gun from her back waistband. She spun and pointed the Ruger confidently at the new arrival.

Don’t shoot. I called the cops. Sirens could be heard in the background. The man held his phone with the flashlight app beaming brightly on the ground. He started to raise the light toward her face.

Blind me with the light and you’re a dead man.

Chapter 2

HE WISELY KEPT THE light at his feet. Where are the two guys I saw out here?

Passed out to your left. As the stranger flashed his light toward the men, Pinkie was shocked at the damage she had done. Blood was everywhere.

A police car skidded into the parking lot. Pinkie laid her gun on the ground and put her hands in the air. The submissive stance made sure the police would be calm enough to properly assess the situation. Hopefully, anyway.

She controlled her raging emotions and grabbed on to the safest of her feelings. There would be no regret at this moment – only pride in her ability to care for herself. Never again would she surrender to an assault against her person. The police might have a different opinion, but she would take whatever punishment they would give her for protecting herself. Anything was better than being raped.

She waited for the police to exit the vehicle. In the light of their car, she could see the man who phoned for help. Dressed in gym shorts and flip flops and armed with nothing but a phone, the man’s appearance made Pinkie smirk as she scrutinized him from top to bottom. Her scornful glare prompted him to speak.

He smiled with a crooked grin as he held his hands in the air. What? You’ve never had a hero come to your rescue?

Not lately, she replied sourly and glanced at the officer who approached. And never one in his skivvies.

We had a call – the officer stated loudly.

I called. Mike Jones, headmaster here at the Jones School for the Gifted. I saw the two men approaching this woman, and she messaged an SOS with her flashlight.

On the ground! the nervous policeman demanded as he pointed a gun toward Pinkie.

She lowered her eyes and obeyed, dropping easily to her knees with her hands still held high. Meekness was her dad’s motto, and he rammed the virtue into every student he taught. Controlled strength! I will face the enemy with courage and humility!

What’s your name? he croaked as he snapped cuffs onto her wrists.

Hey! Mr. Jones interrupted. She’s the victim here!

Be quiet until I say different!

My name is Pinkie Burns.

Where’s your ID?

One of the guys grabbed my purse and threw it in the bushes.

The arrival of the man’s superior and the medical team disrupted the investigation. Captain Cory Herron strode to the scene, scowled at his officer, and helped Pinkie to her feet.

What on earth is going on here, KicKe? he asked as he removed her restraints.

She was involved in what looks to be an assault. She said her name was Pinkie Burns. Officer Frost fidgeted.

Her name is Pinkie. Her students call her KicKe because she kicks everyone’s keister! She taught self-defense in the Army and teaches martial arts with her dad in Atlanta. Captain Herron and his wife were close friends with Pinkie’s foster parents, and he loved Pinkie as one of his own.

He had personally trained with her when she was a kid. Tough as nails and good as gold. He definitely wouldn’t want to spar with her now. She had whipped him more than once.

He turned to his little friend. What are you doing out here tonight, Pinkie?

She explained softly, hoping to get the inexperienced officer and the headmaster out of the conversation. She was suddenly shaky and asked Cory to allow her to sit on the car bumper while Officer Frost interrogated Jones.

I was finishing ‘Fiddler’ at the Rialto. You knew that. I had to park here. Got the cello in the car. I wasn’t paying attention because I, well, I was distracted by some other issues. Stupid! Anyway, these guys were on me before I had a chance to run. They threatened me. I defended myself. It’s done.

Herron stepped so the light shown on Pinkie. He gently swept her bangs from her forehead. Are you hurt? Do I need to call the medics over here?

No. I’ll have a bruise and a headache in the morning but other than that, the only damage will be when I have to admit to Dad I was careless.

Apparently you did what you had to do. I need to step over to the assault victims and get their statements.

Pinkie frowned. I was the victim!

Herron smiled and gave her a quick hug. I know, but I’ve been on the bad end of your victim routine a few too many times. He rubbed his arm, remembering the bone bruise she inflicted during a sparring match. He rubbed the area. She could put some serious hurt on a guy!

Pinkie grabbed his hand and scuttled close. Please. I don’t want to be alone. Can I go with you?

Cory put his arm around her shoulders and walked toward the two bodies that lay lifeless on the asphalt. After several minutes, the medics stopped their attempts to revive the men.

Dead with a cracked skull, the team leader announced. The other one seems to have died of shock and perhaps loss of blood. Given the injury, I assume shock.

Pinkie swayed momentarily but widened her stance and breathed deeply. In her mind, she clearly saw the face of the young man who had raped her and gotten away without repercussions. Never again! She pulled away from her friend and the bodies. She was sure they meant to hurt her, but she didn’t mean to mortally wound them. Or did I?

Several times in her civilian and military teaching career and during the competitions she won, she flipped into a zone her dad called her ‘blitzkrieg’. Her inner fury overcame her. Her power intensified. She flashed hot and fought violently but always stopped herself before anyone was severely injured. She wondered if she had lost herself to a blitz. After a brief self-analysis, she thought through each well-delivered move. It wasn’t a blitz. Just a response from the years of training. An automatic reaction to the situation.

Is there someone you need to call? Mr. Jones asked sympathetically.

She ignored him. Am I going to be charged with murder or something? she asked her friend as she rubbed her ring nervously.

No, but it would be easier to take a statement at the station. It shouldn’t take long.

Can I go find my purse?

While Frost looked for the purse, Pinkie was escorted to Herron’s car. Jones ran inside and donned shoes, dress shirt, tie, and dress pants before joining her uninvited in the backseat of the squad car. It’s only a few blocks. I’ll walk back when I’ve given my statement. He handed his phone to Pinkie.

This time she took it and dialed her dad. She made small talk and asked about her mom.

She was able to work all day without a pain pill, but she’s worn out and already in bed.

I hope I didn’t wake you up.

No. Working on my Sunday School lesson.

I wanted to let you know I finished my gig and am heading back to the apartment. Tell Mom I love her. I’ll try to be home early Monday morning.

At the close of the conversation and the questioning look on Mike’s face, Pinkie defended her negligence to tell of the assault. I don’t want them thinking they have to come take care of me. They’re kinda old and can’t see well, so they never drive at night. They don’t need this kind of bad news when they need to be at home safe and sound. Pinkie scooted farther into the corner and turned her head away from the vexing man. His gentle treatment was disconcerting. How come I can’t meet nice men when I’m not doing something stupid?

May I call one of my sisters to stay with you? he asked in genuine concern.

With my luck, I’ll be spending the night in the slammer, so I’d say probably not. Thanks anyway. Pinkie closed her eyes and leaned back. She hoped the news media would not make too big a deal of the event. It could hurt her parents’ businesses. Lana’s Music Studio was associated with one of the best private schools in Atlanta. The school prided itself on  its high standards and demanded spotless reputations of its staff and teachers. On second thought, Dad’s studio may get extra, positive notoriety. Unless I am charged with murder! Surely not!

She remembered the tall man’s phrase. Hey, Uncle Cory. The big guy said something about me joining his troupe. Do you think he was a pimp?

He is, rather was. We’ve sent people in to locate the women and kids in his stable before the news gets out.

Will the women get the help they need? Mike asked. My friends work with a group called Below Grade Rescue that assists victims of this sort of crime. I’m sure they have some resources.

I think we’ve contacted them but call it in. Have your friends also make connection with Dr. Daryl Ryder. He takes lead in this area. The front desk will give you the number.

Herron made arrangements for the mass rescue. Though part of a relatively small trade in the Atlanta arena, the ones who attacked Pinkie were well known as recruiters in the suburbs. Their contact in LeMount had eluded the police, and women and girls continued to disappear from the larger Atlanta metro area. Cory would love to see this as the end of the problem but sadly, others would step up and take their place.

Tonga Miller and Jenza Coontz would no longer be a threat to the community. With any luck at all, the people they enslaved could be rescued and rehabilitated. Herron wished he could give Pinkie a medal instead of the ordeal she would face. It was never easy to take lives, no matter how justified.

Anyone else you need to call? Mike asked gently.

No. Standin’ on my own two feet. I’m good.

And she was until Mike helped her from the car. She could barely stand. He took her arm and held her until she stabilized.

Standing on your own two feet, huh? Mike razzed Pinkie as he helped her get her balance.

Guess my dizzy head and wobbly knees didn’t get the memo.

She gave in to his solicitations until they entered the station. I suppose I should ask for a lawyer, Pinkie moaned.

Have no fear, my lady! Mike bowed. In addition to my skillful headmaster abilities, I am also a defender of the weak and helpless.

Pinkie glared at him. Seriously? Did I look weak and helpless to you?

Mike sobered. The only weak vibe I get from you is a very fragile spirit, he whispered.

Pinkie scowled harder. Are you a psychologist too? She was fighting tears.

No. Just a guy with a soft heart. He shrugged and blushed at his admission. I would like to help if I could.

I don’t have money to pay a lawyer.

I don’t need money. Maybe we could take it out in trade.

What? Pinkie was furious as she mistook his intentions.

I mean, if you have time, maybe you could teach self-defense to our kids as part of the physical education program. Maybe be fulltime martial arts instructor. We’d pay you.

I can’t be a teacher for real. I didn’t go to college.

You could start without a certificate, take a few classes, and certify. As a private school, we can bend the rules.

You don’t want me, Mr. Jones. I could not take a few classes or pass any certification test. I can’t read. No money, no trade, she tapped her finger against his chest. No, thank you. She turned to Cory. Can you take me where I’m supposed to go now? A few tears seeped out before