Reapers and Roses: (Grove High School Book One) Read online

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2019 by A.R. Breck. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Q Design Cover

  CONTENT WARNING:

  Reapers and Roses contains mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. Foul language, criminal activity, drug use, physical and sexual abuse are included in this book. Please proceed with caution.

  CLIFFHANGER WARNING:

  This book is part one in a two part book. You will be left gasping and begging for the second book, but I promise it is coming. It is coming.

  PROLOGUE

  Rose

  I don’t care if I fall in love with the devil, as long as that devil will love me the same way he loves hell. -Unknown

  Love.

  That painful emotion so many of us go through life in hopes of finding. Of receiving.

  Is it worth it, though?

  The pain, fighting and heartache that accompanies love... is it worth it?

  Will your love even last?

  Maybe it will... maybe it won’t.

  Although, what happens when love hits you when you don’t even want it to?

  What happens when you have no choice but to go through the pain, fighting, and heartache of love?

  What happens when the person who loves you is the one who you least expect to love at all? The one you don't even want to love?

  What happens when you fall in love with the devil?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rose

  Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness. -Anne Frank

  People say that you are a recreation of your parents.

  I fucking hope not.

  My dad? Fuck him.

  He is what I refer to as Sperm Donor. Once upon a time he was a wealthy man who kept enough cash in me and my mom's pockets to keep our mouths shut about the miserable old shit he was. We never even saw him – he would just wire that monthly payment with enough zeros on the end of it to keep smiles on our faces and allow us to keep our cushioned lifestyle.

  Now?

  Mr. Sperm Donor has decided to lose his job and is now what we like to call a Broke Sperm Donor.

  That is when all hell broke loose.

  My dad, a/k/a Broke Sperm Donor, has left us without payments for the last few months and has been completely fallen off the grid. It has now gotten to the point where we're not even trying to get in contact with him anymore. He is a shit – not even sure where he's living, honestly. My mom tried and tried to stretch out the balance of our bank account, but with the lifestyle we were living, the house we owned, and the school I went to...

  That money went fast.

  Too fucking fast.

  This has led to my mom having to sell our wonderful, spacious five-bedroom home in the burbs and move us to the ghetto in a little two-bedroom rambler.

  By moving, my mom was able to get a job – for the first time in ten years – and use the proceeds from the sale of the home to buy us our new house, a/k/a the Shack. I call it the Shack because… well – it's not much bigger than one. At least to me.

  There are some homes that are way worse and a hell of a lot more run down than the one we moved to. We actually moved to one of the more nicer neighborhoods in our new town, the Grove, Minnesota. But, compared to living in the fluffy suburb where I used to live? Yeah, this place is trash.

  Not only do I have to be uprooted from my home, I also had to be pulled out of the private school I've been attending for high school. I now have to go to the public high school in town, Grove High. Home of the Wolves.

  If anyone tries to get me to howl for school spirit I'm sure I will shortly after be in prison for death by strangulation.

  My mom tried so hard to figure out a way for me to continue going to my old school, but with the costs for even attending and the transportation, it just wasn't in the cards. Now I will be going to school with a ton of low-class, petty kids who probably smoke weed in the bathrooms.

  My mom found a job at a local dentist office as their receptionist. This will hopefully be enough to provide for us. To keep us going. She never went to college, just found my dad right out of school and scored herself a rich man to have a baby with and keep her pampered her entire life. They were never married, just dated for a while until my dad couldn't keep up with the family life, and had to move on from the both of us, I guess.

  I have to give my mom credit though. She put up with all of this bullshit from my dad throughout the years and still is able to keep her reputation squeaky clean.

  She used to love her book clubs, her spa dates with her other hoity toity friends and all that.

  Since we moved, though?

  Her friends don't speak with her anymore. They can't handle the tarnished image that comes with being friends with someone so low-class. Someone from the Grove.

  So, my mom found a new best friend. Wine.

  Not a glass of wine, oh no.

  A bottle – a big ol' bottle of wine to keep her company throughout her sad, lonely nights.

  I can't completely blame her. Her life has been uprooted just as much as mine has been. She just doesn't seem to give too many shits about her life anymore.

  And me?

  I give even less shits about life. At seventeen years old, I feel like I should be eighty. At this point, I do what I want, when I want it, and how I want it.

  If you don’t like it? Fuck you.

  I know, I’m a pretty positive person, right?

  Wrong.

  Most of the time, at least.

  I enjoy being alive, I just don’t enjoy my life.

  Not anymore.

  I'm sure I would have run away or something else at this point if I didn't care about my future. Luckily for me, I would like to go to college and not end up like my mother who is suctioned to a heartless man for the rest of her life.

  Currently, I'm getting situated and unpacking in my new home. It doesn’t take much effort, considering we had to downside considerably when moving into the Shack.

  Once I have unpacked my few boxes, I decide to head to the kitchen to find something to eat. While outdated and small, it’s at least clean so I don’t have to worry about catching any disgusting diseases or finding any cockroaches crawling throughout our house.

  “Hey Mom,” I say as I’m walking up the stairs, “What are you planning to make for dinner?” When I get no response, I look off into the living room and see her sleeping on the couch.

  Rolling my eyes and groaning in irritation, I walk over to her and nudge her with my arm.

  “Mom!”

  Nothing.

  “Mom! Are you making dinner?” I shout, aggressively shaking her.

  She makes a small grunt and a snore, but otherwise makes no indication she heard a word I said.

  Looking at the coffee table, I see a cup sitting underneath the table. Rolling my eyes at her effort to be secretive, I pick it up and give it a whiff, wrinkling up my nose at the scent of cheap wine.

  “Fucking drunk.” I say, and not quietly either. What used to be my beloved mother who cherished her pearlsand fancy dinners has regressed to a shell of a woman who drinks out of boxed wine. I almost question if this is the same woman, but when I glance over at her – yep, it's her.

  I frown, feeling bad for
the person she has become. She has always loved me and given me anything I have ever asked for or needed. I think it pains her to know she has a dollar to her name, if that.

  I walk over to the kitchen sink with her wine and slowly pour it down the drain, tossing the cup in afterwards and watching it noisily clatter around. I’m glad it was a cheap, plastic cup. Definitely not in the mood to clean up shards of glass.

  I give up on having anything substantial and settle for toasting a bagel and slapping some butter on it. Walking back to my room, I chow down my nutritous dinner as I look around my tiny bedroom. My queen bed takes up most of the space in here, but I was able to fit in a small nightstand and mount an older flat screen to the wall. My dresser had to get squeezed into my closet. This is so much different from my old room. Back at our old place, I had a large walk-in closet with a small sitting room off in one corner. My bedroom had enough room to fit five king beds with extra space to spare. I had my own en suite bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and ridiculous shower. Whereas, now me and my mom have to share one small rinky dink bathroom with a bath/shower combo and a spray that comes out more like a dribble.

  After thinking about what once was enough to make my head spin, I go check on my mom one more time - still passed out - and go hop in the shower to wash off the day. Looking at myself in the small bathroom mirror, I admire my long, thick locks of dark hair that lay flat against my back.

  I'm about 5'5 with an average build. I can't complain about my looks and I can appreciate beauty. I know I have it - people love my green eyes, and I have a unique slash of brown that's painted across my iris. I was raised to always look presentable no matter what I'm doing or where I'm going. It gets tiring, but I've grown used to the fact that my looks are both a blessing and a curse. People say I’m naturally beautiful and I don’t need the add-ons to make myself look presentable. The boys will love it, and the girls will hate it, just like they always do.

  Shrugging, I step into the shower and turn it as hot as I like it, which is about one degree below receiving third degree burns. I'm not going to let anyone in the Grove get to me. As far as I'm concerned, this whole town is just a pit stop.

  After my shower, I throw on some underwear and an oversized shirt and slide under my sheets, loving the crisp cleanliness and scent of back home. Before I can even count backwards from ten, I’m already asleep.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning arrives faster than I would have hoped, and honestly, I’m ready to get it out of the way more than anything. Thankfully, there is no uniform at this high school. That is one of the things I disliked about my last school. Although, now I have to fret over what I should wear.

  When I lived in Woodbury I could just open up my closet and throw my uniform on – good to go.

  I decide on some dark skinny jeans and pair it with a floral V-neck T-shirt that has a big cut out in the back, and my ankle booties. I throw in a few loose curls in my hair, swipe a few layers of mascara on my eyelashes, give my cheeks a pinch for color and swipe on a little Chapstick.

  Well, this is as good as it's going to get.

  I don't want to look like a rich bitch when I walk into school. The last thing I want is for everyone to take one look at me and be able to determine my wealth – or what my wealth used to be, at least. I'm trying to fit in, which is why I decided to dress in one of my more casual outfits for today.

  Walking downstairs, I see that my mom is already ready for the day. That's the thing about her - in the morning she looks like a perfect working mother. After work is over, though? The stench of wine bleeds out of her pores.

  That, and depression.

  Her short hair is done up in curls, and her fancy makeup covers the depressed bags that I know are underneath her eyes. Even living in this shit town, she still attempts to act like she is wealthy. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, and a little bit heavier around the waist line, but not overly so. Although, if she keeps it up on that wine, I'm sure that waist line will just expand over time.

  “Morning, honey.” She says, unpacking some things in the kitchen.

  “Morning, Mom.” I walk around her and grab a bowl to eat some Frosted Flakes. No morning breakfast cooking around here. Fend for yourself or you don’t eat at all.

  “Ready for your first day of school?”

  Rolling my eyes, I grumble into my bowl of cereal. “No, I’m not.”

  She sighs. “You will be fine. Just...be on your best behavior and be nice to the other kids. I'm sure you will do great. We have to be open to this new lifestyle.” She winces on the word lifestyle.

  “I know. Act like a ghetto bitch from the hood. Sound about right?” I look up at her and give her the most innocent look I can muster.

  My mom huffs and grabs her things, seeming disgusted with me. “I don’t know who raised you like that, but it sure as hell wasn’t me!”

  “That’s right, because you barely raise anything except that class of wine up to your lips anymore.” I say monotonously.

  Mom frowns, hurt.

  I sigh, knowing the last thing either of us wants is to be pissed or upset our first day of school and work. But doesn’t she deserve it at least a little? If she can’t put the bottle down for me, does she really deserve my kindness?

  “Sorry, Mom. I will be on my best behavior.” I will definitely not be on my best behavior. “Have a good first day at work. See you after?” I give her a small, fake smile.

  Luckily, my mom buys it. “Yes, I can’t wait to hear all about your first day. Good luck!” And with that, she’s out the door.

  With a sigh, I sit back down in our old, rickety wooden kitchen chair and push the rest of my cereal around in my bowl, having lost my appetite.

  I grab my bowl and pour the rest in the sink, rinsing out my bowl and leaving it for later.

  I know I can’t procrastinate anymore or else I will be late, so I grab my things and head out the door to my Honda Civic. One of the other things I had to give up during the move was my beautiful Tahoe, but with so much money still owed on it, we had to give it up and get something more affordable. It’s not the prettiest of vehicles or the priciest – but it's nicer than some of the other vehicles in town. That, and it gets me from point A to point B.

  I hop into my new – but used - car and listen as the door protests and groans when I go to shut it, almost like it’s just as disgusted as I am knowing where we’re going. I start the drive to school on the other side of town. As I drive throughthe neighborhoods, I glance at the different houses that line the streets. Some seem decently kept – as much as they can, anyway. Others, not so much. Some of the homes have piles of garbage in their yards, while some have overgrown grass and weeds lining their house. The others have chipped away paint on the outside of their homes.

  Nothing like my old neighborhood, that's for sure.

  Pulling into the school, I cringe as I listen to the squeaks and rattles of my car, but then frown at myself for even feeling slightly embarrassed about these things. It's not like anyone here has much better to brag about. These people, they don't deserve my embarrassment.

  We're all in the same boat in this town.

  This is just a stepping stone for me. A level I have to win to get to my next stage in life. Far away from this town, these people, my family, from all of it.

  Am I a cynic? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just brutally honest and give zero fucks what any one of these poor kids think of me.

  I park in the first spot I find, glancing around and seeing the students pointing at me through my car, ready to get the dish on the new kid while others looking slightly... nervous.

  Nervous?

  What the hell?

  I open up my car door, cursing under my breath when the wind blows a piece of garbage out of the car.

  I’m not the cleanest person in the world, but I’m no slob either. And one thing I am definitely against is littering.

  So, I bend down and pick up the offending garbage wrapper trying to make i
ts grand escape from my car, and as I look up, I see a pair of shoes in my line of sight.

  Pretty nice shoes, actually. I'm almost wondering if I pulled into the wrong school.

  My gaze continues its road trip north, noticing a pair of dark jeans, and as I rake my eyes slowly up his body, I see a dark hoodie that covers what I'm sure is a muscular, fit build.

  The moment my eyes meet his face, my throat goes dry. Sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes – menacing eyes. His face is formed into an angry scowl that takes me back. I get up from my garbage hunt and sit back in my car, confused why his anger is directed at me. His wavy blonde hair is wild as ever, a complete contradiction to his threatening gaze.

  "Um, can I help you?" I question. He doesn't look farmiliar, so whatever beef he has with me is not something I'm aware of.

  I look behind him and see a just as handsome guy standing off to the side, with a shaved head of dark hair and striking hazel eyes. He gives me an almost angrier stare than the one blondie is giving me, but he says nothing, just remains there behind his side-kick with his arms crossed across his chest as he looks at me with hatred.

  "Move your car." His voice rumbles.

  "And why the hell should I do that?"

  "This isn't your spot. You belong over there with everyone else." He waves his hand in the general direction of the other side of the parking lot.

  "Everyone else?" I cock my head to the side.

  "Yeah. Everyone else."

  I look around, pretending to search for a name plate or something similar.

  "I don't see anyone's name painted on this parking spot."

  His eyebrows furrow even lower if that's possible, taking on a feral look. "Oh, little girl. You will learn in time. You're obviously the new kid, so we'll give you a pass. This is your one and only warning, though. Park over there and you won't cause us any problems. Got it?" His eyebrows lift, awaiting a response.

  I nod my head.

  "Great. So, listen – your spot, along with the rest of the students, park over there." He points over to the far end of the parking lot, and my eyes shoot to his just about ready to start bitching to him, but he cuts me off.