Read Online Distraction: An underground kings novel by Aurora Rose Reynolds - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aurora Rose Reynolds
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is your life, so you have to make your own decisions. Shoving the letter into an envelope, I place it in my purse so I can mail it tomorrow. I get up and go to the kitchen, pulling out a pot to boil water.
I was raised in a small community outside of Phoenix, where they didn’t believe in the government or in most modern amenities. When I was ten, my parents offered me the opportunity to join public school and I accepted. That was when I figured out how different we were from everyone, and how much my parents had prevented me from learning. My first year of public school was really difficult, and I ended up being held back a year so that I could catch up with everyone else. After that first year, I excelled, and by graduation, I was top of my class.
I don’t regret how I grew up, but I still resent my parents for not being parents. Most of my major life decisions were ones I made for myself, even before I should have been allowed to, and if there was ever a problem, I knew I would have to find a solution on my own without the help of the two people who should have been there to guide me.
Shaking the depressing thoughts about my parents out of my head, I toss some angel hair pasta in the boiling water and pull down a bowl from my cabinet then go to the fridge to grab the butter and a bottle of orange juice. Once the pasta is soft, I strain it and put it in the bowl along with some butter, salt, and pepper then pour myself a cup of orange juice, taking both to the living room.
*
Looking from the door to the clock on the cable box, the bright red numbers read 11:36. Looking at the door again, I feel my eyebrows pull tight as the door handle jiggles like it did moments ago. Getting off the couch, where I planted myself a few hours ago to watch TV, I walk slowly to the door, feeling something strange slide down my spine as I get up on my tiptoes and press my hand to the wood to look through the peephole. The porch light is off, but the light from the streetlamp near my building has cast a glow around two men on the other side of the door.
Backing away slowly, my heart pounds so hard in my chest that the sound of my blood pumping fills my ears. Moving as quickly and as silently as I can down the hall to my bedroom, I shut my door, whimpering when I realize there is no lock. Scurrying around the bed, I grab my phone off the charger then run to the bathroom in the hall, knowing there’s a lock on that door and if someone breaks in, he will have to break down that door, which will give me a few more seconds. Getting into the tub and pulling the curtain around me, I fumble with the phone as I dial and place it to my ear.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answers as I hear footsteps sound somewhere in the apartment.
“I’m at 267 Hemming Way, apartment 17. Someone is in my apartment,” I whisper then scream as the bathroom door crashes open and the shower curtain is shoved aside.
“Help!” I shout as hands grab me by my hair, pulling me up from the tub. Dropping the phone, I fight back, elbowing the guy in the stomach, then turn and bring my hand down hard on his shoulder, which causes him to drop to the ground instantly.
Click, click.
My body freezes and fear rushes over me as I look up, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. Raising my hands in front of me, I’m not prepared for the blow to my stomach that has me doubling over, gasping for air.
“You fucking cunt,” the guy I took down moments ago says, backhanding me so hard I hit the wall. Wrapping his hands around my hair, he drags me stumbling out of the bathroom, down the hall behind him to the living room, where he shoves me to my knees.
“Where is your sister?” the man holding the gun roars, smacking me with the butt of his weapon across my face so hard that my head flies to the side and I taste blood in my mouth.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, lifting my eyes and trying to focus on his face.
“Don’t lie, bitch,” he
I was raised in a small community outside of Phoenix, where they didn’t believe in the government or in most modern amenities. When I was ten, my parents offered me the opportunity to join public school and I accepted. That was when I figured out how different we were from everyone, and how much my parents had prevented me from learning. My first year of public school was really difficult, and I ended up being held back a year so that I could catch up with everyone else. After that first year, I excelled, and by graduation, I was top of my class.
I don’t regret how I grew up, but I still resent my parents for not being parents. Most of my major life decisions were ones I made for myself, even before I should have been allowed to, and if there was ever a problem, I knew I would have to find a solution on my own without the help of the two people who should have been there to guide me.
Shaking the depressing thoughts about my parents out of my head, I toss some angel hair pasta in the boiling water and pull down a bowl from my cabinet then go to the fridge to grab the butter and a bottle of orange juice. Once the pasta is soft, I strain it and put it in the bowl along with some butter, salt, and pepper then pour myself a cup of orange juice, taking both to the living room.
*
Looking from the door to the clock on the cable box, the bright red numbers read 11:36. Looking at the door again, I feel my eyebrows pull tight as the door handle jiggles like it did moments ago. Getting off the couch, where I planted myself a few hours ago to watch TV, I walk slowly to the door, feeling something strange slide down my spine as I get up on my tiptoes and press my hand to the wood to look through the peephole. The porch light is off, but the light from the streetlamp near my building has cast a glow around two men on the other side of the door.
Backing away slowly, my heart pounds so hard in my chest that the sound of my blood pumping fills my ears. Moving as quickly and as silently as I can down the hall to my bedroom, I shut my door, whimpering when I realize there is no lock. Scurrying around the bed, I grab my phone off the charger then run to the bathroom in the hall, knowing there’s a lock on that door and if someone breaks in, he will have to break down that door, which will give me a few more seconds. Getting into the tub and pulling the curtain around me, I fumble with the phone as I dial and place it to my ear.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answers as I hear footsteps sound somewhere in the apartment.
“I’m at 267 Hemming Way, apartment 17. Someone is in my apartment,” I whisper then scream as the bathroom door crashes open and the shower curtain is shoved aside.
“Help!” I shout as hands grab me by my hair, pulling me up from the tub. Dropping the phone, I fight back, elbowing the guy in the stomach, then turn and bring my hand down hard on his shoulder, which causes him to drop to the ground instantly.
Click, click.
My body freezes and fear rushes over me as I look up, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. Raising my hands in front of me, I’m not prepared for the blow to my stomach that has me doubling over, gasping for air.
“You fucking cunt,” the guy I took down moments ago says, backhanding me so hard I hit the wall. Wrapping his hands around my hair, he drags me stumbling out of the bathroom, down the hall behind him to the living room, where he shoves me to my knees.
“Where is your sister?” the man holding the gun roars, smacking me with the butt of his weapon across my face so hard that my head flies to the side and I taste blood in my mouth.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, lifting my eyes and trying to focus on his face.
“Don’t lie, bitch,” he
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