Bitter Sweet Hell (Hell Night Book 2) Read online

  Bitter Sweet Hell

  Copyright © 2019 by Alex Grayson.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Cover Me Darling. Interior Formatting by Alex Grayson. Editing by Ultra Editing.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this document via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and is punishable by law.

  Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincide.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  DISCLAIMER

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  JUDGE OF HELL SNEAK PEEK

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  OTHER BOOKS BY ALEX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  To my Jaded Angels. You know who you are.

  DISCLAIMER

  Intended for readers 18 and older due to harsh language, sensitive subject matters, and sexual conduct.

  JW

  The Past

  TONIGHT IS HELL NIGHT. The one night a month that I, my brothers, and all the other kids in Sweet Haven walk through Hell and come out on the other side broken and feeling lost. It’s a night that the adults change from sweet and loving parents, to the monstrous evil that normally lays dormant.

  Tonight isn’t the usual Hell Night though. It’s not the kids who are suffering the horrors and pain of being forced to do things they don’t want to do. It’s the adults who are screaming and crying in fear. It’s the adults who are begging and fighting against the hands that are holding them down. Tonight, the adults are walking through Hell.

  It’s late. Like after four in the morning. The official Hell Night, or what the adults call The Gathering, ended a couple of hours ago. I’m sore all over. My brother was rough earlier. More so than normal.

  Only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, my hair still wet from my shower, and barefoot, I creep along the side of my house. I make sure to stay in the shadows.

  My heart pounds in my chest and nerves make my stomach feel queasy. I whip my head around when I hear a scream a few houses down. It’s an adult. A woman. I briefly wonder who it is. I push the thought to the back of my head because I don’t have time to think about it. I need to get to my brothers. We’re all supposed to meet Mae and Dale behind The Hill.

  I round the front side of my house, but come to a stop when I see dark figures, a bunch of them, stalk up the steps onto my porch. I back up and dart behind our neighbor’s, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders’, house.

  I’m just rounding the corner when I hear a loud bang and shouts come from inside my house. I pant as I start running, looking behind me to make sure no one’s spotted me and is following.

  The night opens up to more screams and yells. Suddenly, I’m falling, and my hands go in front of me to catch myself before my face smashes into the ground. The grass is wet with dew and my nails dig into the blades as I push myself up. I turn and slowly walk back to what I tripped over. It’s a body. Bending down, I notice it’s Mr. Sanders. Something dark is on the front of his shirt just below the collar. I can’t see the color, but from the way his eyes are open and sightlessly staring up at the sky, I’ve no doubt it’s blood. He’s dead.

  A thrill rushes through me. I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I was the one brave enough to have killed him.

  My feet squish in the cool wet grass as I leave Mr. Sanders on the ground. I stop behind a shed when I see a short figure up ahead hunched over behind a tree. The figure turns their head, and I recognize the face from the moonlight. Bending low, I jog over to my brother, Judge.

  “Where’re the others?” I whisper once I’m at his side.

  Without turning his head, he answers in a low voice. “I’m not sure, but I’ve got a guess.” Reaching back, he grabs my shirt. “Come on.”

  He pulls me behind him, but there’s no need. I’d follow him anyway.

  We’re forced to stop again when someone comes barreling out of the shadows in front of us and runs toward a car. They get the door open before a deep voice rings out.

  “Halt! This is the FBI! Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

  The light from inside the car reveals Noah Vincent’s face. He’s one of the younger adults, and a friend of my brother, Trey. I remember when he used to fight Hell Night. A couple years ago, that changed. Now he willingly joins in. Whatever happens to him, I hope it hurts.

  I don’t get a chance to see if he does as the FBI orders, because Judge and I are sprinting again. Instead of heading toward The Hill like we should be, we’re running the opposite way. Judge doesn’t have to tell me where we’re going. There’s only one reason we would be going this way. To get Emo and Trouble.

  Emo has been acting more volatile than usual lately, and I know it’s because he’s still torn up over the death of Rella, Trouble’s sister. He told us he thought he heard her scream last night. That’s not possible. We saw her ghostly-white body. We saw the blood soaking into the wood of the gazebo beneath her. There’s no way anyone could live with the amount of blood she lost.

  We’re only a couple of houses away from Trouble’s when a familiar scream has me halting in my tracks. It’s my mother’s. A moment later, I hear my father bellow. I don’t stop because I’m concerned with what’s happening to them. I stop because I want to take a minute to relish in their pain. I want to soak up the sound of their fear and helplessness, because they’ve been the cause of mine for as long as I can remember. Nothing that they’re going through could come even close to what I’ve endured.

  “JW,” Judge hisses a few feet away from me. “We gotta go.”

  We run in the opposite direction of where my parents are, but their sounds of torment follow me. It’s a sound I hope I will always carry with me. Even after my brothers and I leave this place of Hell behind.

  JW

  TOSSING MY PHONE IN THE passenger seat, I flip my lights on, pull out of the access road, and haul ass after the cherry red convertible that’s going sixty-eight in a fifty-five zone.

  Damn crazy idiots.

  I gain on the
car, and either they haven’t spotted me behind them or they just don’t give a fuck, because their lead foot is still very much on the gas pedal. Irritation has my hands choking the steering wheel when they don’t slow down once we hit Malus’s outer limits. What in the hell is so Goddamn important that they couldn’t get to where they’re going a minute or two later?

  Thinking about the people walking the streets and the kids playing on the sidewalks only a mile away makes me want to kick the dickhead’s face in, then issue them a ticket. Or better yet, toss their ass in a cell and let them stew for a night or two.

  They have a Texas license plate, but I don’t recognize the car, so they can’t be from around here. Which is a whole other potential problem.

  Outsiders aren’t welcome in Malus.

  Flipping the switch on the control box on my dashboard, I blip my siren a couple of times, just in case the person hasn’t spotted me behind them. Their head pops up, and I can barely make out a pair of sunglasses in their rearview mirror.

  Thankfully, and wisely, they begin to slow down. I cruise to a stop behind the car just a few blocks away from the sheriff’s office, which is convenient if things happen to go sour.

  Climbing out of my truck, I approach the car slowly. Once I’m at the back fender, I notice the small hands gripping the steering wheel. Feminine hands. Ones with fingernails painted a bright red. The woman’s head is facing forward, but she tilts her head to the side once I’m at her door.

  Huge black sunglasses that cover half of her face stare up at me. Her lips match the color of her nails. Her hair is in a scarf, but I still see red strands peeking out of the edges of the silky material.

  “License and registration, please,” I request, an irritated bite to my tone.

  After blowing out an aggravated sigh, she digs in her purse and produces a small wallet.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” she asks, handing over her license.

  “It’s Sheriff. You were goin’ thirteen over the speed limit and didn’t slow down once you reached the town limits. I’d say yes, there’s a problem.” I glance up from looking at her license. “Registration?” I remind her, arching a brow behind my aviators.

  “Oh, right,” she mutters and reaches for the glove compartment.

  I look back down at the license.

  Eden Delmont. Lives is San Antonio, Texas. Born December 15th, 1987. I look at the picture displayed. Red hair and green eyes. Because I’m a man first and a sheriff second, I note how pretty she is, even though she’s not smiling in the picture.

  Something white is shoved in my line of sight, and I realize it’s her registration. I snatch it from her hand, because if she wants to play the bitch role, I can certainly play the asshole. She faces the windshield again and her hands go back to the steering wheel, her thumbs tap rapidly and her knee bounces.

  People get nervous when they get pulled over. It’s to be expected. But this is more than simple edginess.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask.

  She doesn’t turn her head when she mumbles. “No.”

  “You mind telling me why you were in such a hurry?” When she keeps her lips sealed stubbornly shut, I point to the town ahead with the hand holding her license. “You see those houses and buildings?” I don’t give her time to answer. “There are kids playing along the streets. People walking their dogs. What in the hell was so important for you to put their lives in danger?”

  Her lips purse and she white-knuckles the steering wheel, staying silent. What in the fuck is wrong with this woman? Is she high, drunk, or just a cunt?

  I release a tired breath and take a step back. “I need you to step out of the car.”

  This time, I get a response. She whips her head around. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to run your license and registration, and I get the feeling as soon as I turn my back, you’re going to flee.”

  “You can’t!” she blurts. Her hands fly to the door handle. Had I not already taken a step back, my balls would have been flattened to pancakes. She jumps out of the car and slams the door shut. Her hand flies to her ribs, just below her left breast. I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses, but from the scrunch of her nose, she just winced.

  “Please don’t run my license,” she begs and leans back against her car, her hand still holding her side.

  “Why?” I ask suspiciously. “You got somethin’ to hide?”

  As she bites her bottom lip, avoiding my question, I take in her appearance behind my sunglasses. She has on some kind of flowy-type skirt that goes all the way down to her feet, which are encased in sandals. Her shirt is a deep-red silk, sleeveless, with a V that cuts low, showing off her creamy white cleavage. The bottom of the shirt stops just before it hits the low waistband of her skirt, giving just a hint of her stomach. The scarf around her head is long, stopping at her waist, and hiding her hair. A shit ton of skinny metal bracelets loop around her wrists and long silver dangly earrings hang from her ears. She looks like a glorified gypsy. A gorgeous glorified gypsy.

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” she finally answers, interrupting my perusal of her body. I lift my eyes back to hers.

  She exhales heavily and slouches back more against the door. I tip my chin to her ribs.

  “Are you injured?” I ask.

  “What?” She looks down at her hand, then straightens from the car, her hand falling away. “I ran into the banister at home.”

  She’s lying through her fucking teeth. Suspicion forms in my mind. You can tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes.

  “Remove your glasses,” I order.

  “No.”

  My brows jump up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Why do you want me to remove them?”

  This chick is really starting to piss me off. I take a step toward her.

  “Because I said so,” I grit. “And because I’ll be able to tell if you’re on drugs or drunk by seeing your eyes.”

  My answer shocks her. She sputters out a breath and her hand jerks, like she wants to grab her ribs again. “I’m not drunk or high.”

  I wait her out, crossing my arms over my chest.

  It takes her a couple of minutes, but she finally sucks her teeth and rips her glasses away, carelessly tossing them over her shoulder into the car. “You happy now?” she spews.

  I notice two things once I get a good view of her face. One, is that her license didn’t do her one bit of justice. She’s fucking stunning and her eyes are the prettiest green I’ve ever seen. They remind me of emeralds.

  The second thing I notice is that one of her eyes is slightly swollen with the skin around it an ugly purplish-green. My blood runs hot, because I know what a black eye from a fist looks like. My teeth creak as I grind my molars together. If there’s one thing I hate most in the world, it’s abuse against women and children.

  “Who did that to you?” I growl the words, not even attempting to hide the rage simmering inside me.

  It’s her turn to cross her arms over her chest. She adds a cocked hip to her stance.

  “No one,” she mutters, her eyes skittering away from me. “I hit a table when I fell after running into the banister.

  “Bullshit,” I state, my words a deep rumble. Her eyes jump back to mine. “You ain’t foolin’ anyone with that lame ass story, sugar. Now why don’t you try again.” I step closer. “Who fuckin’ gave you that black eye and busted ribs?”

  Her shoulders droop and her arm wraps around her middle, as if she knows her tough girl act isn’t working, so there’s no need to keep trying. Her head swivels to the left, looking down the road past my car, before she swings her eyes back to me.

  “An ex-lover of mine,” she admits reluctantly.

  “Where is he now?”

  Her brows knit together as she again looks behind my car. “I thought he was following me, but I guess I was wrong.”

  I tense. “That why you were speeding?”

  Her earrings sway when
she nods. “Look,” she starts, looking down at her feet before lifting her head again. “Can you just give me a warning or something and let me go? If my ex finds me, it won’t end pretty. Running a license through the system will leave a trail he’ll easily be able to follow.”

  “What makes you think he’ll be privy to that information? It’s not exactly made public anytime law enforcement runs a driver’s license.”

  She tucks her hands into her long skirt, her bracelets jiggling. “Because he has connections with the San Antonio Police Department and they’ll notify him if my name turns up in the system.”

  “Your license says you live in San Antonio. Why are you all the way out here?”

  “Because that’s where he lives too.”

  “Where’re you headed?”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. Just away.”

  I look to the right, toward town, as I contemplate my next words. The citizens of Malus don’t welcome new people, unless we specifically invite them. There are things we do that most people wouldn’t agree with. To keep our secrets safe, we keep to ourselves and never let in outsiders that could potentially cause problems. Under normal circumstances, I’d let this woman go on her way. For some reason, that thought doesn’t sit well with me. I feel like if I let her leave, I’ll be sending her to her death bed. My conscience and morals won’t let that happen. I may not know this woman, but there’s no way in hell I’ll let her go knowing there’s someone out there wanting to hurt her.

  I flip up my aviators to rest on top of my head then scrub my hand over my jaw. Silently cursing myself up one way and down the other, and hope that Judge won’t have my hide, I make a suggestion.

  “Why don’t you follow me into town and stay for a few days to make sure this ex-lover of yours hasn’t followed you.

  Her eyes widen. A moment later, the perplexed look is gone and one of stubbornness replaces it.

  “I’d rather just be on my way, if it’s okay with you. The more distance I put between me and San Antonio, the better, and I’m still way too close.”

  “Well, you see, that’s not okay with me. I can’t just let you leave knowing you’ll be in danger.”