Trouble in Hell (Hell Night Book 1) Read online

  Trouble in Hell

  Copyright © 2018 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

  Epilogue

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of JW’s Sweet Hell

  Acknowledgements

  Other books by Alex

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  To everyone who has believed in me.

  This is for you.

  DISCLAIMER

  Disclaimer curtesy of my friend, Marie.

  Grab a bottle, if you don’t smoke, you might start,

  and hold the fuck on.

  Now for the real disclaimer.

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

  TROUBLE

  THE PAST

  “EMO,” I URGENTLY WHISPER my best friend’s name and tug on his arm. “We gotta go before it’s too late and they catch us.”

  “No,” he grunts and digs his bare feet into the ground, halting all movement. His face stays forward, staring at the dark house in front of us. “We can’t leave yet. We need to find her.” His voice cracks at the end.

  I close my eyes at the pain that I know is gripping him. It is the same pain that sits in my stomach.

  I tighten my hold on his arm. “You know she’s not here anymore. She’s gone. We all saw it.”

  He finally turns his head and the stark pain in his black gaze is no less than what I expected, but it’s still crippling. “I heard her, Trouble. I swear I heard her screaming last night.” He turns back to the house.

  I loosen my hold, but still keep my fingers wrapped around his wrist. If I let him go, he’ll run into the house, and that’s the last thing he needs to do.

  I walk around him until my slightly bigger frame blocks his view. My chest feels tight, like there’s a steel band around my torso and it’s slowly constricting.

  “You know that can’t be,” I say hoarsely. “It’s in your head. She’s gone.”

  An image of a small girl with brunette hair and green eyes races through my head, followed closely with another image, one of the last time that we saw her. Her still body was sprawled out on the gazebo floor with her dark hair fanning out around her. The white sundress with purple flowers was no longer white beneath her. It was a deep red to match the still gushing blood seeping from the self-inflicted cuts on her wrists. The knife she used to take her own life still laid in her limp hand. Except for the paleness of her face, it almost looked like she was sleeping. Even through the pain she endured while slitting her wrists, her lips still carried a small smile. As if she happily bore that pain to get away from the horror we all went through at home.

  Her name was Daisy, but we all called her Rella, short for Cinderella. She came up with the nickname herself, saying one day her prince would come and take her away from this horrible place. She was ten years old when she let go of that notion and decided to escape this nightmare the only way she felt she could. That was a week ago, and every day since then my friends and I have felt the effects of losing her like a sledgehammer to the chest.

  Emo always had a special bond with her. Probably due to him being with her during the darkest parts of our lives. It was him who endured that pain with her, albeit forced. It was him who took part in her pain, once again, not of his free will. He feels responsible, no matter how much we’ve told him he had no choice. It was either do what they told him or they would both feel the consequences. Those consequences were much harsher than what they were asking of them. He chose the lesser of two evils, which still slowly kills him from the inside out.

  Rella was my baby sister, and it was my duty to protect her. Guilt, pain, and rage rests on my shoulders. I failed her over and over again, no matter how much I tried.

  They are strong.

  They are powerful.

  They are bastards from the darkest pits of hell.

  Things are changing now, hopefully for the best.

  Shouts and screams pierce the night air, and I jerk my head to the side. Dark shadows move across the grass between two houses. Unsure if they’re the good or bad guys, I step closer to Emo.

  “We gotta go,” I whisper harshly. “We can’t be here anymore, or they’ll take us away and separate us.”

  I tense, preparing to forcefully drag him behind me if I have to. There’s no way I’m leaving him. When he finally lays his eyes on me, the pain that darkened them moments ago is gone. In its place is… nothing. The black orbs just stare at me with not one ounce of emotion. They look dead, hollow, lifeless. The expression isn’t new. I’ve seen it on his face a lot over the years. Out of the four of us, Emo is the one with the blackest heart. He’s the one who suffers the most and has the least amount of reasons to show anything other than hatred.

  Leaves crunch to our left, and I swing my head around to see Judge and JW rushing toward us. Judge is the oldest of the four of us at fourteen. He’s also the biggest. JW’s not far behind him in size, despite him being two years younger and the same age as Emo.

  I can’t see their expression through the dark, but by the way their chest pumps with their heavy breathing, I know something’s going on.

  “We gotta go now,” Judge huffs as he comes to a stop beside us. “Shit’s going down fast and if we don’t want the Peterson’s to get caught in the crosshairs, we have to leave. They’re waiting on us behind The Hill.”

  The Hill is the only restaurant in Sweet Haven and is owned by an old couple, Dale and Mae Peterson. It’s several blocks away just on the outskirts of town.

  I nod and turn back to Emo, who’s still looking quietly at the house. Pure evil radiates from the brick building. To an outsider, it lo
oks like a normal house with its pretty flowers, white shutters, clean yard, and two rocking chairs sitting on a wraparound porch. But it holds deep dark secrets. Ones that make my skin crawl and vomit to rise in my throat.

  I jerk Emo’s arm to get his attention, and thankfully, he turns from the house.

  “Let’s go.” He pulls his arm from my grasp and starts stalking in the same direction Judge and JW just came from.

  I cast my eyes one last time at the house. My house. There’s nothing that I’ll miss about the place or the people who live there. Now that Rella’s gone, there’s not one ounce of good left, and the farther away I get, the happier I’ll be.

  We all hunch over and keep our eyes peeled as we weave in and out between houses and across streets. Despite it being after midnight, many of the houses are lit up as all hell breaks loose throughout town.

  As we pass by the Moore’s place, I peek into one of the windows. I spot Mr. Moore in a pair of boxers and a white T-shirt lying on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding his head from the gash across his throat. Mrs. Moore is on her knees by his side hunched over his body. A loud crash comes from the front of the house and she whips around to look at the bedroom door, a look of fright widening her eyes.

  Shivers race up and down my body. Not from the grotesque sight of his dead body or worry for the woman, but from satisfaction. Mr. Moore deserved his gruesome death. My only regret is that he didn’t suffer longer. And Mrs. Moore, she earned her own punishment as well. I just hope it’s a harsh one.

  “Trouble,” Judge hisses quietly.

  I pull my eyes away from the window and dart across the lawn to catch up with the guys. More yells come from a couple of houses down, followed quickly by a gun shot. A man in dark fatigues stands on the porch with a gun pointed inside the house. A couple more men stand to his side with their own weapons drawn.

  “Don’t move!” one of them yells before running inside.

  All of us dart behind the trunk of a big oak and wait.

  “I wonder if that was Mr. or Mrs. Sanders,” JW comments.

  “Doesn’t matter. Either would be fine with me. Or better yet, both of them,” Judge mutters as he peeks around the tree. He keeps his hand raised, warding us off from moving. A moment later, he says, “It’s clear.”

  We stay close to the back of the houses, stopping at the edge of each property to make sure no one is around. Red and blue lights flash in front of several houses. Luckily, when we make it to The Hill, it’s dark. A grey van sits behind the building facing away from us. At first it looks like no one is inside, but when we’re only a few feet away, a head pops up, and the sliding door opens just as we come to a stop.

  “Get in, get in.” Mae hurriedly waves at us.

  Once we’re situated inside the van, she slides the door closed, but not all the way. My guess is so it doesn’t make any noise and draw attention to us. We slowly creep along behind the building as Mae climbs to the front passenger seat. We come to a stop where we turn right back into town or left to leave town. Dale turns in his seat.

  “Everybody okay?”

  We all nod, our hearts racing with adrenaline. Dale keeps the lights off as he turns left.

  “Where are we going?” Judge, always the level-headed one, asks Dale.

  “Mae’s got a place up in Kentucky her great-aunt left her when she died.”

  I turn in my seat and look out the back window. I can’t see the town anymore, but the many flashing red and blue lights still brighten up the sky.

  Ten minutes later, Dale flips on the headlights. Another twenty minutes pass before we all start to breathe easily. The farther away we get from Sweet Haven, the bigger my hope gets that we’ve finally escaped our prison.

  We may not know much about where we’re going or what’s going to happen, but anything is better than the hell we just escaped from.

  TROUBLE

  TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER

  I STAND IN FRONT OF THE window in my office, my arms tightly crossed over my chest, body tense, and my jaw cramping from grinding my teeth together. I watch as Sheriff Ward tugs Gary Watters out of the back of the cruiser. Seeing the wince on Watters face when the Sheriff wrenches his cuffed hands up his back a little higher than necessary does nothing for the violent rage forming in the pit of my stomach. I force myself to stay in place when I want nothing more than to storm across the street and end the sick bastard’s sorry life. It’s nothing less than what he deserves and more than what he would receive under normal circumstances.

  It’s ironic, because in my line of work I save lives, but the man I see being marched up the steps to the Sheriff’s office is one who has no business walking this earth. He’s lower than dirt and needs to be put down.

  Two days ago, ten-year-old Brittney Watters was in school when her teacher noticed her walking funny. When she pulled her aside to ask if her she was okay, the little girl became terrified. It took the guidance counselor, the principal, and her teacher forty minutes to calm her down enough to get the truth out of her. Gary Watters had raped his ten-year-old daughter the night before.

  Once that dam broke, a whole flood of information came from Brittney. That night wasn’t the first time he had violated her little body. It was just one of the more brutal ones that she wasn’t able to hide. Brittney informed them that she thought it was normal for her daddy to touch her, that he had done it ever since she could remember, and that he told her it was how daddies showed their little girls that they loved them. He also told her that she couldn’t tell anyone because other girls might get jealous and try to steal him away from her and her little brother. Her brother, Jacob, was four-years-old, and yes, the sick fuck touched him too.

  The Sheriff was called in immediately, and it was him who brought Brittney to my office to be examined. Malus, Texas is a small town with the biggest nearby city over sixty miles away. I’m the only physician around for just as many miles. Since the situation was delicate, and not wanting to terrify her even more so by a man examining her, I had my nurse practitioner, Susan, do it. Susan’s very soft-spoken with kids, so she was able to make the little girl comfortable enough to look her over and assess the extent of damage done to her.

  The report sits on my desk, and every time my eyes light on it, I want to destroy something—namely the man who hurt her.

  We do things differently in Malus. If this had happened anywhere else, the Texas State Police would have been brought in and they would have taken Watters into custody. Brittney and her brother would have also been taken by the State until another family member could be notified to care for them. If none came forward, they would be put in foster care.

  In Malus, we take care of our own business, and fuck any outsiders. That’s why the crime rate here is damn near non-existent.

  There’s a knock on my door and Susan peeks her head in, “Mrs. Tanner is here for her two o’clock.”

  Without turning from the window, I inform her, “Put her in room two. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Already done. She should be ready for you in a moment.”

  I grunt, then hear the door close as Susan leaves. I keep my eyes facing the window. Even though I can no longer see Watters, I still stare daggers at the small building across the street. Like I can kill him by simply looking through the brick structure. If only it were that simple. Actually, no. That’s too easy. The man deserves to suffer.

  I turn away and walk over to my desk just as my cell phone rings. Taking a seat, I swipe my finger across the screen to accept the call, making sure to avoid looking at Brittney’s file.

  “Day and time?” I bark.

  “Six o’clock, Thursday evening,” the deep voice responds.

  “Was the other situation taken care of?”

  “Yes. I spoke with him this morning. He should be back tomorrow.”

  “Wish I had been there,” I mutter darkly into the phone.

  “You and me both, brother.”

  “I want in on the next one.”
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  “You got it.”

  Anticipation fills me at the prospect, but I push down the excitement.

  Soon, the voice in my head whispers.

  I pull a file in front of me and flip it open. “I’ve gotta go. Keep me updated if any problems arise.”

  “Got it. Later.”

  The line goes dead, and I look down at the top sheet of paper in the file. Amelia Tanner, my two o’clock, is here for her annual exam. For the first time since I received my medical degree, the sexually disturbed part of my brain doesn’t trigger. It’s a part I’ve forced myself to ignore for years. My field of expertise isn’t psychology, but even I know the vulgar part of my psyche that gets aroused from touching my female patients stems from my disturbing childhood.

  On the outside, I’m very clinical and professional with my patients. I’ve never touched them inappropriately or taken advantage of them in any way. What they don’t know is, on the inside, my mind is going wild with sexual fantasies of touching them. They don’t know my body tightens with need, or that my dick gets so hard I could hammer nails into concrete with it.

  It’s a secret only my brothers know about, because the last thing I want is to make my patients uncomfortable. Maybe I shouldn’t have a career in the medical field, and my license would probably be revoked if the medical board found out about my perverse cravings, but I love my profession. Not because of those cravings, but because I genuinely enjoy what I do. I like helping people. It’s challenging and the rewards of solving medical problems and creating a plan of care or showing them how to manage is extremely rewarding.

  It also gives me control. Malus is mine and my brother’s town. We own it, along with the people who live here. It’s been that way since we moved back to town ten years ago. We’ve made it what it is today, which is much more than what it was when we got here.

  I close the file, picking it up as I get to my feet. Mrs. Tanner’s had enough time to strip down and don the paper gown we provide our patients to cover themselves with. Walking out of my office, I see Susan waiting for me outside of room two.