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  Axle’s Secret

  Nia Arthurs

  First published in Belize, C.A. 2019

  Copyright © Nia Arthurs

  Cover Design: Oliviaprodesign

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  A Word From The Author

  Other Books by this Author

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  1

  Axle

  “There she is!” Sebastian hisses in my ear. His breath carries the scent of garlic dip and beer. He raises his voice to combat the loud music. “There! Right in the center.”

  I focus on my phone. “Alright, man. I see her.”

  “Damn, she’s beautiful.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Seb throws his arm around my shoulders. “You didn’t even look.”

  “Sorry.” I slip my phone back in my pocket.

  “Who are you texting?” Sebastian arches a thick eyebrow. “You and Gina back together again?”

  “Gina?” I snort. “Nah. It’s my parents. The social worker came over tonight, and she’s asking about me.”

  “So you wanna leave?”

  “They told me not to come home.” My voice is hard. Bitter. “They don’t want me to make a bad impression.”

  “Bad impression?” He slaps my chest with a chuckle. “In that case, I’ll take that.” He grabs for my beer. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your chance at having a little brother.”

  I slide the bottle out of Seb’s reach. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll handle my own business.”

  “Look at that.” Seb grins and leans back in the couch, spreading his long arms out on either side. Colorful lights from the globe in the corner reflect all over his pale face. “Axle Whitmore, being his own man.”

  I take a deep swig. “Whatever. Who’s this chick you dragged us here to stalk?” I look over my shoulder at the stairs. “Although Corey ditched us for some college girl.”

  “Forget Corey.” Seb chucks his chin forward. “She’s there.”

  I glance up, my eyes skimming the smoky chaos of Connor Lang’s end-of-summer party. Connor’s parents own a mansion on the hill overlooking Green Lake and they’re always away for business trips.

  Connor’s thrown a hundred parties since freshman year, each one leaving his immaculate home more trashed than the other. But he hasn’t stopped hosting and we haven’t stopped coming.

  The house is currently filled with a bunch of people—some I know. Others I don’t. Neon lights blare from above. Heavy-duty speakers shake the frame of the house. A roar builds in the air, crashing over us like a jubilant wave.

  I glance that way. Seniors are playing beer pong in the kitchen. Someone just took a shot. Except he’s not drinking it the old-fashioned way. Gina, my ex-girlfriend, is currently topless on the pool table being licked down by one of the jocks.

  My fingers tighten around my beer bottle, but I force myself to look away. Gina’s propensity for ‘sharing the love’ is why I broke up with her, but it still sucks to watch her move on so quickly.

  I’m sure she and the jock will take their show somewhere private soon. Although I don’t know how she’ll find an unoccupied bedroom this late in the game. I’d bet a hundred bucks the bedrooms upstairs are filled.

  Seb and I are in the living room. The expensive leather couches have been pushed back to make room for dancing—though calling this train wreck ‘dancing’ is being generous.

  The party is in full swing and most of us are smashed. The moves on the dance floor are evidence. There’s lots of gyrating. Butt-shaking. Full-on humping. Most look like maniacs seizing to a rhythm.

  But one girl. She knows what she’s doing.

  She’s got thick, dark brown hair that she flings around to the beat. The lights bounce off her bronze skin exposed in a fitted crop top and jeans that hug a behind that’s perkier than any I’ve seen in my life.

  I’m a leg guy myself, but I appreciate every bounce and dip of a woman’s curves. Mystery Girl has more than enough to share.

  “Nice.” I nod in approval. “What’s her name?”

  Seb scoots closer to me like he’s about to unearth the world’s best-kept secret. “Maribella.”

  “She’s Hispanic?”

  “Dude, race doesn’t matter.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” I chuckle. “Is she new?”

  “She’s a sophomore. Starting school next week. She’s smart too. Got in all the AP and Honors classes. Her family just moved here. She’s got two brothers and a dog.”

  I smirk. I’ve never seen Seb so entranced. “Do you know her social security number too?”

  “Shut up.”

  “You really like this girl.”

  “I’ve been building up the courage to talk to her. The big day,” he jerks his chin down, “is tonight.”

  I glance back at the girl and notice a tall, broad-shouldered guy soldiering through the crowd and approaching her. “I think you might be too late.”

  Seb scowls in recognition. “Is that Diandre?”

  I peer into the darkness and watch the guy with dark skin and big hands wrap his arms around Maribella and dance with her from behind. She seems to accept his presence and they move together like a couple from one of those unrealistic dance movies.

  All they need are fireworks and a bunch of background dancers who, for some magical reason, know the routine and they’d be set.

  Seb drops his cup to the table. It lands on an angle. Spills over. Dark liquid drips into the fluffy white rug at our feet. Seb doesn’t care. His eyes are locked on the dance floor.

  “Seb?”

  Nothing.

  His face reddens. The vein in his neck bulges.

  I’ve seen that vein a number of three times since I’ve known him—once when his father hit his mother right in front of me, once when he found out his parents were sleeping together even after the divorce, and once when he learned his gran died.

  Things always go to hell after that vein appears.

  I scramble to out the fire before Seb does something stupid. Like tackle Diandre in front of all these witnesses. We didn’t come here to start a fight or make trouble. I don’t need my parents on my back any more than they are right now.

&nb
sp; “Seb, snap out of it.”

  His nose flares.

  I wave my hand in front of his face. “Stay calm.”

  “I am calm.”

  “Look, man. It’s just a dance. When they’re done, you can talk to her.”

  But my prediction is wrong. After the dance, Diandre and Maribella head off to the kitchen. I’m assuming he’s getting her a drink.

  Seb assumes the worst. “If he takes her upstairs, I swear—”

  “Relax. Diandre’s not a jerk.”

  “How do you even know that punk?”

  “We’re lab partners. And sort-of friends.” I lift my hands in surrender. “Trust me. He’s a decent guy. You don’t have to worry about him making a move on Maribella.”

  “Dude!” A voice blares above the music. “Diandre’s making a move on your dream girl!”

  I glance over my shoulder and glare at Corey as he swaggers toward us, two cups in hand. He’s a redhead and his cheeks are flushed enough to match his messy hair.

  “Nice timing, Corey,” I mumble.

  He sinks in between us, sloshing beer on the side of my pants. “You missed me?”

  “Where did Diandre and Maribella go?” Seb barks.

  “What’s with the yelling? I’m not the enemy here, man.”

  Seb surges out of the couch and storms into the kitchen. I, as his life-long friend and conscience, should probably follow him, but I’m not in the mood.

  “What?” Corey sips his drink and eyes me over the rim. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “You’re a moron.”

  “Hey!”

  I groan before pushing myself up and diving in the direction Seb disappeared. I’m surprised when Corey follows me.

  He grabs my shoulder. “What did I miss?”

  “Seb’s pissed. We gotta stop him before he does something he regrets.”

  We make it out of the crowd and deeper into the kitchen where the kegs are. The music quiets dramatically and I don’t realize my ears were ringing until I meet the relative silence of the room.

  Corey taps my chest. “Over there.”

  I look that way. Seb’s talking to Maribella.

  We hang back. Watch him do his thing. It’s clear Maribella’s not into him though. She keeps leaning back when he gets into her personal space and eventually, she spins and walks away.

  Corey and I carefully near Seb.

  “You okay?”

  He grits his teeth and curls his fingers into fists. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We follow Seb to the parking lot. He’s moving in long, aggravated strides. Both Corey and I keep exchanging glances, but we’re too afraid to ask for details.

  At last, we get to Seb’s cherry red convertible—a present from his parents for his seventeenth birthday. The roof is up, and the ride gleams in the moonlight.

  I step in front of Seb before he can slide into the driver’s seat. “You sure you should be driving?”

  “I’m not drunk,” Seb spits out. “I wish I was.”

  “Don’t be such a stickler, man.” Corey grins at me and sticks out his tongue. “Let’s go.”

  I reluctantly get into the car and buckle my seatbelt. Usually, I’d offer to drive but I’m buzzed. Plus, I believe Seb. The heat in his chest probably burned all the alcohol. Whatever happened between him and Maribella, it wasn’t good.

  We get on the road.

  The silence is stifling.

  I kind of wish Corey would put on the radio. He gets the same idea but before he can touch the dial, Seb slows the car.

  “What is it?” I ask, poking my head between the front seats.

  “Isn’t that Diandre?”

  Corey throws his head back and laughs. “Dude’s out of it.”

  When I finally see past their big heads to the lone traveller stumbling down the side of the highway, I get it. Diandre’s unable to walk a straight line.

  Seb lifts his chin. “Man can’t handle his liquor.”

  “Wait.” I dig my fingers into the headrests. “Why are you slowing down?”

  Seb ignores me and pulls the car to a stop.

  Diandre swivels toward us and frowns. “Who are you?”

  “Need a ride?” Corey asks.

  “Guys,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”

  Diandre waves a hand and keeps walking. “No, thanks.”

  Seb starts the engine and coasts beside him. “Come on.”

  “Axle,” Corey twists his neck around to grin at me, “you had a class together, right? Talk to him.”

  I sigh as Seb lowers the window. Diandre stops when he sees me. His brown eyes widen in recognition.

  “Hey, D.” I pop the door open. “It’s dark and cold. We’ll take you home.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You could get hurt out here if you’re not careful,” Seb says.

  I try not to flinch at the coldness in his voice and beckon Diandre. “Come on. I promise you’ll be fine.”

  “Alright. Thanks.” Diandre hops into the car.

  Everyone is silent as Seb drives. I don’t mind. I drank way too much tonight and drowsiness overwhelms me. When the car stops suddenly, I struggle to open my eyes.

  We’re in front of the pier at Green Lake. The surrounding trees press in like spectators holding their breath. The car door slams. I glance up front. Realize both Corey and Seb are out of their seats.

  Next thing I know, they tear the back door open and haul Diandre out. He’s mumbling, his eyes half-hooded. He doesn’t even try to struggle.

  I fight the lethargy and fall out of the car. “Guys!”

  My friends ignore me.

  The wind rushes over the lake and ruffles the hem of my jacket. I shiver from the cold. Corey’s laughter peels over the grim water rolling with fog like a monster waiting to be fed.

  “Corey! Seb!” I stumble forward.

  The world spins.

  I see them pick Diandre up, carry him to the end of the pier and swing.

  Once.

  My eyes burn. “Guys! Stop!” I crawl toward them. “Stop!”

  Twice.

  On the last swing, a crack like a gunshot splits the air. It’s overshadowed by the splash Diandre makes when he hits the water.

  Seb and Corey race back to me, their mouths open in laughter.

  “Get back in the car, Axle!” Corey yells.

  I shake my head. “Diandre…”

  “He’s fine,” Seb says, brushing his hands together. “I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Maribella’s mine.”

  My friends help me back into the car and drive away. I turn around, staring through the windshield.

  The lake is still. Calm. Feasting.

  By the time we turn the bend, Diandre still hasn’t climbed out.

  2

  Ember

  Sunlight pours through the quaking tree leaves in the park. I sit beneath the shade and sketch quietly, inhaling the sweet summer air. Here, amidst all the greenery and sunshine, feels like home.

  It’s a thousand times better than the chaos back at my place. All my aunts and uncles are at the apartment offering moral support while Mom unravels.

  Mom’s been calling the police since dawn and became increasingly unhinged as the morning progressed.

  I tried to tell them that Diandre’s probably over at some girl’s house getting lucky, but no one wanted to listen to me. They never do. I rake my pencil harder over the page.

  Suddenly, a shadow casts over my sketchpad. My head whips up, eyebrow scrunched and lips poised to tell the creep off.

  Only this isn’t a creep. Or if it is, his life of perverted crime is starting early.

  A little boy with rich brown skin and bright, intelligent eyes points to my book. “What’s that?”

  I blink once. Twice. Completely surprised by his presence. He looks like he’s alone. Which doesn’t make sense. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Americans, it’s that they’re paranoid when it comes to their kids.

&nb
sp; “Uh,” I swallow and adjust the book so he can see, “it’s a sketch.”

  “Of the tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  The kid fearlessly hops on the bench and leans over, invading my personal space. “What else can you draw?”

  Taken aback, I scoot over. “Lots of stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like buildings and animals and bodies, pretty much everything but faces.”

  “Why not faces?”

  I stare into his beautiful, perfectly proportioned one. His eyebrows look like Prachi, my brow specialist back in Belize, got ahold of them. His cheeks still carry that little-boy chubbiness and his lips are plump and brown.

  “Because,” I say slowly, searching for the right words, “it’s just harder.”

  “Why?”

  Okay, kid. Why are you so nosy? I don’t even know you. But I can’t tell him that. He’s sitting there on the bench staring at me like his very being hangs on my answer.

  “I can try to imitate the structure of the cheekbones,” my fingers brush the air right above his, “the chin, the ears and everything else, but the eyes… I never get them right.”

  “So you don’t have a problem drawing faces,” he says. “You just can’t draw eyes.”

  “Wow.” I stare at him, jaw slackening and heart slain before his simple yet profound revelation, “I guess you’re right.”

  He squirms. “Will you draw me?”

  “I would love to.” I offer my hand. “I’m Ember. What’s your name?”