Sive Read online

  Table of 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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Sive

  By

  Daniela Jackson

  Shadow Wolves MC

  Copyright © 2017 by Daniela Jackson

  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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Description

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Description

  ***

  Axel

  My rationality screams that I’m a pervert, but my body recognises a woman in her. She’s eighteen, right? An adult? A woman with large tits and a hot pussy. And she will sleep in my bed tonight.

  Sive

  I’m only eighteen. I had meningitis at the age of fourteen. I’m disabled but I’m not stupid. I can steal a car. Or even four cars.

  ***

  This book is intended for adult audiences only.

  Chapter 1

  Sive

  My mother’s coffin rests at the bottom of the grave and the attendants of the funeral slowly disperse in all directions of the cemetery. Their eyes are sliding over me as though I’m a sculpture from a medieval church.

  The sky cries with me. The cold drops prick my face like icicles and merge with my tears. A chill creeps under my black velvet coat, biting me, and my body shivers. My teeth chatter together as a cloud of vapour leaves my mouth. The world around me is all sadness, mist and greyness. I’m grey inside too. Sad and lonely. But most of all I’m scared to death.

  I know he killed her. My dear stepfather. He leans over me and lays his hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m waiting in the SUV,” he says in an informative tone and brushes my temple with his lips. His predatory fingers hold a soaked tendril of my almond hair and his steel glance flicks over my lips. “Take your time, Sive.”

  I bob my head at him and send him a forced smile.

  “But not too long, angel,” he adds. “It’s raining.”

  Owen thinks that I adore him. I even allowed him to kiss my lips last evening and pretended that he made me the happiest girl on the face of the earth. But the truth is that I hate him. He is a calculating monster, a psychopath and a murderer. That boyish handsome face of his obscures his ruthless black soul.

  A wave of nausea courses through me as his hungry eyes roam over me, and he walks off. I wait until I’m the only person by my mother’s grave and dig my hand into my bag. My fingers palpate the heels of my trainers. I take them out to replace the black velvet shoes on my feet.

  There is not much time. Adrenaline fills my veins. I’m shaky.

  Owen will wait maybe ten more minutes before he starts suspecting something. I turn around as my eyes roam over the cemetery. My lungs expand; the earthy scent of soil burns the memory into my head and my fingers roll into fists. I start running. And I don’t look back.

  My heart thumps in my ears as I rush past the gravestones; they are like silent witnesses of my desperation. The grass bends under my soles and mud covers my legs up to my knees.

  A high metal fence obstructs the way to my safety, but I don’t hesitate. My fingers close around the pickets and my foot rests against the horizontal railing. The coldness of the metal causes me pain as I pull myself up and clumsily fight against the obstacle. My first attempt leaves me with deep scratches on my palms and mud on my ass. I growl, inhale deeply then my hands clutch the upper horizontal railing. It does the trick and I swing my body over the fence, ripping my coat. I land on all fours. I’m outside the cemetery.

  Strange, but I stop being a human. I’m a hunted animal and my basic survival instinct is all that guides me. I’m a heavy breath, a sharp vision and a cold mind. Nothing more.

  My eyes spot an old car parked along the pavement. I take a wooden wedge and a long rod out of my bag. Who would suspect that a disabled girl like me could attempt to steal a car? I learnt how to do it during the final semester in my catholic school. Theoretically. This will be my first practical attempt.

  I wedge the car door open and insert the rod. The rain blinds my eyes as I manipulate the lock feverishly and look over my shoulder every ten seconds. The rod presses the lock button and I’m in. Now to start the engine. I sit behind the steering wheel and remove the plastic cover, identifying the three main bundles of wires. If I connect the wrong ones, the electric shock will knock me out in an instant.

  My face averts for a split second. Panic rushes through my veins. A tall figure blurs in the distance behind the cemetery’s fence. Owen is hunting me. My hands tremble as I take a deep breath. Now, even death is better than he is. The wires stick together and the engine rasps but it doesn’t start properly. Damn it. Again. It rasps for longer as I recite ‘Our Father’ in my mind, disconnecting and connecting the wires back again. The engine rumbles and my mind switches to a focussed mode as I drive off with a squeal of the tyres.

  I’m disabled not stupid but the majority of people who meet me think the opposite. I have planned my escape for three months as soon as I realised that Owen would finish off my mother and I couldn’t do anything about it. There was no proof and the option of calling the police would not work either. Owen is the police. The second in command at the age of forty-four.

  I change the car every hour, take a bus, then steal a car again. Hunger torments my insides and thirst clouds my vision as I drive farther and farther and don’t even allow myself to stop to pee.

  Fourteen hours later, I park at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere. The sun rises to its highest point and its touch burns the nape of my neck. I visit the toilet, change my clothes, fuel the car and buy a bottle of spring water with a ham sandwich.

  Two tumbleweeds roll in front of me as I cross the road. Deadness and emptiness mix with the w
ind’s whistling. Pulling the car door open, I shudder at the touch of somebody’s sweaty hot hand on my shoulder. I turn around and my glance meets a pair of icy blue eyes. They belong to a man in his thirties. Grey hair slipping below his cap contradicts the boyishness of his face but his whole being oozes something threatening, hidden under the calm of his smile.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asks.

  His hand corrects the collar of his chequered shirt. His fingers move with the same predatory precision as Owen’s.

  I nod at him and plunge into my car, slamming the door shut. He doesn’t like it. His face winces in cold fury which urges me to start the car as fast as possible and escape from him.

  I would recognise a man as a psychopath from three steps, just by glancing at them. That man is one; I can feel it on the brink of my consciousness. Nausea rolls over my stomach.

  The car shoots forward and I sigh with relief. I drive along the empty road. On both sides of it, dry land stretches like a never-ending sea of sand. Cacti and ironwood trees stand like monuments, refusing to die under the fire coming down from the cloudless sky year after year. The primal energy of the surroundings stirs the very atoms of my body, and I lose myself in that eternal power for a long while.

  My car shakes and the steering wheel vibrates like something is pulling it backwards. I swallow thickly and start ‘Our Father’ in my mind. I have no phone and there is nobody here. If the car breaks down, returning to the petrol station will take me more than half an hour. My foot presses the gas pedal harder, but the vehicle shakes back and forth, slowing down. I deviate from the road towards the margin and the tyres screech against the sand. My car is dead and I’m fucked. I know nothing about cars.

  After four attempts to reanimate the car, I get out of it and hang my bag over my shoulder. A pickup truck passes me and stops with the sound of the tyres squealing. A man jumps out of his car and I wave at him, then my arm collapses. Coldness fills my veins. A primal fear strangles my throat. I recognise the psychopath from the petrol station. I want to scream but I can’t.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” the man says as he leaps towards me.

  Chapter 2

  Axel

  My bike roars at full speed through the sandy hostile land as I approach two cars parked on the roadside and slow down a bit. My eyes flick over a man in black jeans and a chequered shirt who bends forward and moves his upper body into the passenger side of his pickup. He wiggles as though he’s trying to pacify a wild animal in the passenger seat. I pass him and rev up the engine but a few seconds later, something urges me to turn back, like a cold hand of uneasiness has stroked my mind. My sixth sense. I trust it, especially after it has saved my ass three times.

  I reduce speed and my bike manoeuvres smoothly, changing the lanes and going in the opposite direction. Approaching the pickup, I notice the man in the chequered shirt. He’s trying to restrain a girl. Fuck, I knew something was wrong. The sick fuck pushes the back of her head and bangs her forehead against the car body. He raises his eyes towards me and freezes as I brake a few steps away from him. My bike hits the road, sliding forward, and I leap towards him. The girl crawls away, coughing. Blood spurts from her nose.

  A cold calm fills my mind as I block the man between the driver’s side of his pickup and my frame with my hand shooting towards his throat. I’m a ruthless monster now. Immobilising the man with my hand, I slam my fist into his abdomen. He groans, writhes then chokes on his vomit. Fear pervades his glance, but it’s the kind of sick fear like he believes that he can conquer me. His arms flap as I shove him onto the ground and kick him in the face, turning it into a bloody mash. My foot sweeps, crushing his intestines, and his body starts convulsing. That will do. Clean and precise. I don’t care whether he will live or die.

  Arcing the back of the pickup, I look around and spot the girl moving forward along the verge. She’s walking slowly and staggers, embracing her bag like her life depends on it.

  “Hey,” I shout, but she doesn’t stop so I run after her. “Hey.”

  I catch up with her in a few seconds and clutch her arm. She squeals and tries to pull away so I grip her other arm and turn her round. Her dark eyes lock onto mine, and I’m speechless for the first time in my fucking twenty-nine-year life. I’m staring at her like I’m a teenager in love.

  There is a large bruise with a cut on her forehead and another smaller one above her upper lip. The left corner of her mouth is covered in blood but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m staring at an angel. Her almond hair cascades down onto her breasts and her back like a waterfall and some tendrils shine like white gold. The colour of her irises resembles that of dark ale and her thick dark eyebrows arch like a seagull’s wings. The mysterious darkness of her glance and the unique lightness of her hair create an almost unearthly mix. She’s young like the life sprouting in spring yet at the same time pristine like the forces of nature. And her lips? They’re full and perfect, pleading to be crushed with mine.

  An oversized t-shirt covers her chest and hips, but I can tell that she is curvy in all the right places. Her jeans look like she borrowed a pair from her older brother and one corner of my lips crooks up at her baggy outfit.

  I shake my head and compose myself. She looks sixteen at most. She’s just a kid.

  “It’s okay,” I rasp. “I won’t hurt you. Did he...?”

  She shakes her head. A weakening relief washes over me, and my heart skips a beat. Then surprise at my emotional reaction courses through my mind. Why do I even care so much?

  “I’ll take you to the hospital,” I say.

  She shakes her head like she is desperate and steps back. Her body tenses and her seductive lips form ‘o’. The muscles of her face twitch and she tries to articulate a word but somehow struggles as though her voice has stuck in her throat. Only a sigh escapes her mouth.

  “You need to see a doctor,” I say. “You may need an X-ray.”

  Her long black eyelashes flap and she pulls away, but I tighten the grip on her arms.

  “Did you run away from home?” I ask and look at her sternly. “How old are you?”

  Her face frowns as her lips move. I can see veins popping out in her neck and her fingers roll into fists.

  “Eigh-teen,” she says as she gasps convulsively after each syllable, and it looks like even saying one word is a challenge for her.

  “You are eighteen, right?”

  She bobs her head and smiles at me.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital,” I say firmly.

  “Nno,” she says with the same effort as previously and pauses, “nno ho-spi-tal.”

  “Why? Are you in trouble or what?”

  “Plea-sse.”

  I let out a low growl. “Where do you live then?”

  Her lips purse into a horseshoe and she sighs then digs her hand into her bag, taking out a folded piece of paper. She hands it to me and bobs her head several times.

  I free her arms from my grip and spread the paper. The perfect handwriting says:

  I had meningitis when I was fourteen and since then I’ve had problems with my speech. But I’m not stupid (and I can sign). An evil man wants to hurt me. I have nowhere else to go. Can you help me?

  I stare at the letter for a long moment. Fuck. I shouldn’t have read it.

  My rationality urges me to get rid of her as soon as possible, to leave her at the nearest police station. Then I re-read the last sentence, and my forehead wrinkles. My glance meets hers. Her wide eyes plead silently.

  Of course, I will help her. She has just opened the door to the cell where I’ve been keeping part of me called a human, releasing it. Making me angry. Uncomfortable. And evoking so many other emotions I can’t even name. I give the letter back to her and run my fingers through my hair.

  My eyes lock onto hers again. She looks at me with anticipation, then raises her hands and gestures to me but unfortunately, I don’t speak any sign language so I shake my head.

  “How do you
know that you can trust me?” I ask with sarcasm.

  She shrugs and spreads her hands, palms facing the sky.

  “Okay,” I say. “Are you feeling sick?”

  She shakes her head. Good. She hasn’t had a concussion. Her pupils look normal to me as well.

  “I will take you to my place,” I say. “You can stay with me for a few days until you find a room to rent.”

  She curves her lips as though she wants to say ‘thank you’ but her expression darkens. I’m pretty sure that my offer scares the shit out of her.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I say. “You can trust me.”

  In fact, no woman should trust me, but she’s not a woman. Not yet. And I’m good with kids.

  One more thing grips my attention. There are two cars on the margin.

  “What about your car?” I ask. It’s a total wreck, but I can look at it later.

  “Donn’t needd.”

  “Belonged to your deceased grandpa?”

  She bobs her head at me and beams a smile at me. Perfect. That wreck is off my head.

  My hand clutches hers and I pull her behind me towards my bike. She hangs her bag across her body and reluctantly follows me.

  Lifting my bike from the ground, I scold myself in my mind. I have just adopted a kid. I have to get rid of her as soon as possible. A few days, that’s all.

  I get onto the bike, planting one leg onto the ground.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  She tenses and curves her lips. “Sive.” Her head nods. “Sive.”

  “Sive?” I say.

  She smiles as I hold a hand out for her.

  “Axel,” I say.

  Her hand grips mine, and she steps on the peg, throws her other leg over, then sits behind me. Her chest clings to my back and her arms wrap around me. I feel her body shivering against mine. She puts her palms on my abs just above the waistband of my jeans and I forget that she’s a kid. Just like that. It’s violent like a hammer has struck against my head. My rationality screams that I’m a pervert, but my body recognises a woman in her. She’s eighteen, right? An adult? A woman with large tits and a hot pussy. And she will sleep in my bed tonight.