Fif15teen
Cube Series
Book One
Nik Davies
Copyright 2012
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information regarding permissions, write to:
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To Sonny, my angel
He wanted to go back and explain that he was now more alive than he ever was before. His life had been fulfilled, but he could not get back to tell his friends. Then he understood that the time would come, when they too would know what he now knew. He whispered, “I’ll see you soon!” Then the new dragonfly raised his wings and flew off into his wonderful new world!
Excerpt from the Dragonfly
~Author Unknown~
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Table of Content
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
Coming soon from Nik Davies
About the Author
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Chapter 1
Law 9
Do Not Trust the Fully Grown
He slipped through the tiny window and landed silently on the basement floor. His uncanny ability to squeeze into the smallest places was one of the few things he did well. His mother called it a dark talent—a gift he obviously inherited from his cheating, lying, no-good, deadbeat father. She tried her best to beat any traces of his father out of him, but it was useless. He was his father’s son in too many ways. They had the same dark skin, the same milk-chocolate brown eyes, and the same shoulder-length dreadlocks. Six foot one and only fifteen, he was tall like his father too. She said he walked like his father, talked like his father. She even made the mistake of giving him the same name as his father: Akeem Octavius Black. He was his father’s child, and she loathed him for it. Each day he grew more like the man his mother despised, making each day of his life a living hell.
As he crept across the dusty floor, his father’s face flashed through his mind. You are perfect and priceless; never let anyone convince you differently. He shook his head, banishing the distant echo. What would his father think of him now? Akeem smirked, knowing that even if the man showed up and found him prowling through this basement, he still would find a way to be proud of him. His father was his light, his path of goodness through a jungle of evil. A caring man that made Akeem feel like he could rule the world. His mother was something else completely. She went out of her way to destroy any hope that he would be anything more than worthless. He wished he was with his father instead of her. But no amount of wishing can bring back the dead. His father was gone, and it was her fault. She had crushed the poor man’s heart, broken his mind, and leached away his will to live. Cancer had done the rest.
A year after his father’s death, his mother was transferred from day shift to night shift at the hospital. Most children would be terrified at the thought of spending nights alone in a cramped city apartment. Not Akeem. At barely eleven years old, he ran through the apartment hooting his joy. From that moment on, what little time she didn’t spend working, she spent sleeping.
Night shift and school were two reprieves in his young life, and he loved them both equally. He loved night shift because it kept his mom out of the apartment all night, and he loved school because it kept him away from her all day. During the school year, they rarely crossed paths. For nine fabulous months, they communicated through the message board stuck to the fridge, or the occasional text message. During the school year, life was bearable. He often felt lonely and always felt unwanted, but it was bearable.
Every June, when school ended and the first day of summer began, his life became an enormous ball of tension. Every moment near her was spent gripped by the fear he would do something to anger her. Summers were dreaded and abhorred. They were uneasy and uncomfortable. He did everything he could to stay out of her way; but no matter how he tried, every breath he took, every move he made, annoyed her. Summers were bad, but this summer was the worst—and this night ranked high on his worst-nights-ever list.
He cursed himself for forgetting to lock his bedroom door. She had come home sick from her twelve-hour shift at the hospital to find his unwashed dinner plate. He awoke to the crack of a broomstick across his back and her screaming that he was a lazy pig just like his father. She was in such a rage that it was a miracle he had escaped the apartment alive.
He sighed and stretched his sore back. It would be his third time this week sneaking into the Riveras’ basement, but he had nowhere else to go. He absently rubbed the lump rising on the back of his head as he slunk across the cement floor. He tensed when he heard something smash against a wall on the floor above him, followed by the muffled screech of a woman’s voice. Heavy booted feet pounded across the room, causing a cloud of dust to rain down on his head. The angry shouts of a male voice covered the sneeze that escaped him.
It’s three in the morning. Do they ever stop fighting? he wondered as he crept deeper into the basement toward the sound of a late-night talk show. He stopped just beyond the reach of the television’s glow and looked at the girl curled up on the overstuffed armchair. He snorted laughter at the sight of her. She was wrapped in a pink blanket covered in smiling yellow sunflowers and butterflies. Long legs poked out and dangled over the side of the chair. She wore black knee-high combat boots, the tips of which rested on the edge of a propped up, badly dented skateboard. The girl was the complete opposite of the pink cutesy blanket. He doubted Quinn Rivera had ever been considered cutesy. She had undoubtedly been born with those hooded black eyes and that perpetual scowl. In the time he had known her, he had never heard her laugh. Sure, she smiled occasionally, but somehow her smile was scarier than her scowl.
He had never seen her unguarded before, and he found himself slightly awed. She usually kept her hair in a tight ponytail covered by a bandanna or skully of some sort, but tonight her head was bare and her hair loose. He noticed an inch of brown roots at the very top of her dyed black waves. Her fingernails, although bitten to the quick, showed remnants of black nail polish. She sighed and he flinched. She would gut him if she caught him skulking in the darkness, spying on her.
Although he had known her for years, he could never look her in the eye. In fact, he barely looked directly at her at all—partly because he had seen her kick in the teeth of a few idiots who dared to glance at her sideways and partly because he worried that making eye contact with her would turn him into a pillar of salt or a stone statue. Her glare was spellbinding, captivating. He always felt just a little queasy when their eyes met accidentally. Her harsh demeanor and constant willingness to beat the crap out of innocent by
standers caused Akeem to develop respect for her personal space. Now, with the chance to really look at her, he found he couldn’t look away. Her persistent scowl was gone, and her mouth curved up at the edges in a smirk that almost looked like a smile. Thick eyelashes rested on cherub cheeks, making her look far younger than fifteen. From the shadows his eyes washed over her face and golden brown skin. God, she was beautiful! And she had freckles on her nose. Why hadn’t he noticed them before? He took his time examining the nasty scar that marred her right jawbone and inched its way down her neck. She never told him how she got it, and he never asked. That was the beauty of their friendship. She pretended not to notice his many bruises, and he pretended not to hear her parents’ perpetual boxing matches upstairs. As he looked at her, his heart skipped an unexpected beat and his mouth went dry.
Suddenly the dark basement felt cramped and uncomfortably hot. He was about to turn and flee when another loud crash from above startled the girl and her eyes flew open. She was on her feet before she was fully awake. The blanket slid to the floor, and she flung the remote control she was gripping into the darkness. It hit Akeem in the stomach and he doubled over, gasping for breath.
“Akeem?” Quinn hissed. He moaned in response. Clutching his aching stomach, he lumbered into the light of the television and fell onto the soft velvet couch. Another house-shaking crash followed by arguing made them both look up, but neither commented. She climbed back into the chair, tossed him the pink blanket and a pillow, and shut off the television, turning the basement pitch black.
“Night,” he said.
“Night.”