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  RECLAIM

  Copyright © 2020 Aly Martinez

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  RECLAIM is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Editing: Mickey Reed

  Proofreading: Michele Ficht and Julie Deaton

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Warning

  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

  Preview of Release

  Other Books

  About the Author

  WARNING: This book may contain triggers for some readers.

  Choices.

  Everyone makes them.

  From mundane and monotonous to life-changing and unimaginable.

  But regardless what that choice may be, life is lived in the consequences.

  People want to believe that decisions are weighted. In theory, “What should I have for dinner?” should fall on the opposite end of the spectrum as “Should I swallow this bottle of pills?” But in reality, even the smallest decision can change the trajectory of your entire life.

  “Oh God!” Ramsey yelled, scrambling across the dirt road on all fours. I watched in the rearview mirror as he paused, hovering over the bloody and lifeless body, not sure which broken part to touch first. “No. No. No.”

  I wanted to care. I wanted to be flooded with guilt and regret. I just wanted to fucking feel something again. Anything.

  Instead, I sat there, stunned and utterly numb.

  My brother’s mouth moved, fast and sharp, but I couldn’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. With shaky hands, I tried to open the car door twice before I was successful. My chest vibrated as a barrage of emotions ricocheted inside me, none of them able to escape. All of them slicing me to the core of my soul.

  Or maybe it was only the remnants of my soul, because the rest of it had been destroyed long before that starry night.

  I swung my legs out, my head swirling with the high of adrenaline, and I struggled to find even one breath of oxygen.

  My brother was seventeen, but he looked like a man as he started chest compressions and rescue breathing. Curiously, I wondered where he’d learned that. Then I immediately wished he hadn’t.

  It was pointless though. He was dead. I didn’t have to be up close and personal to know that.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Ramsey chanted, never giving up, just like the hero I knew him to be. “Breathe.”

  That asshole didn’t deserve to breathe. He didn’t deserve anything. He’d already stolen it all from me.

  “Stop,” I forced out.

  Ramsey’s panicked gaze swung my way. “What the fuck happened?”

  How much time did he have?

  Wood splintering into my back.

  Blink.

  His fingers digging into my flesh.

  Blink.

  The welcomed darkness that swallowed me as my only way to survive.

  Blink.

  Thea.

  Thea.

  Thea.

  “Let him die!” I roared so loudly that it scorched my throat.

  But at least I felt that.

  The sound of people talking in the distance interrupted my echo, and my brother’s panic skyrocketed. Ramsey quickly abandoned his attempts to revive him and raced in my direction, but just seeing him lying there, alone and lifeless the way I would always feel, gave me a sick sense of pleasure.

  I should have been crying.

  Why wasn’t I crying?

  I’d spent two years living in fear—nightmares, sobbing until I physically passed out, hiding behind a smile for fear people could see the filth behind it.

  Maybe there was nothing left of me to give. Not even tears.

  The voices got closer, and Ramsey stepped into my line of sight, blocking out that monster the way I would never be able to do.

  “You gotta go,” he barked. “I’ll take care of this, but you gotta go before someone sees you here.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a hard shake. “Listen to me. You have to leave. I’ll get the car and meet you back at the house. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me. Tell them I’ve been with Thea all night.”

  I could hear the words coming from his mouth, but I was struggling to process what he was saying. It was like an optical illusion: I could see the picture in front of me, but none of it felt real.

  I glanced around and his car was still running, the front end smashed and covered in blood. “What if they see your car?”

  “I’ll…I’ll… I’ll tell ’em I hit a deer or something.” He looked over his shoulder as three silhouettes appeared at the end of the Johnsons’ driveway. “Please, Nora,” he hissed. “I promise you this is going to be okay. But you can’t be here. If they find out what he did to you, they’ll know this wasn’t an accident. I can’t risk that. Okay? You weren’t here. Nothing happened. It was a terrible, terrible accident. End of story.” He palmed each side of my face and pressed a shaky kiss to my forehead.

  That might have been more jarring for me than running over a man.

  Ramsey wasn’t the most affectionate brother. We hugged on occasion, and when I was little, he’d always ruffled my hair or pinched me playfully on the side.

  But he wasn’t a forehead kisser.

  “Ramsey,” I choked out, the adrenaline starting to ebb from my system, a hurricane of emotions moving in.

  “Please,” he whispered, his desperate and pleading brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears in the moonlight. “Just run home and get in bed. I’ll meet you there. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Okay. That was a word I recognized all too well. Not good. Or great. Or even fine. Just simply okay was a state of being for us.

  Besides, Ramsey had never steered me wrong before.

  So I squeezed his hand, and like a coward, I ran.

  Choices. Everyone makes them.

  But mine would ruin us all.

  Three years earlier…

  Things I hated:

  The sound of Styrofoam squeaking.

  The seeds in strawberries and therefore strawberries in general because the seeds were too tiny to pick out.

  And bugs. Every shape. Every size. Every color. I hated them all.

&n
bsp; Ramsey told me I was crazy because I would carry frogs around in my pocket when I was younger and trap lizards in old shoeboxes. My brother thought that was “way more gross.” But if I so much as crossed the path of a grasshopper, it might as well have been a hitman. It didn’t matter how many times he told me that dragonflies wouldn’t hurt me. Or how often my teachers tried to convince me that butterflies were kind and gentle. One flutter, hop, or squirm and it would push me past the point of all reason and straight into hysterics.

  Clearly, hunting earthworms was the obvious career choice for me.

  Well played, Karma. Well played.

  “Ew, ew, ew,” I whispered, using my fingers to rake through the dirt. It was going to take all night to get my fingernails clean.

  My long, brown hair fell into my face, the purple glitter barrette Ramsey had given me for my birthday failing me. I should have grabbed a ponytail holder before I’d left, but sprinting from the house and pulling on my shoes before my dad went on a tirade about who’d eaten the last of the cereal was something of a priority.

  “Oh, God.” I fought a gag when a fat earthworm rolled out of the dirt. “It’s just a worm. That’s not even a real bug. It’s more like a snake.” I paused my pep talk and shivered. “Crap. Okay, snakes are bad too. This is not like a snake. Not at all.” Using a stick, I transferred its slimy, squirming body into the coffee can my employer, Mr. Leonard, had fashioned into a bucket.

  Sweat dripped down my forehead as the sweltering Georgia humidity curled around me like a suffocating wet blanket. It was only the first Sunday since school had let out, but I was already sick of it.

  Ramsey and his girlfriend, Thea, were off sitting under their tree as usual. The invitation was always open for me to join them, but there were only so many googly eyes a girl could witness before losing her lunch.

  Don’t get me wrong. I loved Thea. She was super cool and fun, a little too tomboy for my taste, but my brother didn’t seem to mind that his “Sparrow” had an aversion to makeup and nail polish. She lived two doors down from us, so we hung out a lot. Honestly, she was as close to a sister as I would ever get. But those two were getting grosser by the day.

  For the record, collecting earthworms for Mr. Leonard was still worse by a million miles. It was a paying gig though, so I’d pounced when I saw the sign posted at the end of his driveway. My father was worthless, and with Ramsey’s lawn mower out of commission until he could afford to fix it, I was responsible for earning the grocery money. My brother had told me not to worry about it and he’d figure it out, but I liked the idea of helping for a change.

  Although I had zero experience in the worm-hunting industry, I was the star employee in the running-away-from-worms-at-any-and-all-costs industry. At twenty cents a worm, I figured even if it gave me nightmares, I could still make a pretty penny.

  Or so I’d thought. The meager four worms I’d collected over my first three hours on the job said otherwise.

  I scooped another handful of dirt while the rushing stream echoed off the surrounding trees. It had been a rainy week, so the creek was swollen and the usual hum of the flowing water had become a dull roar.

  It was exactly why I didn’t hear him walk up.

  “Catch anything good?”

  “Crap!” I startled, knocking my bucket over. “Crap!” I repeated, quickly righting it before any of the creepy crawlers had a chance to escape. When I was sure my bounty of disgustingness was safe, I snapped my head up to make sure I wasn’t about to be murdered.

  A boy around my age was standing a few feet away, wearing khaki slacks, an ugly striped button-down, penny loafers—the kind with the actual penny tucked in the slit—and a smug grin that did not bode well for my quiet afternoon alone. Especially since he was holding a bucket that matched mine.

  Rising to my feet, I put my filthy hand to my eyes to block the sun cascading through the trees. I’d only lived in Clovert for four years, but it was a small town, so I’d met or knew of just about everyone.

  Everyone except this sandy-brown haired boy with the most incredible baby-blue eyes I would ever see.

  “Depends. Who’s asking?”

  He laughed and his short, curly hair ruffled in the breeze. “I’m Camden.”

  “Camden like the city?”

  The amusement on his face never left as he twisted his lips. “Well, no. It’s Camden like my dad. Who was named after his dad. Who was named after his dad. But his dad might have been named after the city.” He lifted a skinny shoulder in a half shrug. “Anyway, I’m Camden Cole.”

  Camden Cole? What the flippity flapping kind of snobby, rich kid name was that?

  We didn’t have many wealthy people in Clovert, but old Southern money sometimes came home to retire or raise their family away from the big city. Though we didn’t have a private school, so none of this explained why I’d never seen this kid before.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Twelve.”

  Hmmm, only a year older than I was. I definitely would have remembered those eyes if I’d seen him at school.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Alberton.”

  I almost choked on my tongue. Ohhhh-kay. So probably not one of the rich kids.

  Our little farming town with all of two stoplights and one grocery store was bad enough, but Alberton was next-level awful. It was over three hours away, but I’d been there a couple of times. Back when my dad had been a trucker—and occasionally sober—he’d make hauls out there. Being young, dumb, and desperate for his attention, I’d thought it was fun to ride along, but there was absolutely nothing in Alberton but a papermill, poor people, and the stomach-churning aroma of rotten eggs.

  My dad had told me it stunk because of the papermill, but that town looked like it was less than a week away from a zombie apocalypse, so I had my doubts.

  “What are you doing here, then? Are you a hitchhiker? Serial killer? Circus performer?” Tipping my chin up, I gave him another once-over.

  He looked harmless enough. Scrawny. Preppy. Dorky. I might have been small, but I’d grown up with a brother who thought tickling me until I peed my pants was an Olympic sport. I probably could have taken this kid if he tried to start anything.

  Camden shook his head, a bright white smile splitting his mouth. “Nah. My parents sent me here to spend the summer with my grandparents. I think I’m supposed to be helping them out around the house, but I just make my grandpa mad all the time.” He set the bucket down at his feet and shrugged. “I figure, if I tell my parents I got a job, then they can’t be too angry I skipped out on gardening with Grandpa.” He leaned forward and took a peek in my bucket. “So anyway, detective. If you’re done with my interrogation, I’ll repeat… Catch anything good?”

  My shoulders sagged. I hadn’t, and the dollar signs I’d been hoping for were fading by the second. “Not really. If you’re after money, you’d be better off going back to Mr. Leonard and asking if he needs help in the fields.”

  “Then what would I do with all these?” He smiled, tipping his bucket so I could see inside.

  Sweet baby Jesus, there must have been at least a hundred worms in there.

  I lunged toward him. “Where’d you get all those?”

  “Depends. Who’s asking?” He quirked his brow mischievously.

  Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “I’m Nora.”

  He sauntered over to one of the large rocks next to the water and thoroughly brushed it off before sinking down on top of it. The reflection off his perfectly polished penny loafers nearly blinded me. “Last name?”

  “Stewart.”

  “You related to Mr. Leonard?”

  “No.”

  “How’d you get this job?”

  “Jeez, who’s the detective now?” I fired a scowl in his direction. “I saw the sign and knocked on his door.”

  “Was anyone else here when you got here?” He looked up and down the creek to see if we were alone.

  There was a solid chance m
y eyes were going to roll out of my head. Where the heck was he going with this?

  “No.”

  He blew out a ragged breath and dug into his pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper. “Good. It’s just the two of us. That’ll make it easier.” He tossed the paper and it landed at my feet. I didn’t have to pick it up to see that it was Mr. Leonard’s help wanted sign. “Are you a rat, Nora Stewart?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not a rat, but I do have an older brother who will kick your butt if you don’t tell me where the heck you got a bucket full of worms without so much as a speck of dirt on your stupid, fancy clothes.”

  His grin stretched wide. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  My patience was slipping fast with his trivial game, so my voice was louder than I intended as I replied, “Tell anyone what?”

  “Jeez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

  He was wrong. As far as I knew, my bed only had one side. The side where I woke up, fought with my dad, hated my life, and crawled right back into it every night, knowing that the next morning was going to be exactly the same.

  I let out an aggravated huff. “Just tell me where you got the worms.”

  “Okay, but first, did Mr. Leonard tell you why he needs the worms?”

  More. Freaking. Questions. And yes, I did understand that my frustration was a tad hypocritical. But he was the new kid. My questions were fair. His were just annoying. And nosy. And wasting my worm-plucking time.

  “Well, duh. The whole town knows why he needs the worms. He and Dale Lewis have been feuding for months. They can’t even be in the same parking lot without the cops getting called. I don’t know how it started, but Mr. Leonard won’t be caught dead near Lewis Tractor Repair, Bait, and Booze. Which means he and his sons have nothing to fish with. Which means he hired me to find them bait. Which means you better start talking right now about where the heck you got a whole dang bucket of worms, because I was here first.” My chest heaved when I finished.

  I was usually pretty good about hiding my emotions. Screaming and acting out didn’t fix anything. Going with the flow was a huge part of staying in the shadows so no one realized what was really going on at home with me, Ramsey, and our messed-up dad.