White Wedding

Excerpt

Damon Jones stifled a yawn as he pulled into the parking lot of his favorite coffee shop. The spots were all full—seemed he wasn’t the only one who had a lousy night’s sleep. He drove around to the back of the building then pulled into one of five vacant spots almost no one knew about.

The yawn finally won. He gave in to it and added a deep stretch. His foster family had just taken in a new baby who had been born addicted to drugs, and the poor thing had hardly stopped crying. Damon had rocked her for a while to give Laura a break, but even in his room with the door closed and earplugs in place, the noise kept him up most of the night.

And that was where the coffee came in.

He stepped out of his shiny red convertible—not something a typical foster kid owned—and remote locked it. He wasn’t a typical foster kid tragically orphaned or abandoned. No, he’d grown up wealthy.

But now his father was in jail, arrested for being part of a criminal mastermind.

Dad’s house sat empty, and Damon still had his keys, so it was tempting to sleep there for a night or two until the baby calmed down. Hopefully, she would. And soon. He had no idea how long it took babies to get over something so traumatic.

Damon was still dealing with his own past, and the memories that haunted him were what kept him away from his house and with the foster family, screaming baby or not. At least they appreciated him. There, he didn’t live in constant fear of his dad’s violent temper.

A shudder ran down his back as memories ran through his mind. It hadn’t been so long since Dad was arrested. Barely over a month.

Ding!

The bell above the door chimed as he entered the bustling coffee shop. Several people sat at the tables, but most everyone was either in line or waiting for their drinks.

Damon checked the time. It would be close, but he could probably make it to his first class before the late bell. At this point, a tardy was a risk he was willing to take. He yawned again and got into line.

A minute later, his phone buzzed with a text. He pulled it from his pocket and smiled.   

Ari: Good morning!

Damon: Right back at you, beautiful.

Ari: Did u get any sleep?

Damon: Not much. Getting coffee now.

Ari: Hope it helps. Cu after school.

Damon: Cant wait.

They sent strings of emojis back and forth until Damon reached the counter. He put away his phone and nodded at the barista.

Tori leaned over the counter and gave him a flirty smile. “Rough night?”

He glanced at the menu behind her. “You could say that. What’s the strongest drink you have?” After she listed a few, he picked one.

“Anything else?” She batted her eyes.

“Nope. That’ll do it.” He opened his wallet then handed her his card. Luckily Dad’s bank account wasn’t going to run out of funds any time soon. Another thing that made him stand out from all the other foster kids.

Tori rang him up and let her fingers brush against his as she gave back his card. “You ever going to take me up on the offer to see a movie? My parents own the theater—wouldn’t cost a dime.”

He didn’t flinch, just slipped the plastic back into its slot. “I still have a girlfriend.”

She sighed dramatically. “You’re still seeing her? She’s, what, twelve?”

Damon shook his head, irritation running through him. “No, she isn’t, and yes, I’m still seeing her. Have a good day.”

“She’s young, right? A middle-schooler?”

“There’s only a year’s difference between us, if you must know.” He hurried away before she could try to engage him in further conversation.

Ariana was the only person he had eyes for, and he definitely wasn’t going to let anyone shame him for dating her. So what if they were two grades apart and went to two different schools? Their ages were barely over a year apart—not that it was anyone else’s business.

He read over his texting conversation with Ari as he waited for his drink. Reading her texts warmed his heart and melted away his irritation. He couldn’t wait until the study group they co-led at her school.

A different barista called his name. Damon thanked him and quickly took a sip of the bitter drink. Did it always have such a bite, or did Tori do something to it?

She hadn’t. Even if she’d had the time, she wouldn’t have done something so depraved. His imagination was running on overdrive. Just because his dad was part of a criminal empire that had no problem eliminating their enemies didn’t mean others had evil plots to take him—or anyone else—out. No, the barista was just being flirty. Maybe she was annoyed with him for always turning her down, but she wouldn’t do anything to his drink.

He checked the time and debated whether he should finish his coffee inside or take it with him. Last time, he’d spilled a mocha all over the passenger seat when someone in a pickup cut him off.

It had taken hours to get it out completely, and he didn’t want to risk that again—not when it would have to sit all day while he was in school.

Damon quickly drank the rest of his bitter coffee, which definitely gave him a jolt, then he threw the cup into the garbage on his way outside. His foot caught on the mat in front of the door, and he stumbled forward.

Maybe guzzling the shop’s strongest coffee to cure his sleep deprivation hadn’t been the best idea. His thoughts were still sluggish but his limbs were buzzing. Or was that his mind?

He reached into his pocket for the keys but couldn’t quite get his fingers to cooperate. Tried again. Kept fumbling. Whatever he had just downed was entirely too much caffeine for his system.

Next time, he’d order his usual with a double-shot of espresso.

In addition to his swimming head and jittery limbs, he grew nauseated, the beverage churning acid in his gut. He rounded the corner of the building, and his stomach lurched again and again, each time stronger.

The third time, there was no keeping it down. He leaned against the wall and vomited behind a bush. He heaved until he’d thrown up every sip of the bitter brew and tears ran down his face.

Damon wiped his mouth and eyes as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. What just happened? Had the barista actually put something in his drink?

If she thought that would get him to change his mind, she couldn’t have been more wrong. The only thing he would give her after this would be a complaint to management. Or even a post online. But he didn’t want the shop to come under fire. The couple who owned it was really nice.

He just needed to get to school. At least his first period teacher was lenient.

Damon’s stomach thrust again, and he turned back to the wall, unable to expunge anything else. It was tempting to go back to the foster home, but his head would likely explode if he had to listen to the screaming right then. Plus, he had a science test after lunch. He needed to attend that class. The teacher didn’t allow make-ups.

He pushed away from the wall and tried to focus on the pavement. It was blurry. He blinked a few times. Didn’t do any good. Nothing would come into focus. His stomach knotted and twisted, growing more painful by the moment.

Everything spun around him. His knees wobbled. Stomach lurched again. Head pounded.

No way he could drive like this, couldn’t see straight. Needed to get inside. Talk to the manager.

He looked around, trying to remember which way he’d come. The right? Maybe? That seemed to make the most sense.

Pain seared through his skull, shot into his eyes, raced straight down his side.

No way he’d make it around the building.

Damon leaned against the wall then slid to the ground. As he sat there, sweat beaded on his forehead. His breaths grew short. White dots danced before his eyes.

He needed help. Had to get his phone.

Arms felt like jelly. Could barely move his hands.

Footsteps sounded. Conversation.

They could help.

Damon glanced up, ignoring the pain from the sun. “Help … me …”

One of the three—two?—men approached him.

“I … can’t …”

The man had something black in his hands. Stopped closer to Damon. Held out the dark thing.

Pulled it over his head.

Loud, rushed tones. Fingers squeezed around his neck, his arms. The ground disappeared beneath him.

A car alarm beeped. A door shrieked as it opened.

Someone shoved Damon onto a carpeted floor. He hit his head on something.

A door slammed shut. More opened then banged closed.

An engine roared to life.

Tires squealed.

He rolled and crashed into something else. Reached for his phone.

It was gone.