Red Read online

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 KC KEAN

  All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over songs and/or lyrics written. All credits go to the original owner.

  Cover Designer: KC Kean

  Formatted by: Bookish Author Services

  Dedication

  My days, I have officially dedicated a book to everyone in my house, except myself because obviously that’s weird. But I’m quite sure I’ll do it at some stage LOL. There are so many people in my life I could start with, outside of my covid bubble, special people who impact my life in a positive way. So, I decided to go with my crazy-ass friend, Valerie.

  Valerie Swope.

  You beautiful friend. I don’t even know how you deal with me, but somebody has to right?

  So, this one’s for you, for giving me the strength and support to keep typing, and create this crazy fucking world.

  I feel like I should go old skool and create a poem spelling your name out to describe your fabulousness!

  Vibing

  Amazing

  Laughter

  Ecstatic

  Random thoughts

  Incredible

  Eating Canva

  So, I hope you either feel fantastic or embarrassed, I’m not fussy haha!

  Much love
  There is something empowering in the art of finding strength from within to defend yourself and pushing to breakdown the barriers that surround you.

  - Jessica Watson

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Also by KC Kean

  MOTHER’S RULES FOR JESSICA

  1) Be seen and not heard.

  2) Always dress accordingly – fashion is life!

  3) Avoid carbs and sugary products – make us smile.

  4) Be approachable to men at all times - friendly, and polite. Unless they are a bitch!

  5) Children are an expectation – a beautiful gift.

  6) You are a trophy – and a motherfucking queen!

  7) Excessive body fat is not acceptable – against the law.

  8) Always look to fuck your husbands for guidance.

  MY RULES

  9) Be fabulous.

  10) Be memorable.

  11) Don’t be afraid to take what you want.

  12) Be you!

  Jess

  This damn book has me by my ovaries, sucking me deep into the story, and I don’t want to miss a second of it. I read the words on my Kindle, but it’s like I’m right there in the book. The scene playing out right in front of my eyes as Eden gets her ultimate payback. Rolling on to my stomach, I try to get comfortable with my Kindle in hand, not wanting to lose my place, yet too nervous about moving on to the next page. Especially since I’m at ninety-eight percent of the book, and this story is nowhere near done. I can feel the cliffhanger already.

  My parents are downstairs, setting up some fancy dinner that I have no interest in, so I’m escaping the only way I know how. By imagining a world where women are badass bitches, holding down more than one man, and having the best sex of their lives.

  Sighing, I swipe a loose piece of hair behind my ear as I feel the emotion coming through the words as if I was an Allstar myself. All the hurt and the pain they’re feeling as they watch Eden before them, completely blindsiding them all as she hits them where it hurts. I feel smug as shit for her. Which they fucking deserve after all the shit they put her through. My bedroom door swings open and slams against the wall, making me jump out of my skin in shock.

  “Jessica, I have been calling your name for the past fifteen minutes,” my mother huffs, hands on her hips. “Our guests will be here in less than twenty minutes, and you are in no way ready to greet them like this.” She waves her hand in my direction, unhappy with the fact I’m wearing my cute pink hearts silk shorts and shirt pajama set.

  “I already told you, mom, I’m not going to your stupid dinner. I don’t care who it’s with or how it affects your image in the Featherstone community,” I murmur in response, not lifting my gaze from my Kindle.

  She doesn’t continue to nag, and it’s my mistake for noticing it too late when my Kindle is ripped from my hands and thrown on the floor carelessly behind her with a thud.

  “Jessica, what have I told you about your priorities? No man is going to care for you reading when he has other needs for you.” She sighs, repeating the same things she always does. “To convince a man to marry you, you have to be what they envision. Pretty, quiet, caring, and barefoot in the kitchen.” I mouth the words behind her back as she turns to stand in front of my floor length mirror, straightening her wrap around floral print dress. Her blonde highlights shine under the light as her scrutinizing blue eyes critique herself. Not a wrinkle is visible with all the botox she’s injected into her now flawless skin.

  It’s always the same speech she gives, but she’s living in the past. I don’t want to stay at home popping out babies like a breeding factory, only to discover my husband is having an affair with his secretary. That’s not me. It never will be, but until I can safely stand on my own two feet, I have to abide by my mother's rules or feel her wrath.

  “Now, I won’t repeat myself, Jessica. You have twenty minutes to make yourself presentable,” she bends down to scoop up my kindle as she heads for the door. “And you can have this god awful device back tomorrow.” She slams the door shut as she leaves, and my blood boils with all the anger I feel inside. Opinions and protests are always lost on my mother, but it’s the pain in my soul from holding my tongue that causes the most damage.

  Lucienda Paul married my father, Neil Watson, at eighteen years old. My mother was born into a bloodline at Featherstone, whereas my father was an outsider. I learned earlier this year, from one of my mother’s many lectures, that she married my father to force him into the Featherstone fold. His scientific achievements had caught the attention of the criminal underworld, and my mother was given the assignment to make it happen.

  My father will never discuss his feelings about Featherstone. I think it’s because he likes to turn a blind eye. Making the weapons and chemicals they need but without seeing them be used and the subsequent consequences that follow. Allowing him to live in a bubble. My mother refuses to work. Instead, she is a socialite amongst the Featherstone community, always wanting to better our bloodline and gain a higher reputation. I’ve heard it enough times, how she could be so much better without my father and me, but she lowered herself for the ‘greater good’. I don
’t know how they are even still together. It seems as though once my mother sinks her nails in, she just can’t let go.

  Sighing, I look around my bedroom. We live in a highly respected gated community, with a fancy in-ground pool out back and shiny cars parked in the driveway. I can only assume the brand is luxury because anything vehicle related goes straight over my head.

  There are three large rooms on the ground floor of my family home. The living room is for looking, not touching. The dining room is filled with high-end designer pieces, from the dining table to the art pieces on the wall to impress our guests, but the kitchen is as basic as possible. I think the fridge could be older than me, but guests don’t see it, so it doesn’t matter, apparently.

  Upstairs, money is only seen in my mother's walk-in closet. If my mother could have avoided bearing a child, she would have. Apparently, it’s a high expectation to continue the bloodlines, which is the only reason I exist. So, spoiling me is entirely out of the question.

  My room consists of a standard twin bed pushed up under the window, a dark wooden desk in the opposite corner of the room, a vanity beside my bed, and a small walk-in wardrobe. The walls are a dull magnolia color, with a few pink accents throughout. It plays havoc on my OCD that none of the pink items are the same.

  I inhale a deep breath as I try to focus on the future. Two more days and I’ll be out of here, forced into the world of Featherstone Academy, which, if the high school is anything to go by, will be terrible. I hate what they stand for. I have nothing to offer the criminal underworld. I’d prefer to keep it that way, but I’ve watched people be murdered in cold blood for trying to leave. I refuse to be another Featherstone statistic.

  Taking a seat at the vanity, I do a natural look with my make-up. I love a sexy smokey eye, but my mother would throw a fit about it. So, I apply a light sheen of lip gloss and bypass my eye make-up altogether. Opening the door to look through my dresses, I find my mother has already taken the liberty of pulling out a black and pink floral print ruffle neck dress made of chiffon with long sleeves. Very prim and proper, not what I want to be wearing at all, except if I show up in anything other than what she chose, it will only anger her more.

  Slipping the dress on, I slide into a pair of white sandals. The sound of the doorbell chiming tells me the guests have arrived. I have no time to tame my hair, so I quickly redo my ponytail, making sure no loose ends fall around my face.

  With one final glance in the mirror, I run my hands down the front of my skirt, trying to shake my anxiety of having to sit through another dinner with families from Featherstone. They are always so brazen and happy to talk about what activities they have been up to, no matter the level of crime they’ve committed. It’s like an adult version of show-and-tell.

  Making my way downstairs, I hear chatter coming from the dining room. My heart sinks as I step into the room, instantly knowing this is my mother trying to marry me off again. Unfortunately for her, it’s never going to happen with this guy. He’s a fucking asshat.

  “Jessica, darling,” my mother coos all sickly sweet, and I have to force myself to smile politely. “Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Wicker and their son, Reece.” I step forward, automatically shaking their hands. Both dressed as if this is a business meeting, with their hair perfectly in place, I want to gag at their sense of prestige. As I come to stand in front of Reece, he sadly starts to fucking talk.

  “Jessica, long time no see. I’ve missed seeing you at the rest of the parties this summer, especially after Longridge.” His hands clasp mine tightly as he attempts to give me a smoldering look, and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes at his shit.

  “Oh, you two know each other already? That’s even better,” my mother says, smiling widely at us both. Snatching my hand out of his grip, I put some much-needed distance between us all.

  “I’m going to help daddy bring everything in.” I smile wide and turn quickly, cringing at myself. I hate saying daddy, but mother enforces it in front of others. All I can think about is a book I read once, and daddy kink was the main trope. To each their own, no judgment here, but now I have to say it in front of people. It doesn’t really give me all the feels when I have to address my actual father in that way.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” my dad calls out as I step into the kitchen. A towel thrown over his shoulder, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, and peppered red hair wild around his face. He’s wearing one of the minimal shirts he owns, with a pair of black pants. Looking nothing like my father, who collects old band tees and has the same jeans from when he was in his twenties.

  I love my dad, especially compared to my mother. But he just seems to turn a blind eye to everything she says and does. No matter how hard I try to fight for myself, my own rights, he stands back and does nothing to help me. Dad knows how I feel about Featherstone, exactly how he must feel, I imagine, but he won’t discuss his position at Featherstone or how it came to be. The words never pass my fathers lips. It’s only ever the stories my mother cares to offer.

  “Hey, dad. What do you need help with?” I ask, stepping up beside him. I love it when he gets to cook. It’s always a proper, full-course meal and tastes delicious. It’s hot as hell outside since we’re at the end of August in Indiana. My father chooses to make pork tenderloin with a vegetable medley and an option for either mashed or baked potatoes.

  “You can help carry these dishes in with me, please.” He looks in my direction, and he must see my current mood written all over my face. Wiping his hands on the towel resting on his shoulder, he sighs. “Pumpkin, I know, okay? But there is nothing we can do. Just think, in a few days, she’ll be out of your hair, and you’ll be in a completely different state. Who will I have fun at the lab with then? Think of your poor old dad.”

  He tries to hit me with his puppy dog eyes, but they don’t work on me anymore, not like they used to before Featherstone’s rules became my life. “Then I’ll be trapped in a criminal world I don’t actually want to be a part of, dad. Stuck with idiots like Reece Wicker,” I complain, pointing a hand in the direction I just came from. Before he can respond, my mother interrupts.

  “Will you two get a move on? Our guests are waiting,” she grinds out under her breath, glaring at us before turning on her heels and heading back to the dining room. My father squeezes my shoulder as I turn to face him, my eyes widening in frustration.

  “Pumpkin, if I ever find a way out of her grasp, for you, for either of us, I’ll take it. That option just doesn’t seem to be in the cards right now.” Lifting the dishes in front of him, he follows after her, leaving me stunned as I gape after him.

  He has never murmured such words, and the hope they give me is unexplainable. As small of a chance it might be, I could live a different life, and the fact that my father is on the same page fills me with so much emotion. Shaking my head, I focus on the here and now, but I can definitely get through this dinner much easier after that.

  Grabbing more dishes, I head for the dining room, crossing paths with my father, who softly smiles as he passes. Everyone is in deep conversation as I enter the room, but I feel Reece’s eyes on me instantly.

  “Sit, Jessica,” my mother says, pointing at the seat across from Reece. “Reece has just been telling me how you were friends at Featherstone High and went to a few parties together over the summer. Longridge has always been the best annual lake party of the year. I’m glad you know each other so well.”

  I smile tightly in response. We aren’t friends, not even a little bit. We just happened to both be at the same party back at the beginning of summer. I got a little wild and carefree. Under the night sky and the campfire light, along with the mixture of alcohol, he looked hot. So hot, I made the mistake of hooking up with him.

  He looked cute when his dark blonde hair was under his baseball cap. Combined with his six-foot height and thick arms, I was making stupid mistakes. It was probably because he had a familiar face, and I was happy to take his cheesy slick moves. I had g
one with my closest friend since junior high, Valerie, and she hadn’t let me live it down since. It’s a good thing I love her because her choices are no better than mine most of the time; she is just as much of an irresponsible peckerhead as I am. We are totally bad influences on each other, even though we are a lot more distant than we used to be since she has no idea about Featherstone.

  But this creep refused to give my panties back. Even in my drunken state, I cringed as he lifted them to his face, inhaling deeply before stuffing them in his pocket. I watch as he rubs at his nose across from me, as if remembering the same fact, and he winks at me.

  “I wouldn’t say we know each other very well,” I answer, smiling politely around the table as I avoid his direct stare.

  “Don’t worry about that. You have plenty of time in the future to get to know each other more,” Mrs. Wicker says, and I have to bite my tongue before I shout out ‘over my dead body!’ The table falls into silence as my father takes a seat opposite my mother, and everyone starts to dish their food out. I can feel my mother's eyes burning into the side of my head, warning me to take only a small amount so I don’t embarrass her by looking like a pig.

  “It’s so nice to have another bloodline in the area,” Mr. Wicker says, looking at my father, but it’s my mother who answers.

  “Isn’t it? Nobody else understands our lifestyle, so it’s good to have a close-knit community nearby.”