Jus Accardo - Touch (A Denazen Novel, Book 1)

A Denazen Novel

TOUCH

Book One

JUS ACCARDO

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Jus Accardo. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Liz Pelletier

Ebook ISBN 978-1-937044-44-2

Print ISBN 978-1-937044-45-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition November 2011

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Hello Kitty, Taser, Vans, FML, Subway

For Kevin...

Every miracle in my life is because of you.

I couldnt see them, but I knew they were there, waiting at the bottom. Bloodthirsty little shits, they were probably praying for this to go badly. What do you think, about a fifteen-foot drop?

Easily, Brandt said. He grabbed my arm as a blast of wind whipped around us. Once I was steady on my skateboard, he tipped back his beer and downed what was left.

Together, we peered over the edge of the barn roof. The party was in full swing below us. Fifteen of our closest, and craziest, friends.

Brandt sighed. Can you really do this?

I handed him my own empty bottle. They dont call me Queen
of Crazy Shit for nothing. Gilman was poised on his skateboard to my left. Even in the dark, I could see the moonlight glisten off the sweat beading his brow. Pansy. You ready?

He swallowed and nodded.

Brandt laughed and tossed the bottles toward the woods. There were several seconds of silence, then a muted crash, followed by hoots and hysterical laughter from our friends below. Only drunk people would find shattering bottles an epic source of amusement.

I dunno about this, Dez, he said. You cant see anything down there. How do you know where youre gonna land?

Itll be fine. Ive done this, like, a million times.

Brandts words were clipped. Into a pool. From a ten-foot-high garage roof. This is at least fifteen feet. Last thing I want to do is drag your ass all the way home.

I ignored him, the usual response to my cousins chiding, and bent my knees. Turning back to Gilman, I smiled. Ready, Mr. Badass?

Someone below turned up one of
the car stereos. A thumping techno beat drifted up. Hands on the sill behind me, drunken shouts of encouragement rising from below, I let go.

Hair lashed like a thousand tiny whips all along my face. The rough and rumbling texture of the barn roof beneath my board. Then nothing.

Flying. It was like flying.

For a few blissful moments, I was weightless. A feather suspended in midair right before it fluttered gracefully to the ground. Adrenalin surged through my system, driving my buzz higher.

The crappy thing about adrenalin highs, though? They never last long enough.

Mine lasted what felt like five seconds, the time it took to go from the barn roof to the not-so-cushy pile of hay below.

I landed with a jar, nothing serious, a bruised tailbone and some black and blues, maybe. Hardly the worst Id ever walked away with. Stretching out the kink in my back, I brushed the hay from my jeans. A quick inspection revealed a smudge above my right knee and a few splotches
of mud up the left side. All things the washing machine could fix.

Somewhere behind me, a loud wail filled the air. Gilman.

Never mix tequila and peach schnapps with warm Bud Light. It makes you do stupid things. Things like staying too long at a party you were told not to go to or making out in the bushes with someone like Mark Geller.

Things like skateboarding off the roof of a rickety barn...

Well, thats not entirely true. I tended to do these things without the buzz. Except kissing Mark Geller. That was all alcohol.

You okay? Brandt called from the rooftop.

I gave him a thumbs-up and went to check on Gilman. He was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, which made me wonder if he wasnt faking it, at least a little. A scrawny guy like Gilman didnt warrant much in the way of female attention, so Id bet all ten toes hed run his mouth tonight to attract some.

You are one crazy ass, Chica, he mumbled, climbing to his feet.

I pointed to the
pile of hay Id landed in, several yards farther than where hed crashed. Im crazy? At least I aimed for the hay.

Wooooo! came Brandts distinctive cry. A moment later, he was running around the side of the barn, fist pumping. He stopped at my side and stuck his tongue out at Gilman, who smiled and flipped him off. He punched me in the arm. Thats my girl!

A girl who needs to bail. Ten minutes of kissy face in the bushes and Mark Geller thinks were soul mates. So dont need a stalker.

Brandt frowned. But the partys just getting started. You dont want to miss the Jell-O shots!

Jell-O shots? Those were my favorite. Maybe it was worth...no. Im willing to risk it.

Fine, then Ill walk with ya.

No way, I told him. Youre waiting for Her Hotness to show, remember? Hed been trying to hook up with Cara Finley for two weeks now. Shed finally agreed to meet him at the party tonight, and I wasnt ruining his chances by having him bail to play guard
dog.

He glanced over his shoulder. In the field under the moonlight, people were beginning to dance. You sure youre okay to go alone?

Of course. I gestured to my feet. No license needed to drive these babies.

He was hesitant, but in the end, Cara won out. We said good-bye, and I started into the dark.

Home was only a few minutes away, through the field, across a narrow stream, and over a small hill. I knew these woods so well, I could find home with my eyes closed. In fact, I practically had on more than one occasion.

Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I groaned. One a.m. If luck was with me, Id have enough time to stumble home and tuck myself in before Dad got there. I hadnt meant to stay so late this time. Or drink so much. Id only agreed to go as moral support for Brandt, but when Gilman started running his mouth... Well, Id had no choice but stay and put up so hed shut up. I had a rep to worry about, after all.

By the time I hit the halfway
point between the field and the house, a shallow, muddy stream I used to play in as a child, I had to stop for a minute. Thumping beats and distant laughter echoed from the party, and for a moment I regretted not taking Brandt up on his offer to walk home with me. Apparently, that last beer had been a mistake.

I stumbled to the waters edge and forced the humid air in and out of my lungs. Locking my jaw and holding my breath, I mentally repeated, I will not throw up.

After a few minutes, the nausea passed. Thank God. No way did I want to walk home smelling like puke. I shuffled back from the water, ready to make my way home, when I heard a commotion and froze.

Crap. The music had been too loud and someone must have called the cops. Perfect. Another middle-of-the-night call from the local PD wasnt something Dad would be happy about. On second thought, bring on the cops. The look on his face would be so worth the aggravation.

I held my breath and listened. Not sounds coming from
the party, men yelling.

Heavy footsteps stomping and thrashing through the brush.

The yelling came again, this time closer.

I crammed the cell back into my pocket, about to begin what was sure to be a messy climb up the embankment, when movement in the brush behind me caught my attention. I whirled in time to see someone stumble down the hill and land a few feet from the stream.