Red Nights
PRAISE FOR SHARI
[Schasm] From the very first scene Shari grabbed my attention and I couldn’t stop reading. What is real and what is just a fantasy seems to blur continuously and it keeps me intrigued.
—The Caffeinated Booknerd
[Schasm] The strength here is Shari’s ability as a writer. Schasm seems like a complex novel but it actually isn’t. I like novels like these because they force you away from the normal cookie cutter fiction and allow you to become invested in the story. That’s why most of us read isn’t it? We want a story that not only entertains us but challenges us to look beyond the world around us. Schasm is that type of novel.
—Michael, Amazon Reader
[Schasm] I loved this book. I can’t tell you how Shari took my mind, twisted it up and then shoved it back in my head, leaving me confused and wondering what the heck just happened. Every time I thought I had it figured out, she ripped the rug out from under me.
—lmc9008’s, Amazon Reader
[TAG] Shari J. Ryan knows how to keep you in suspense and on the edge of your seat! TAG will throw you curve balls and keep you biting your nails until the end!”
—Stephanie, Romance Addict Book Blog
[TAG] Absolutely Amazing! Shari J. Ryan spins gold once again. Filled with thrilling action and delicious tension, this gripping tale will keep you on your toes while pulling at your heartstrings. Five fabulous stars!”
—Hazel Godwin, Craves the Angst
[TAG] Rest up for this game of Tag because Shari J. Ryan knows how to dig deep and push every button in her arsenal to bring a fast-paced tale riddled with intrigue, mysteries and searing emotions that will leave you raw. Page by page the world around Cali and Tango grows uglier and uglier. Staying alive is at best, a crap shoot and believe me when I say, I felt like I was there as every moment sped past only to slam into another twist or sharp angle. One of the best things about reading is finding a new author to follow and today was my lucky day!
—Dii, Top 500 Amazon Reviewer
red nights
A novel by
Shari J. Ryan
Booktrope Editions
Seattle WA 2015
Copyright 2015 Shari J. Ryan
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: info@booktrope.com
Cover Design by Shari J. Ryan
Edited by Becky Dissinger
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Print ISBN 978-1-5137-0005-2
EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0011-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908912
Table of Contents
Praise for Shari
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
PREVIEW: Ravel – Chapter One
Where To Follow The Author
Also by Shari Ryan
More Great Reads from Booktrope
To my husband, Josh: fate is such a thing.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book has put me through the wringer in more ways than I ever could have imagined. It’s taught me a lot and it’s helped me grow as a writer. I have had an incredible support system behind me throughout this whole journey. I’m not only lucky to have those people in my life, but I’m grateful too.
Jennifer Gilbert, my rock, friend, project manager and cover design influence, and so much more—you’ve been by my side from my very first book and have picked up a lot of my scattered pieces along the way. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for being you and for always being there for me. Friends like you are hard to come by, and your friendship means the world to me.
My book manager, editor and friend, Becky Dissinger—you spent hours upon hours helping me and pushing me to polish this story into the best it could be. I could never thank you enough for the time and effort you put into this book. Having someone who isn’t afraid to tell me how it is makes my life a lot less stressful. I know I can count on you, and you have been my saving grace for this book.
Steven Luna, you saved my butt, and I honestly can’t thank you enough for going above and beyond and proofreading this book with such a detailed eye.
Jesse Freeman—my go-to when I need to talk, vent, cry, or laugh. Your friendship means so much to me, and I’m thankful and lucky to have the chance to work with such an awesomely talented person.
Marni Mann—from day one, you have been an incredibly supportive friend, always being there to talk and remind me why we authors struggle and always strive for the best. Everyone needs encouragement and sometimes a hand on the back to push us forward. Thank you for being that person.
Ken Shear and Katherine Sears— I’m so grateful that you welcomed me into Booktrope almost two years ago. You’ve helped me grow as an author, and you’ve given me the gift of freedom to write and be the author I want to be. I could never thank you enough for believing in me.
My street team, Sweet Twisted Book Drifters—you are all amazing. I have never experienced so much support and love. You motivate and inspire me, and I’m so thankful to have met each and every one of you. Thank you for joining me on this journey.
As an author, book bloggers are our lifeline. You put us authors up on a pedestal and give us motivation to keep going. Thank you!
To all of my readers—without you there would be no reason to write books. Thank you for your continued support.
Elizabeth Gunderson, my dear friend—thank you for always being there and being one of the biggest supporters of my books as well as a beta reader. Your friendship means a lot to me, and I’m so happy I met you along the way.
Lauren Potischman—you’ve always been one of the first in line to read my books, even before they’re ready for editing. Your honesty and helpful feedback means so much to me. Thank you for being such a good friend and helping me in the way you do.
Lisa Farmer—your encouragement after reading very rough drafts of my books always pushes me forward, giving me the strength I need to make it to the end. Thank you for always being there for me.
Christine Janiak— I met you only once, but you gave me so much great advice and help that you helped make my book a little more realistic. Thank you.
Tammy Andresen, having a friend who shares the same writing passion has been an incredible
comfort over the past several months. Thank you for listening to my endless Red Nights updates and always being uplifting and supportive.
Lori, my sister, my best friend—I don’t know what I’d do without you being the one who reads the book as I write it and then reads it four hundred times more with each new version. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. Thank you for your constant encouragement and for being the best sister I could have ever asked for.
Mom, Dad, Mark and Ev, four people who love me and put up with all my craziness—thank you for believing in me and telling me never to give up, and for pushing me and telling me I can do it. I hope I’ve made you proud.
Bryce and Brayden, my two little loves—you sometimes make it challenging to write, but you fill my life with so much love and joy. You are the loves of my life and unknowingly encourage me every day to write. I hope you will always follow in my footsteps and follow your dreams.
Josh—there aren’t enough ways to say thank you. The word “support” doesn’t cover what you give to me. Your faith in me helps me push through all of my doubts, and you are the sole reason I have been able to write five (plus) books. You told me I should write a book. Thank you for telling me to do that.
PROLOGUE
Brittany Lang
Paige Grace
Jessica Temple
Kenzie Denner
Jessica Mazy
Ashley Michaels
Julia Henderson
Jenna Gold
Olivia Styles
Melanie Lane
Kayla Lyle
Felicity Stone
CHAPTER ONE
WHY AM I SO WARM? And what is that smell? I force my eyes open, but I’m having a hard time focusing. Everything is hazy. Is that—smoke? Oh my God. I struggle to pull the tangled sheets off as I clamber to the floor. Shit. What the hell is going on? I grab my phone and run for the door, and as soon as I yank it open, a rush of smoke consumes me. It’s everywhere. Flames are ripping down one side of the hall, leaving me hardly any room to get by.
Standing here in shock, I feel frozen, like I don’t know what to do. I’ve never smelled a burning house before, but the combination of everything I own burning into specs of dust makes my insides feel like they’re on fire too. It’s seeping through every one of my veins, making my chest ache and my eyes burn. With my shirt over my mouth, I drop to my knees and blindly crawl through the narrowing open space, feeling the heat of the flames licking at my exposed skin. I must look like one of those mice they drop into a maze, desperately searching for a way out. “Can anyone hear me?” I scream, but the smoke swallows my words. “Help!”
I know my shouting is completely useless. Blake isn’t home, and I doubt my neighbors can hear me. Panic is shooting through me like lightning, and I can’t stop shaking. Every time I cough, I inhale more smoke, and it’s filling my lungs now. The flames are rising around me so quickly. Smoke is encasing me, suffocating me. It’s locking me in and taking me as its prisoner.
I have to get out of here. I have to. This can’t be the end. I push through the smoke-filled living room, pulling myself in what I think is a straight line across the room. It’s the only open path left in here. I hit a wall—one that I hope has a window or a door. I feel around until my fingers rub over a crack. Please be a door.
My house is on fire. My world is crumbling around me. What did I do?
It’s not a door. I can’t see the door. I don’t know where I am in my own house.
With my shirt still over my mouth, I pull myself against the baseboard and pound my fist against the wall. “Please, please…I don’t want to die,” I cry out, though I know I’m the only one who can hear me.
Holy shit. My phone. It’s in my pocket. I almost forgot. Please work. I try to reach into the back pocket of my flannel pajama pants, but my muscles ache, and it’s almost like I can’t find my pocket. I yell for help again, but my voice is muffled by the smoke and roaring flames.
I’m in here. Help me.
I’m going to die a slow and miserable death. A phone call won’t even save me now. With the flames closing in on me, engulfing me, I now realize there’s not enough time.
This is it.
I curl into a fetal position as I close my eyes and try to focus on the good parts of my life. There are so many things I still want to do.
It might have only been seconds since I gave up, but it feels like it’s been hours. Is someone out there? The wall shakes and there’s a pounding on the door. “Help!” I yell, though my voice is hardly audible.
I’m still alive in here.
How long can I survive inhaling all of this smoke?
A door swings open, forcing a gush of air into my body. I was so close. I struggle to lift my head, and as I do, arms scoop me up.
Sirens are blaring loudly, lights flashing in my eyes, smoke billowing out around me. The man holding me yells, “Side door. Young female. She needs oxygen, stat.” His voice is shrill and echoes in the smoggy air.
I try to scream from the panic exploding within me, but sound isn’t coming out at all any more. I’m placed down on a stretcher as firemen run past me and into the house. They shouldn’t go in there.
An oxygen mask is fitted around my face, and a blanket is pulled up to my neck. People are talking to me, asking me questions, I think, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying. My attention is focused past them, watching a fireman run from the front door. He comes closer to us, yelling into his radio: “Young male. Severe burns—most likely third degree. Unconscious.” Blake? He isn’t home. What are they talking about?
A light flashes into my right eye, then my left. Another man is asking how many people were in the house. I’m staring through him, forcing out the words, “Just me…I thought.” I’m not sure if he heard me, but I don’t care.
Blake?
The roof is caving in now, and the windows are all blown out. I look around, as far as my eyes can see. Neighbors surround me. They’re in their nighttime clothes; some are holding flashlights, while others are just holding each other. Most have a hand cupped over their mouths.
In unison, their focus shifts from me to the house. I look to see what they’re all gasping about, and I see firemen emerge through the cloud of smoke billowing from the front door, carrying a body. No. No. No. He was home.
Blake!
I tug at the oxygen mask, pulling it away from my mouth. “Blake!” I cough out. The sound is garbled and I’m not sure anyone can understand me. I hardly recognize my own voice.
The mask is forced back over my face.
“We got him out,” one of the men says. There’s a ringing behind each of his words. They carried him out like a limp rag. But they carried me out that way, too. Time feels frozen around me as tears bubble in the corners of my eyes.
Someone helps me lie back on the stretcher as I’m carted into the ambulance. I’ve never been inside of one before. It looks like a tiny hospital room. Everything is white and clean with drawers and cabinets lining the perimeter. A door slams. The sound is clear and crisp—and overwhelmingly loud—causing me to flinch.
“You’re going to be okay,” an older man in uniform says.
I try to speak through the mask. “Blake. What about Blake?” I’m unsure if they can understand my muffled words.
“Just relax,” the man says.
* * *
My house is twenty miles from the hospital, but somehow it felt like seconds between the time we left and the time we arrived in front of the emergency sliding doors. The hallway is a blur as we rush through. When is someone going to tell me what’s going on with Blake? I want to get this mask off of my face. I reach for it, pulling at it, but someone stronger than me holds it in place.
My clothes are cut from my body. But why? Nothing hurts.
“Can you tell us your name?” a doctor asks, finally removing the oxygen mask.
I look at each person hovering over my nearly-naked body. Everyone looks concerned. I wish someone woul
d smile at me, give me an inkling of hope that everything is going to be okay. “Felicity Stone,” I manage to whisper.
“Felicity, do you have someone we can call?”
My parents. They have no idea what’s going on right now.
“I don’t know my parents’ numbers,” I say. I never memorized their cell phone numbers, and they changed the house number a few months ago when they moved. I always put everything in my phone. My phone. “My phone was in my pocket.” I point to the bag they dumped my torn clothes into. A nurse fishes through the pile and pulls it out. She tries to power it on, holding her finger over the button for several seconds before shaking her head.
“It’s not turning on.” She places the phone down on a table and turns for the door. “I’ll go see about locating them.”
Another nurse tries to place the oxygen mask back over my mouth, but I press my hand up against her arm. “Blake,” I try to shout. “Is he okay? I need to know if my brother is okay.” After each word, my voice squeals like a deflated balloon. Every person surrounding me gives me this blank look, making me feel like I’m behind some kind of two-way mirror. Like I can see them, but they can’t see me. I want to bang on the glass, let them know I’m right in front of them so they’ll tell me what’s happening. But they’re probably trained not to react.
They all must be great poker players.
The silence grows. It’s deafening. And now it’s being drowned out by the monitor and my climbing heart beat. “Please,” I cry out from below the oxygen mask. I’ve been holding it together for…I don’t know how long…I have no idea how much time has passed since the fire started. I can’t contain myself any longer, though. Heavy sobs erupt from my throat, making it clear how hard it is to breathe.
Different members of the medical staff attempt to calm me, but I can’t stop the tears. “Felicity,” a doctor says, “you need to calm down. This isn’t good for your lungs.” How could anyone expect me to be calm?
I rip the mask off and attempt to push myself up on my elbows. “I need to find my brother. Now!” I grit my teeth. My anger takes over completely.