Hot-Blooded
Authors: Kendall Grey
Tags: #surfing, #volcanoes, #drugs, #Hawaii, #crime, #tiki, #suspense, #drug lords, #Pele, #guns, #thriller
HOT-BLOODED
An
‘Ohana
Novel
Book One
KENDALL GREY
HOT-BLOODED
Copyright © 2014 by Kendall Grey
Published by
Howling Mad Press, LLC
P.O. Box 660
Bethlehem, GA 30620
Edited by Jennifer Sommersby Young
Cover design and graphics by Renee Coffey
ISBN 10: 0-9911928-2-6
ISBN 13: 978-0-9911928-2-3
First E-book Edition: July 2014
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Acknowledgments
I’ll be short and sweet for once. Thanks to: my editor/Twinsie, Jenn Sommersby Young for making my words pretty, keeping my chin up, and being there whenever I need her; Renee Coffey for another amazing book cover and kickass tiki graphics; Kim Cheeseman, Jocelyn Conway, Erin Fisher, Annie Gabor, Mindy Guerreiros, Debi Krupa, Jamie Lynn, Melanie Marsh, and Alexis Rossiter for drunken giggles, tiara silliness, and always having my back no matter what; Resident Geek and the three Demonlings for allowing me to explore the strange places my brain takes me and to chase my crazy dreams. Finally, thank you to every reader who’s ever supported me—you’re the reason I write.
To My Readers…
Though I’ve been to Maui many times, I’m not a Native Hawaiian, so I’ve probably made mistakes in this book. Apologies in advance.
In preparation for writing, I researched topics ranging from traditional Hawaiian surfing to Hawaiian words to Native culture and many other things in between. I took some liberties with the legend of the
huaka‘i pō
—the Night Marchers—to make that awesome piece of heritage fit with the story.
A glossary containing Hawaiian words and surfing terms follows. If you stumble upon incorrect information or use of terms, please feel free to notify me at
[email protected]
, and I’ll endeavor to make corrections. Also, if you’re interested in learning more about the Hawaiian language and/or how to pronounce Hawaiian words, check out
hawaiian-words.com
.
Mahalo for reading!
—Kendall
Glossary of Terms
aloha
– a term for love, peace, and affection; also used to say hello and goodbye
Barney
– slang for an inexperienced surfer
barrel
– a big, tube-shaped wave that curls over a surfer’s head
Betty
– a surfer girl
grom (or grommet)
– a young surfer, usually 16 years or under
Hale Mahina
– House of the moon; also part of the West Maui Mountains
haole
– non-Native; white
he‘e nalu
– surfing or surfer
huaka‘i pō
– (Also known as the Night Marchers) Ghost warriors or other restless souls who seek vengeance for their own deaths or the deaths of their loved ones. Meeting the eyes of a Night Marcher can result in death.
ka po‘ina nalu
– the surf zone
kahuna
– a highly knowledgeable expert in either Hawaiian craft or spiritual matters
kahuna kilokilo
– a master in divination who interprets omens from birds and natural forces in the sky
kaikuahine
– sister
kaikunāne
– a brother of a sister
Kanaka Maoli
– Hawaiian
keiki
– child or children
kook
– an inexperienced surfer
lei
– a garland worn around the neck, usually made of flowers or other foliage arranged in a pattern
lū‘au
– a traditional Hawaiian party featuring food, drinks, and entertainment
mahalo
– thank you
makuahine
– mother
makuakane
– father
mo‘olelo
– Hawaiian histories and legends
‘ohana
– family
‘ōiwi
– Native Hawaiian; "of the bone"
pakalolo
– marijuana
papa he‘e nalu
– surfboard
rag-dolled
– when a wave hits a surfer and shakes him or her like a rag doll
spit
– a huge spray of sea water from the end of a barrel
tube
– same as a barrel; a tube-shaped wave that curls over a surfer’s head
wahine
– a woman
“It is a frightening thought that man also has a shadow side to him, consisting not just of little weaknesses—and foibles, but of a positively demonic dynamism.”
– Carl Jung
Chapter One
Maui, 2008
“You think Bane will win this year?” Kai asked from the backseat. It was hard to hear him over the sputter of the coughing engine, but a tinge of uncertainty blurred his soft voice.
From the passenger seat, Keahilani glanced back at her twin. The wind from Mahina’s open window in front of him blew the sun-kissed brown hair from his face. His locks executed complicated flips like a drunk diver stumbling off the cliffs of Black Rock on Kāʻanapali Beach.
“Maybe.” Keahilani didn’t want to jinx their little brother’s chances, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Kai had always been the optimistic one who searched for the good in every situation. She considered herself practical above all else. In short, Kai hoped. Keahilani hedged.
That said, she had no doubt Bane would totally kill it in the surfing competition today.
“Absolutely,” Mahina said. Keahilani felt her mother’s smile rather than saw it. That’s how Mahina was. Energy rather than form. Larger than life. A force to be reckoned with. To those who didn’t know her, Mahina was intimidation made flesh. To her family, she was the epitome of love and respect with a sharp edge.
Years filled with alternating tragedies and triumphs had that hard-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside effect on a person.
Keahilani fumbled with her hair, wrestling the tangles from the wind’s clutches as she squinted into the sun. Damn car’s air conditioning hadn’t worked in ages, and Mahina probably wouldn’t have run it even if it did. She pinched pennies at the expense of the smallest comforts. Recycled water for gardening. No lights on during the day. Not a single bite of food wasted. Hell, the members of the household even took timed, lukewarm showers. Five minutes was all anyone ever got, birthdays included.
Keahilani sighed. As soon as she landed a higher-paying job, she’d help the family move out of government housing into something better. Her mother had given so much of herself to keep the
‘ohana
strong. She deserved some reward for her struggles. They all did.
Mahina shoved one hand into the hemp bag lying between the bucket seats while the other maintained tenuous control of the steering wheel. She glanced away from the road a couple of times.
Sitting up, Keahilani swiped the thin sheen of sweat from her leg. God, this heat. “What do you need? I’ll get it.”
Mahina gently pushed her away and continued fumbling around in the bag.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” Keahilani gibed. Her mother always said the same when she drove.
Mahina paused her rifling as she rounded a sharp curve. “Bane told me that rude
haole
boy from Kihei—what’s his name? Josh something?—is the biggest competition this year. That little shit needs his ass handed to him.”
True. Josh beat Bane (barely) at their last surfing contest, and afterward he bragged about haole surfers being better than Natives. Mahina’s lip curled, and she bared her teeth over a growl. Keahilani had to physically restrain her from attacking the kid. Mahina could take a lot of crap, but when you brought her or her children’s heritage and/or wave-riding abilities into question, things were guaranteed to get ugly.
And they did. Josh ran to his mother and hid behind her. Keahilani was pretty sure he peed his pants too. Served him right.
Most people agreed religion, money, and politics were topics best avoided in social situations. Mahina’s top three incendiary topics were Native Hawaiians, surfing, and social justice.
“He’ll get his.” Keahilani gazed at the ocean. “They always do.”
The bend navigated, Mahina returned to digging through her purse. “Damn it. Where did I put those cigarettes?” She glanced down and shoved half of the contents aside.
Smoking was her one vice—the single luxury she allowed herself. She only smoked two cigarettes a day, always out of sight from Bane, so Keahilani tried not to nag her too much about it. Mahina said she felt guilty for spending an extra seven bucks every week and a half on cancer sticks, but Keahilani was more concerned about her health than a few lost dollars.
Another curve snuck up on them like a rogue wave out of nowhere, and a motorcycle breached the double yellow lines, heading straight for them.
Fear punched her in the gut, and Keahilani slapped a hand to the dashboard.
“Mahina!” Kai’s shout from the backseat struck a perfect chord with Keahilani’s cry.
“Shit!” Their mother yanked the steering wheel, avoiding the motorcycle, but the car careened across pavement, tires screaming in protest.
Keahilani clutched her seat, and the world slowed to a dreadful, slow-motion panorama. Reality spun into blurred brown lines intermingled with blood-curdling, rubber-ripping howls that danced around her head like little cartoon birds. Her body succumbed to laws of physics she couldn’t break as it thrashed against the belt crossing her chest. Bones protested at the impact.
Twirl. Skid. SLAM!
The dreamlike scene ended abruptly. A bloody wake-up call infused with a double shot of delayed reaction lit up her pain receptors. Deadly silence, save for a hissing radiator, commanded the airwaves.
Keahilani tried to unbuckle herself, but her arm wouldn’t cooperate. It was stuck between the seat and the door. Dazed, she turned toward Mahina and wished she hadn’t.
Red. Not on her lips where it should be, but trickling down her temple. Saturating her light shirt. Pooling on the seat. The crumpled door embedded her side as if it were made of cardboard rather than steel. Red-dipped glass fragments lay shattered in a macabre butterfly shape on her lap.
A chill alighted on Keahilani’s skin, soft like a blanket at first, but then it seeped in, a sinister terror, seizing her whole body.
“Mahina?” Keahilani whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loudly, she might somehow break her mother further. Heart shuffling into a gallop, she couldn’t catch her breath. Couldn’t catch her racing thoughts as they sped away, leaving her control high and dry. Sanity whirled into a vortex, and adrenaline-powered fear clamped around her throat. “
Makuahine
?” she said more forcefully.