The Complete Bad Boy Series (5 in 1): Best Billionaire Romance Collection (Bad Boy Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Paranormal Series) (8 page)

Laura ran her long, delicate fingers over her new bed, her fingers tracing the flowers that were engraved on the head board. It was old wooden oak, given to her and her family along with the house they had just recently purchased, an old Victorian home that had hallways as long and desperate as the city alleyways she had grown up in, playing kickball and cards with her friends. The floors creaked when she walked as if speaking to her about the last two hundred years it had stood in the same spot. The basement was the creepiest, and Laura refused to go down there, its concrete floors as dead as the air beneath the earth.

This environment was one that was very different from New York, the city Laura had loved and cherished, but when her mother had caught her sneaking cigarettes and, on more than one occasion, a 6-pack into their small uptown home, she and her father had decided that a more rural life would leave her to a less corrupt mind. She had laughed at them, not imagining they were serious, until the reality set in when the moving truck sat in the same alleyway she had, just the previous night, sat in and read until all hours of the morning, candelabras by her side. She had been hysterical when she saw the moving vans, not truly believing her parents would follow through with it. She was only a junior in high school, a mere 17 years old, and she imagined how difficult it would be to move to a new town and make begin a new life. Her parents had stood strong, as they always did, adamant in their decision that this was best for her and their family.

She sat in her room now, old wooden floors, newly painted white walls, an old dresser, computer and desk. She had two windows on either side of her bed, and already she was planning how she could sneak out being so high up. She had decided, between fits of hysteria on the ride to their new home, that she would try to make the best of this situation; maybe the news kids at school would be cool and there would be new cute guys. But this hope had been dashed, just as it had been where they previously lived, when her parents announced that they would continue to home school her.

Maybe her parents really did know something and this
would
help her; she didn’t like to be rebellious and disappoint them, she just had such an innate sense of adventure that ran through her veins and purely and as essential to her being and core as her blood; it made her heart beat.

She often wore long black dresses, her blond hair flowing in the wind, with big black boots, dark thick eyeliner encasing her bright blue eyes, and this too was certainly a look her mom referred to as “trashy” and “disgusting”, her mother paired in flowery tops and white capris. Her parents fit the “uptown New York” stereotype perfectly: rich, beautiful and gaudy…and it had sickened her.  She tried to focus on this and remind herself how it would hopefully be refreshing to meet a new group of kids who didn’t know her history or background.

From a young age, she had been drawn to the “dark side”, as her mother referred to it as. She had an intense interest in ghosts and the dead, found their histories and stories compelling. She would go to the library and study up on families, reading about their histories and the tragic deaths that may or may not have occurred in their households. She would walk past alleyways that were said to have housed murderers decades or hundreds of years ago. Paired with her long black attire, this was something that also worried her mother, and something that her mother brought up to her often. There were many times her mother would ground her, having found another article on the ghosts in her town hidden inside her desk or underneath her bed. Laura would become enraged, trying to explain to her mother that it wasn’t a terrible or dirty habit, it was just an innate interest she had, a pull that called her. Her mother would raise her hand, signaling that the conversation was done and complete.

It had all come to ahead one night when Laura had found an article based in their very apartment and had to share it with her mother, found it so intriguing that she couldn’t just let it slide.

“Mom, look at this! Check this out!” she had screamed, running into their dining room. Her mother had glanced up from the paper.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s just a brief blurb, I’ll have to head back to the library to look more into it, and I know you hate my reading this material, but it really is so so interesting! Check it out!” and she had shoved the short article in her mother’s face. Her mother had scanned it quickly, and then her face grew pale, her eyes darting from the text back to Laura.

“You will
not
read of this ever again, do you hear me?” she hissed, crumbling up the article.

“But mom! A little girl died
! Here!
Right outside our very house! A young girl about my age. Don’t you find that fascinating? Don’t you want to know more? Don’t you-“

“I won’t hear any more of it. This habit serves no purpose. It’s twisted,” her mother had said, shooting her down.

And thus, the next day, the movers had been there, moving them into an even more stunning, older and intriguing house. It was as if her mother were testing her, daring her to give into her love of research of the dead.  Challenge accepted.

Now, she flopped down on her bed, staring at the long cracks in her ceiling; cracks that looked like the walls were trying to whisper to her their secrets. There was a soft pitter-patter at the door and her mother came trailing in, sitting beside her on the bed.

“Are you liking your new room?” her mother asked bravely, nervous and well aware of the fact that this question could easily send Laura into a fit of anger or tears, depending on her mood. She exhaled gratefully when Laura continued to stare at the ceiling, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, it should be fine,” she said finally. Her mother nodded.

“Yes, of course it will be, sweetheart. Just know your father and I are doing this for you. This is a chance for you to begin again; to make good and better decisions, out here in the country where no one knows anything about you.”

“You hate who I am,” Laura said as if it were fact. She liked to challenge her mother at times like these, forcing her to tell her how much she loved her, manipulating her to do so. Her mother took in a sharp breath.

“How can you say that? I love you dearly,” she said as she leaned over and ran a hand on Laura’s soft, pale cheek. Laura turned her back away.

“Can we go to the library tomorrow? Begin some of my classes there?”

“Let’s begin classes here and get settled in. Then, once things start going well, as I am sure they will, we can venture out.”

“So, I’m locked up in this freaking place?” Laura shot out, her voice tired and exhausted. Her mother held her hand.

“I wouldn’t say ‘locked up’, I would just say we’re trying to settle ourselves first.”

“You two are the most overprotective people I have ever met in my entire life,” she mumbled. Her mother sighed again.

“We just want to protect you, and want the best for you…always,” she leaned over, kissing her on the forehead.

Laura knew in that moment that she would have to sneak out at some point in search of their local library. Her palms began to sweat and her heart raced in anticipation of discovering all the secrets her house held. She squeezed her mother’s hand back and her mother left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

A few days and nights came and went and after her studies, she would explore the house. Their dining room had a large wall that was filled with stain glass, and Laura would spend hours coming up with stories about it in her mind. There was a picture of a mother holding a child, waves behind her, and another of four other children running in the fields.

“Damn thing is creepy,” her father mumbled as he passed her one evening.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said and he had huffed, walking away.

Their home had long stairwells and secret passages, winding hallways and these aspects begged to be photographed. Laura found her father’s old camera, dusted it off, and would spend her nights photographing the ins and outs of their home.

“Mom, could I set up a black room in the house to develop my own pictures?” she had asked one night over dinner.

“I think that’s a great idea,” her father had said.

“Maybe we could even bring a photography class into our home schooling program,” her mother suggested, and Laura’s blue eyes had lit up, truly happy for the first time since moving there. Maybe her parents
were
opening up a bit.

“Great idea, honey. And we could encourage some creative writing prompts to accompany the pictures!” her said added, excited. There weren’t many things that excited her father, a tall, dark and quiet type, and this made her feel elated. She hadn’t seen her parents so proud and happy with her in years, and she felt her heart warming, feeling as if she had a small success in this house already. She was proud of herself, something she hadn’t felt for a few years.

“Yes, I would love that!” she encouraged, ecstatic.

“Nothing morbid though,” her mother chimed in. Her father rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Beatrice, let her write about what she wants. Isn’t it enough that we home school her?” he asked and Laura smiled brightly, feeling like her father understood her, even if just for a moment. Her mother’s shoulders shrunk and she shrugged.

“I suppose as long as it’s in a creative sense, then that should be fine.”

“The dark room is going to have to be in the basement though,” her father said and Laura froze.

“That basement is scary,” Laura said sheepishly, looking down at her plate of food, occupying herself with moving her peas and carrots around on her plate with her fork.

“Oh honey, you love that stuff,” her father pointed out and Laura agreed, figuring she was being absurd and ridiculous.

So began Laura’s newest and most intriguing talent; she would spend days and nights capturing their home in all its nuances and behaviors, waiting for the perfect ray of sunshine to sparkle in or finding new crevasses and hiding spots. She would then allow her mind to wander and in her journal, write for hours, developing stories based on the pictures she had taken and developed herself, her hands and mind a piece of artwork themselves.

She ignored the doorbells, the neighbors who came over to drop off meals and who sat with her parents for coffee. Her parents never invited her down anyways and this was something she was not only fine with, but content with. She hated small talk and would rather spend her time enchanted in her new home and the exploration of it.

Often she wondered why none of the neighborhood students had stopped by to introduce themselves, but she didn’t pay it too much mind. It had only been a few weeks since they had moved in, and she figured she or they would get around to it shortly.

She sat in the basement one night, pumping out her rock and roll on the radio, dancing as she worked in her dark room, excited about the new roll of film that was developing in front of her, like watching a secret becoming exposed right in front of your very eyes.

Suddenly, she heard what she thought was a knock at the back door of the basement. She turned down her music, twirling quickly on her feet, her long black skirt encircling her energy and body. She waited a few more pauses, and then heard the knock again. She glanced at the clock; it was midnight, and she felt her heart tighten, scared for a moment. She moved closer to the door.

“Hello?” she said through it. She paused, waiting for an answer, unsure if the person on the other side could even hear her. She looked down at her pale arms, blue veins pulsating through her snow white skin. She waited, anticipating and hoping for an answer.

“Hey,” she heard a deep male voice. Her heart pounded excited for human interaction, a conversation with someone that was outside the four walls of her home.

“Hi,” she said again.

“I just wanted to come by and say hello, introduce myself to the new family in town.” She smiled behind the door.

“Any reason you’re doing this at midnight? And at our back door?”

“Any reason you’re making me talk through the door?” the voice questioned and she laughed.

“Well, like I said, it’s midnight.”

“Well, I didn’t very well think that I could come to the front door at midnight. I saw the light on down here and figured I might as well come say hello.” Laura unlocked the door and turned it slowly, opening it, revealing the young man standing in the doorway. She felt her breath stick in her throat as she glanced up at the startling handsome boy standing in front of her, one arm draped around the door frame, holding him up, his bright green eyes startling her, peering at her under the light they had above the door.

“Hi,” she whispered hoarsely. He smiled, revealing startling white teeth and two dimples. She smiled back, revealing her own innocent and pure smile.

“Hey. I’m Ian,” he said extending a hand. She shook it. It was cold to the touch and made hers shiver.

“Hi Ian, I’m Laura,” she said. She opened the door a bit, allowing him into the basement. He moved past her swiftly and slowly, coming inside.

“Nice little thing you got going here,” he said as he observed her basement.

“I was working in my black room,” she said and he nodded.

“That’s awesome,” he encouraged, sitting down on an old chair they had been storing in the basement. She sat next to him, occupying a similar chair.

“So, you’re a neighbor?” she asked and he nodded.

“Yup, I live in the house across the street with my parents. I’m an only child too. Where are you from originally? How old are you?”

“How did you know I’m an only child?” she asked, curious. He laughed.

“Because only children have a certain look to them.” She laughed alongside him, agreeing.

“True. We lived in New York. I’m 17.”

“New York? That’s so cool. I actually lived there briefly too
and
  I’m 17. Looks like we’ll have to be friends, then,” he said as he smiled. His eyes were an ice cold green and pierced through her, felt him resonate and stir something within her soul and she shuddered, excited.

They talked to the wee hours of the morning, Ian telling Laura all about their town and drawing her a map of where the library was. He even offered to walk with her there the following night, and she had agreed enthusiastically. She had confided in him her interest in ghosts and he had seemed intrigued as well.

“You don’t think it’s weird? Or dumb?” she asked, looking at her long fingers, embarrassed to be exposing herself to someone who just a few hours ago had been a stranger.

“No, not at all. Ghosts are intriguing; they’re real, in a sense. I mean, they used to walk these very streets that we walk now. How powerful is that?” he asked and her eyes lit up, his green emeralds sparkling.

“Yes, yes! Exactly!” she exclaimed, excited to have someone who finally saw her how she saw it, and agreed and seemed to encourage her interest. He observed the excitement in her eyes, the way her long vanilla arms and collarbone peaked out from behind the contrasts of the dark black attire, the long blond locks of her hair and he found himself staring at her a few moments longer than he should’ve, and he secretly hoped she didn’t notice.

Eventually they said goodnight to one another, Laura telling him to come back the following night, making sure to tell him not to stop by during the day. When Ian inquired as to why, she said that her parents weren’t really all that accepting or friendly and he had laughed, asking whose parents really were, and she had agreed, telling him that perhaps after a few more nights of them hanging out, he might want to say hello to her parents.