Dare to Bleed (Emily Sullivan Series)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DARE TO BLEED

© 2011 Mary

ISBN: 978-1475172065

Edited by: Tracy Seybold

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied for reviews.

Published by: Mary Whitten

First Printing: May 2012

Dare To Bleed

By

Mary Whitten

Chapter One

The work week was over, but I had nothing better to do on Friday night than stand in line at the gas station. My daily ritual includes heading over to the same 7-eleven to pick up the paper for my mother. I think anyone who reads the paper, watches the news or wastes their time trying to stay informed on celebrity drama is nosey, and my mother is their queen.

I love my mother to death, but most days she drives me nuts. When I was growing up, we couldn’t even go to Wal-Mart without everyone in the store knowing who we were and everything about us. It’s pretty embarrassing when strangers somehow know everything about you, including the time you decided to skinny dip in January and came down with pneumonia. I’ve become an expert at ignoring people. My childhood consisted of some serious prying freaks, which has turned me into an antisocial, heartless bitch.

So I was adding feeling sorry for myself to my list of Friday night activities, along with standing in an unusually long line for a newspaper. Someone in the front of the line was arguing with Billy the cashier about the price of cigarettes. I could never understand why people smoked in the first place but I had to agree with this douche bag, I didn’t see why they were so expensive.

Annoyance built within me as I waited and listened to them argue. It’s not like the cashier controls the prices.

“
Hey, dumbass,” someone said from behind me, making me jump. “If you have a problem with the price of cancer take it up with Congress. Billy doesn’t give a shit.”

The jerk at the counter the scariest ‘go to hell’ look. I stepped to the side in case a fight broke out. Cigarette Boy opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but took one look at the fella and decided it would be best to not argue. He snatched up his cigarettes and stormed out.

Everyone in line give a giant sigh of relief. I thought about applauding.

“
Thanks, I was about to throw something at that guy if he didn’t shut up,” I said, turning around to look at the guy. He was absolutely stunning, and literally took my breath away. He had dirty blond hair parted down the center of his head that reached his jaw line. I immediately imagined running my hands through his silky locks. His skin, which looked soft to the touch, had a nice even complexion. And his eyes! His bright blue eyes were the color of the sky on a beautiful spring day and sparkled like diamonds. He had big, beautiful, pouty lips that made me want to marry this stranger, if only to make beautiful children. His body was solid muscle. He looked like a heart breaker, which happens to be my type.

“
No problem. Glad I could help,” he said.

I smiled at his politeness. I’ve learned that most people who yell at others for doing stupid things tend to lack manners, myself included.

I felt myself staring and turned around quickly. What the hell was wrong with me? I had to check to make sure I wasn’t drooling. My heart was racing with excitement. I looked around, trying to distract my mind with anything besides the man standing a few inches behind me. Snickers were on sale. I’m usually good about self-control but today I’d had a tough day at work.

I am a 911 operator, probably the worst one ever. Usually my days were pretty slow, but today I’d received some of the worst calls since I started a few months ago. I couldn’t make anyone happy, like I should be able to stop the bleeding over the phone with my mind.

As if my day couldn’t get any worse, the door chimed and in waltzed my arch nemesis. Vicky graduated high school with me five years ago. We also graduated kindergarten together. I’ve had to deal with her as long as I can remember. She beat me at every contest we’ve entered together and still rubs it in my face any chance she can.

She was slightly taller than my 5’5, much thicker around, which of course meant her boobs and ass were bigger. She had long straight black hair that moved dramatically, thanks to her strut. She was wearing black tights that showed every dimple in her fat ass. Her leopard print shirt was made for a two year old, and those shoes…well, actually, I liked the shoes. But still, I hated her guts!

I tried to avoid her like the plague and would have missed her if that idiot hadn’t been so cheap and just bought the cigarettes. I didn’t think she was prettier than me but in the seventh grade she beat me out of the homecoming queen crown and since then has to remind me of it every chance she gets. In my defense, I would have won if the entire class hadn’t learned of my pneumonia accident.

I am a normal looking girl; I guess you could say I’m pretty. Long, wavy strawberry blond hair, blue eyes and a nice figure, I get hit on by guys every now and again. I also avoid men like the plague. I’m not a lesbian, but my past has taught me that men are the scum of the earth and can’t be trusted.

“
Why if it isn’t little miss Emmy McPimmie” Vicky snapped. Her giant gold hoop earrings swung back and forth as she spoke.

I rolled my eyes. My name is Emily Sullivan, and most people call me Emma or Em for short. For some reason, Vicky has called me Emmy McPimmie, since the third grade. Maybe she thinks it’s insulting. Everything that comes out of her mouth is an insult, so I’m used to it. I would never let her know she gets to me. That would just fuel the fire.

I felt my face turning red. I groaned and kept my eyes forward and tried to ignore her.

“
Well, aren’t you mouth-watering? The name’s Vicky Kenner,” she said to the stranger behind me with her thick country accent.

I felt like vomiting. He was hot and about to be swept off his feet by none other than slutty Vicky. So, I’m not as creative with insults as she is, sue me. I got up to the register just in time.

“
Hey, Billy. How’s it hanging?” Like I said, this was a ritual and Billy was the regular cashier working nights. We knew each other pretty well.

“
Had a tough day, Emma?” Billy asked. Guess my face said it all. I have always been told that I am easy to read.

“
Getting worse by the minute, thanks.” I handed him my money and smiled. Billy was a nice guy. He was short and chubby, the kind of geek that you would see at a comic book convention, complete with severe acne. He always remembers my birthday and every year gives me a card. He was a real sweetheart, one to take home to Momma.

He handed me my change. “See ya tomorrow.”

I gave him a wink and turned to leave. I ran straight into Mr. Wonderful. It almost looked as if he had been smelling my hair as I checked out. My stomach jumped at the thought.

“
Sorry,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. I just smiled at him as I turned away.

Vicky scoffed, and it ruined the moment. I rolled my eyes and walked out to my black Nissan Rogue and got in. I turned the key and the music about busted my ear drums. I quickly turned it down and banged my head on the steering wheel. My life was going down the drain. I was glad I’d fought the urge to speak to the guy. It’s not that I’m shy. It’s just that me and men do not mix well together.

A tap on the window made me jump and brought me back to reality. The 7-eleven wasn’t in a dangerous neighborhood, but it was becoming dark out and that’s when all the creeps come out to play. I looked up to see the guy from line standing outside. I rolled my window down and smiled.

“
Geez you scared me,” I said, and he suddenly looked embarrassed again. I am so awkward.

“
Sorry, I didn’t mean to. You forgot your chocolate on the counter.” He shook his head and handed me my Snickers.

“
Oh, thanks. That would have made for a very disappointing night,” I said humorlessly, taking the candy bar from him. Our fingers touched, and his skin was ice cold. Chills rushed up my hand and through my arm. My lungs refused to work properly in his presence.

“
Glad I could make your night,” he replied, which made me smile. Was he actually flirting with me?

“
My name is Ezra, by the way. Ezra Boyd.” He put his hand out. I was almost afraid to touch him again, given the strange reaction his touch his provoked a moment ago, but to avoid being rude I took his cold hand in mine. Maybe he’d been holding ice cream in the line. That would explain his annoyance with the hold up.

“
The name’s Emma Sullivan. Well, Emily, but most people call me Emma or Em.”

He gave me a strange smile for a moment and looked back at the store.

“
I thought your friend said your name was Emmy McPimmie?” he asked making me think of nasty Vicky. Gag. I fought back embarrassment.

“
Oh, Vicky. She calls me that because she’s mentally unstable, if you know what I mean. I feel so bad for her that I let her think that’s my name,” I explained sarcastically.

On cue, Vicky walked out of the store. She gave me a stupid look and threw her arms in the air, as if to say “What?” It was quite comical and went perfectly with what I had said.

Ezra looked at me, and we both laughed. He seemed like a charming guy, after all. And for the first time ever, a guy who was interested in me had not slept with Vicky.

“
Well, I have somewhere to be, but would you like to get together sometime, maybe have dinner?” he asked, studying his shoes. His proposal completely caught me off guard. I didn’t understand how someone so hot could be so shy.

“
Yeah. Of course. Here, let me get you my number,” I answered, still in shock.

He looked up, and our eyes met. We stood taking each other in for a moment. He smiled and handed me his phone. I typed my number in and handed it back.

“
I can’t remember if the rule is two or three days to call so I’ll call you sometime this week,” he said.

I laughed at his honesty. I like people who say what they are thinking. No need to guess and try strain your nonexistent psychic abilities. We said our goodbyes and left knowing we would talk again soon.

I turned into my mother’s driveway and parked. She lives in a quiet neighborhood, not like the ones with a bunch of annoying kids or stray dogs, which is a good thing. The first unlucky boy who stepped on my mother’s lawn would end up castrated.

I let myself in and walked straight to the living room. She was watching the news in her beat up recliner. Her furniture was from the 70’s—that old yellow floral print. She had on her grandma night gown and pink bunny slippers. Her messy gray hair made her look like she belonged in the looney bin.

“
Hey, Ma.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“
Mr. Londin down the street had a heart attack,” she replied, her eyes still locked on the nightly news. Most people would consider this rude, but that’s just Mom. “Of course he drank like a sailor and never went to church so he had it coming.”

As much as I knew she was wrong, my mother is the only person in the world I refuse to disagree with. She went through eighteen hours of labor to have me. She at least deserves that much.

Something on the news caught my interest. Curiosity got the best of me as I started watching.

“
The victim was a 24 year old college student who resided in the Magnolia State Apartments,” the news anchor stated.
Holy crap! That was my apartment building. Creepy
. My mother glanced over, acknowledging that she was thinking the same thing.