Finding Peace Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Thank you so much for joining me in more Rollin adventures. This is the fourth book in the series. More than 400,000 words and uncountable hours of writing, not to mention the hours you’ve invested in reading my stories. Thank you!

  Corn Queen

  Sly Grins

  Left Hangin’

  Holy Shit

  Don’t be a pussy

  Girl Chat

  I know something you don’t know

  Repetition is good

  Ketchup

  Alphabet soup

  Princess Peach

  Rubberneckers

  Sending Kit to war

  Making Plans

  I screwed up

  Let’s get stupid

  Busted

  Jerks everywhere

  She’s my bro

  It’s not humerus

  Blackmail

  Planning

  Jabberwockies

  Life goes on

  Assassinations and Orange Juice

  Wet blankets to the rescue

  Go into the light

  The Po-Po go Low-Low

  Blue Lines

  This can’t be happening

  Test Again

  It’s go time

  Celebrations afoot

  Ride the wave

  B is for…?

  Incompetency 101

  This is worse

  Synchronized Poetry

  He’s a he

  Thank you

  How to find me

  FINDING PEACE

  Rollin’ On Series

  Book 4

  EMILIA FINN

  All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  An original work of Emilia B Finn. Finding Peace copyright 2017 by Emilia Finn.

  ISBN-10: 1974651827

  ISBN-13: 978-1974651825

  Finding Peace

  Rollin’ On series, novel # 4

  By Emilia Finn

  This one is for

  my husband.

  If I had to pick a Kincaid

  that resembles him the most,

  it would be the silent and grumpy Aiden.

  Love you, Babe.

  Please never stop slapping my

  ass as you walk by.

  Tale as old as time.

  True as it can be.

  -Beauty and the Beast.

  A poem for Autry.

  You’ll remain in the hearts of your TO Aunties forever.

  You are loved and missed dearly.

  RIP A.L.K.

  The tree bears the orange sweet and small.

  The roots are deep but when they call;

  The orange is picked and missed by all.

  -Lindsi La Bar

  Other Books Written by Emilia

  The Rollin’ On Series

  (in reading order)

  Finding Home

  Finding Victory

  Finding Forever

  Finding Peace

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Corn Queen

  Sly Grins

  Left Hangin’

  Holy Shit

  Don’t be a pussy

  Girl Chat

  I know something you don’t know

  Repetition is good

  Ketchup

  Alphabet soup

  Princess Peach

  Rubberneckers

  Sending Kit to war

  Making Plans

  I screwed up

  Let’s get stupid

  Busted

  Jerks everywhere

  She’s my bro

  It’s not humerus

  Blackmail

  Planning

  Jabberwockies

  Life goes on

  Assassinations and Orange Juice

  Wet blankets to the rescue

  Go into the light

  The Po-Po go Low-Low

  Blue Lines

  This can’t be happening

  Test Again

  It’s go time

  Celebrations afoot

  Ride the wave

  B is for…?

  Incompetency 101

  This is worse

  Synchronized Poetry

  He’s a he

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  How to find me

  Prologue

  “Sarah, where are you?”

  He calls my name in that slimy, sing song voice, the cat taunting the mouse, and my stomach rolls slick. This can’t be how it ends. I can’t die this way.

  Tonight.

  By him.

  Shaking painfully, I quickly shove things inside my daughter’s Princess Polly backpack, my blood-stained hands marring her tiny pink clothes. The sight of my blood on them, and his blood too, hurts me, but I can’t avoid it. I’ll wash them later. We need to go.

  Now.

  “Sarah, come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  I grab Katie from her sleigh crib and sling her backpack over my shoulder. “Come on, baby. We gotta go.”

  “Sarah!” His voice turns mean, feral and demanding and no longer playful. “I’m speaking to you. Come out or I’ll come get you.”

  Holding Katie against my chest, I tiptoe to the bedroom door and peek into the lit hallway. I watch as he slowly climbs the stairs and comes into view.

  I shrink back into the dark nursery and I watch him through the crack in the door. His white shirt is blood soaked, his thick gold chain dangling in the red and swinging with his limp.

  His shirt hangs loose, his black pants and brown loafers dirty and tattered. His left arm hangs limp at his side and his right hand holds the knife that I left behind when I ran upstairs.

  I should have kept the fucking knife.

  “Boss?”

  Sean turns, snapping at his man. “Go downstairs, watch the front door.” My heart tumbles in my chest. What’s Damon doing here? I heard Sean send the guys away for the night. I don’t know why they came back, but there’s no way I can get past them all.

  I’ve come too far. I can’t go back to this afternoon, to before I started this.

  “Found you.” Sean slaps his hand on Katie’s bedroom door, slamming it open and hitting us both with a painful smack.

  Katie’s screams ring in the air as we both hit the floor and Sean pounces on me. My baby flew from my arms, rolling a few feet away, and I fight Sean’s feral hands as I desperately watch her scream and crawl under her crib. She’s not even a year old yet, but she’s smart. So smart.

  “You’ll die tonight, Sarah.” Spittle lands on my face as he shouts at me. “Nobody disobeys me.” He hits the side of my face, close fisted and I taste blood where my teeth razed through my cheek. “I control everything. I control everyone. I control you!” He slams the butt of the knife down on my temple and my vision blurs. “You’re mine, to have and to hold. Till’ death do us part!”

&
nbsp; “Stop. Please stop,” I beg through the blood pooling in my mouth, but his knife comes down again, blade side this time, and he slices across the bridge of my nose and over my brow. The fire runs across my face, the smooth slicing sensation like nails on a chalkboard. He misses my eye only because my arm comes up and the blade hits bone instead.

  Blood spurts free and blinds me as I use my less injured arm to push him away, scratching and grabbing any piece of him I can reach.

  “Mama?”

  “You don’t leave my compound unless it’s in a casket, bitch! You’ll never take my daughter.” His voice turns louder, competing with Katie’s screams and I swallow down vomit as it threatens to overwhelm me.

  “Mama, you ‘wake?”

  Gasping, I shoot up in bed, thankfully stopping before head-butting Evie and knocking her to the floor.

  Holy shit.

  My cami is stuck to my sweating chest and my sheets are twisted around my legs, holding me down and sending me into a panic.

  Get them off. Get them undone. Can’t have them holding me down. My heart thunders in my chest and my vision has slow, swirling dots swimming and blinding me.

  “Mommy.”

  I rip the last of my sheets off. I pull my feet out and sit them over the side of my bed. I need to be free. Can’t let them hold me in.

  “Mommy.”

  I look away from my shaking hands, despising his power to still make them shake. “What’s the matter, baby?”

  “Mama.”

  “Yes, bab--”

  Evie dives into my lap, vomiting straight down my top and it soaks through my shirt, pooling in my cleavage. She starts crying, catching her breath between each heave, her tiny chest rising and falling in panic.

  Oh no. “Shh, baby. It’s okay, Mama’s got you.” I pat her hair, resting her vomit covered face on my chest, rubbing it in, the warm chunks sliding between us and landing on the bed.

  “I sick. I sick, Mommy.”

  “I know, baby. Shh, it’s okay.” I finger comb her hair, pulling the soft locks out and watching them spring back while she cries against me. There’s no point rushing to the bathroom now. My room and my bed, and Evie and I, already stink.

  “What’s got you sick, baby? Does your tummy hurt?”

  “Tummy hurts. Yes,” she nods her forehead against my chest and cries. “Sore tummy.”

  I’m sick to fucking death of germs. Filthy, unwell people going to the store and leaving their filthy phlegmy germs on the cart handles for poor tiny toddlers to touch and wake up sick.

  I don’t have time for this. I have to work, and I can’t get a babysitter in for a sick kid. Evie wants me when she’s not feeling well. Not Kit and not a stranger. But I can’t afford not to work, because I’m scratching the bottom of the peanut butter jar already and we need to go back to the disgusting germy store to buy more food.

  Dammit!

  I brush my nightmare away, again, then I pick my daughter up and walk us both to the shower where I turn the taps on and step in fully clothed. We’re both covered in vomit.

  “No, Mommy.”

  “Shhh, baby. We have to shower. We have to clean up.”

  “It’s cold.”

  It’s not cold. The room is already filling with steam. “Come on.” I stick us both under the hot stream and luxuriating in the high pressure, I let out a deep sigh.

  I force myself to forget the vomit, forget the bad dream, forget my money woes and just concentrate on the hot water for a moment. “Let’s take your jammies off, baby."

  “No,” Evie groans as she clings to me, her strong grip a total contrast to her otherwise lethargic movements.

  I pull her nightie over her head, feeling guilty for smooshing more vomit in her hair and face, but I get it off and throw it to the floor then I hug her to my chest again and let the water stream over her tiny back.

  Her fingers play with the ends of my hair for a few minutes, her breath shallow and loud. Her chest and stomach expand and collapse rapidly and I feel awful for her.

  Evie sits up suddenly, gazing into my eyes. She looks so sick, so sad, her chin wobbles and her eyes water. “Mommy.”

  “Yeah--”

  I groan as she vomits again, as she chokes on it and she tries to catch her breath. My poor baby. “It’s okay, get it up then we’ll have some medicine. It’ll make you feel all better.”

  Fuck my life. I don’t even have enough money to buy more Tylenol. I have a client due in this morning, a client whose bill was going to pay for our groceries this week, a client that I’ll now have to reschedule and risk pissing off. Risk him not coming back at all.

  I continue to pat her back and I shuffle Evie as gently as I can so I can undress myself. I kick my panties off, then I wiggle and get my cami straps down my arms and I scoot it over my hips and down my legs. There’s so much vomit.

  I turn to get a little water, to rinse off and warm up, but Evie cries louder, shivering in my arms so I spin us back again, thrusting her back under the spray and feeling my own body wrack with shivers because I’m wet and freezing.

  Adulting really sucks sometimes.

  I finish us up in the shower, then listening to Evie’s groaning and crying, I grab a fluffy towel and shroud her in it, rubbing my hands along her back and trying to give a little friction for warmth.

  “Mommy.”

  “I know, baby. We’ll be okay. Let’s go get dressed then we’ll hop back into bed.”

  I walk us down the hallway, intending on rugging up and diving under the covers - we can have a movie day - but when I step into my room, I remember the vomit soaked covers and I whimper. I forgot about them.

  I dig through my closet and find Evie’s warmest winter pyjamas and socks, then I set her on her feet in front of me and I use the towel to dry her hair.

  “Do you think you’re going to be sick again, baby?” Because I don’t want it on me anymore. I’ll grab a bucket.

  “No. I okay.”

  “Is your tummy still sore?”

  “No, I okay,” Evie repeats but her words aren’t strong. My usually brave, strong girl’s voice cracks and my heart breaks for her. My poor, sweet Evelyn.

  “Alright. Let Mommy get dressed and I’ll fix the bed. Then we’ll have some medicine and watch a movie.”

  “Peenokino?”

  “Yeah baby, we can watch Pinocchio.”

  I throw fresh track pants and a tank on myself, strip my bed and take those to the washer, then I search underneath my sink to find the last of our Tylenol.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  Well, I do. I’m going to call a paying customer and tell him I can’t work with him today.

  Then I’m going to sulk.

  One

  Aiden

  Corn Queen

  A few weeks prior…

  “Can you grab some milk while you’re at the store? We’re all out and we want coffee.”

  I turn back around to look at Iz, one foot out the door, one foot in. “Yeah, Sissy. Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Evie giggles wildly. “We want cawffeee.”

  She’s hanging off my pants leg, her legs wrapped around mine so she moves forward with every step I take. She’s my very own chain and ball. A cute, tiny, giggly weight that I don’t want to escape any time soon.

  Chuckling, I bend down and tickle her ribs and she squeals, letting go and falling to the floor in a puddle of giggles as though I used a stun gun.

  “You’ve had enough coffee,” I tell the curly haired toddler, shaking my head at the fact she gets a hot chocolate each morning - plus another three or four whenever she visits us, because we’re a bunch of suckers who give her anything she wants.

  I don’t shake my head at the hot chocolate, but at the fact she doesn’t call it chocolate. She calls it coffee. So, she gets coffee too.

  “Yeah.” Iz brings my attention back to her, smiling as she nurses her infant daughter - my niece, Lucy. Better known as Bean. “Bring me something swee
t? Maybe a candy bar or somethin’.”

  Izzy grew up with us, like a sister, but she married my actual brother a few months ago, so now she really is my sister. It was about damn time those two got on the same page.

  Their timing was balls-up for a long time. They dated other people. She fell pregnant – not to my brother. There was a lot of heartbreak and hard words and eye twitching for a long time, but then when they finally got together, it was all BAM! - not together – together – engaged – baby – punch ups between brothers in the front yard – marriage.

  I couldn’t be happier for them. They both deserve all the happiness in the world.

  “’K. Milk and a candy bar, easy. I’ll be back in an hour.” I shake Evie off again and give her a quick kiss on her sweet-smelling head, then I close Jim and Izzy’s front door and run across the street to my truck.

  I switch my keys in the ignition and music blasts through my speakers, then I pull into the street listening to The Script’s, The man that can’t be moved.

  What a pussy. Hangs out on a corner until one day she might decide to come back for him.

  My brothers have girls that they’d do that for. I love my sisters, but I don’t want to find the chick I’d wait on a corner forever for. If a chick had that kind of power over me, I’d just let her cut my dick off and be done with it. Not like I’d need it anymore anyway.

  It’s a quick drive across town to Jonah’s store, so before the next song ends I pull into the parking spaces out front. I grab my black UFC fitted cap from the passenger seat and I climb out of my truck.

  My jean clad legs eat up the pavement and I head into the grocers, aiming toward the back fridges where they keep the milk.

  I skirt around the edges of the store, an effort to not run into the store owner’s daughter Belle, who’s had a decade-long crush on my happily married baby brother.

  She knows he and Iz are together now. She knows about Bean, yet she insists on asking after him every time I see her.