My Beautiful Dangerous Read online

  MY BEAUTIFUL DANGEROUS

  LAILA AMLANI

  CONTENTS

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright ©2022 Laila Amlani

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Print ISBN 979-8-9853233-0-6

  Cover design by Jodi L. Cobb of Dark City Designs

  Internal Formatting by Victoria Wright, PublishingWright.com

  Edited by John Hudspith

  www.lailaamlani.com

  To my sister, Rosy, who has an opinion on everything and is usually (and annoyingly) right. She believes in me with an unwavering certainty, even on the occasions when I stop believing in myself. Without her encouragement and loving badgering, My Beautiful Dangerous would still be a work in progress.

  EPIGRAPH

  There is no greater wisdom

  than your own heart.

  That can be a disturbing thought

  if you have lost faith in your heart.

  It can seem like a pronouncement

  that if you cannot yet remember

  that you are an Angel,

  you will be forever entombed

  in human dissatisfaction.

  -Emmanuel

  PROLOGUE

  “She’s trying to take it from me.” Helena’s voice rose to a whine, her pale blue eyes glittering with fake tears.

  I glared at my older sister while she circled our small kitchen, honing in like the predator she was. Helena attacked like a shark. Just the faintest inkling of blood and she’d swoop in for the kill. And all too often, I was free-floating chum.

  A lengthy breath did nothing to slow my heart rate while I followed her movements. I’d learned early on not to turn my back on her. So why hadn’t I considered that before tearing out of my room to confront her? I knew better than to be so careless.

  Show no weakness.

  I had returned home from school to find my bedroom ransacked. Same old scene—scattered clothing, drawers upended, bed tossed. My initial concern had been for my computer, but after confirming its safety at the bottom of a box filled with graphic novels, I relaxed. Thank goodness Helena had no inclination for physical labor and even less for touching a book. Few things were safe from my older sister.

  But my relief died when I realized what she had taken.

  “You know that’s a lie,” I said. “You took it from me.”

  “Did not,” she countered like an eight-year-old child. Even at age fourteen, I surpassed her in the maturity department. “You’re always stealing my clothes and jewelry.”

  I gestured to her outfit. “Right… Because I love looking like a third-rate hooker.”

  She slapped me hard across the face. “One of these days, that smart mouth of yours is really going to piss me off.”

  I rubbed my burning cheek. That Helena recognized anything smart was a miracle, but I kept that thought to myself. There’s a fine line between showing no weakness and being suicidal. My rebellious nature frequently resulted in bruises.

  “Fine,” I said. “Keep it. I don’t care anymore.”

  “You’re pathetic,” Helena sneered. “You know you still want it. Admit that you want it, or you’ll never see it again.”

  It had been worth a shot. While Helena’s academic repertoire extended no further than lip gloss flavors, her street smarts—more like streetwalking smarts—weren’t falling for my reverse psychology.

  “Okay. I want it back.”

  She crossed her arms. “What’s the magic word?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Please.”

  She paused as if considering my request. “I have a better idea.” She faced the doorway and called out, “Daddy! She did it again!”

  Her well-rehearsed tone carried the perfect balance of victim and martyr and from the approaching footsteps, it had the desired effect. Not seconds later, his gigantic frame appeared in the cramped kitchen, swallowing up the confined space and rendering escape impossible.

  I was trapped.

  “What the hell did you do now?” my father belted out in a voice graveled from years of smoking. His fingers curled around a bottle of Jim Beam, a sight as common as Lady Liberty holding her torch.

  All fake sniffles and indignation, Helena raised her hand to point a red lacquer-tipped finger at me. “She’s been stealing from me again.”

  He narrowed his blurry eyes. “You live in my house, eat my food, sleep under my roof, and this is how you repay me? By disrespecting this family?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I tried to explain, but from his unsteady gait and slurred speech, he’d hit the bottle early, which meant no reprieve. Even when he was sober, I never stood a chance.

  “Look, Daddy.” Helena pushed back her long blonde hair to reveal a lily-shaped pin fastened to her clingy angora sweater. My pin. Stolen from my room. Its silver and purple petals sparkled with merriment despite her ominous presence. “It’s the only thing I have left from Mom,” she whined. “She only wants it because she’s jealous that Mom loved me and not her. She hates that Mom left it for me.” Her eyes connected with mine from behind my father’s broad shoulders, and her pout shifted into a smirk.

  With no warning, he flung the bottle. I squealed and lunged to the side as it shattered against the cupboard, sending broken glass and cheap whiskey flying everywhere. My heart raced as I gripped the counter, watching for his next move.

  Even the slightest reference to my mother ignited an uncontrollable rage in him. A fact Helena knew all too well, and her satisfied expression confirmed it.

  Great, now he would blame me for destroying his booze, a crime worse than anything Helena pinned on me. As if on cue, he looked down at his empty hand and then at the mess on the floor.

  I shot forward to zip past him, but with surprising reflexes for a drunk, he flung me back against the counter. Though my father had yet to lift anything heavier than a bottle in recent years, he somehow retained his athletic physique with no loss of strength. Strength he frequently targeted at me.

  “You little ingrate,” he spat. “This is all your fault.”

  I assumed he was referring to the bottle, but as the poster child for scapegoat-ism, I carried an extensive list of sins. His next state
ment clarified his grievance. “If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here with me.” He stepped forward and, reacting on instinct, I shuffled back and cried out when my bare foot stepped on a shard of glass. Helena laughed.

  “You are the worst thing that ever happened to this family!” he boomed. “I can’t stand the sight of you!”

  I cast my eyes down as would an animal deferring to its alpha. After fourteen years, I’d learned a thing or two about taking a hit—physical and verbal. I burrowed inside myself, pushing to a plane of dissociation I’d perfected. A place where nothing could reach me because nothing mattered.

  He leaned in and I braced for a blow. It didn’t come. Instead, his warm breath brushed against my cheek. “Lucky for you, I’m giving you another chance to redeem yourself.” Even with the heavy scent of alcohol in the air, my nose twitched at the stench of booze on him. “I have another job for you.”

  The statement made my guts wrench.

  Of course, he wouldn’t hurt me. Not when he needed me. Drunk and washed-up, his hard-core criminal days were over. But now that he’d discovered my gift, he would exploit it until his recklessness left me to face the consequences. He’d use me, break me, and cast me aside.

  Just like he did our mother.

  Satisfied, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen. No doubt in search of a replacement bottle.

  It’s time, my instincts interrupted. An encore performance will destroy you. Do it. NOW!

  But I was a coward.

  I pushed away the conflicting thoughts. I couldn’t focus on that now. Not with my foot throbbing. I hopped on the counter to attend to my immediate need and winced at the embedded shard. At least I wouldn’t need disinfectant.

  A sharp chuckle interrupted, and I looked up to find Helena watching me.

  Lovely on the outside with flawless skin and exquisite bone structure, my older sister appeared almost angelic. Until you dug deeper and discovered the adorable face belied a twisted darkness, a curse that flowed through our family blood.

  “Why are you still here?” I asked. “You got your entertainment.”

  “If that were true, you’d be out on your ass by now,” she said. “You’re only here because Daddy feels sorry for you. He doesn’t want you around. Nobody does. Not even your own mother wanted you.”

  I pretended the words glanced off me like pebbles when in fact, they hovered with the crushing weight of a boulder, always looming above me. No matter how many times I heard it, the abandonment stung.

  Show no weakness.

  “Leave me alone,” I mumbled.

  “How could anyone want you when there’s nothing special about you except how annoying you are?” Helena continued, as if reciting indisputable facts from an encyclopedia, though she had never opened one in her life. “The sooner you pull your head out of your ass and get it, the easier all our lives will be.” She sighed as if burdened by my ignorance.

  I pretended to ignore her. Anything to make her go away.

  Until she unfastened the lily pin.

  A sliver of hope ran through me. With the show over, would she return it?

  She held it away from her like it was contagious. Too bad it wasn’t. Though, with the company she kept, it wouldn’t be her first rash.

  “I don’t know why you keep this hideous piece of shit anyway,” she sneered as she dangled the trinket in front of me. “It’s been nine years since she left. For Christ’s sake, get a clue. Even an idiot like you can figure out she never wanted you. Keeping junk around to remind you of her is just stupid. I’m doing you a favor.”

  She wedged it into the pocket of her skin-tight jeans.

  My heart sank.

  Nine long years since Mom had bailed and Dad had responded by crawling into a bottle. Nine slow, painful years filled with restless nights spent wondering what I’d done to drive her away. Nights spent praying for her to return—or for the bastard to drink himself into the grave and straight on to hell—but neither happened.

  “So be a good girl.” Helena walked towards me, careful to keep her stripper heels clean. “And say thank you.”

  I remained silent. For such an insolent bitch, she was big on ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’.

  She backhanded me. Ouch. Same side as before.

  She raised her hand again and I quickly blurted, “Thank you.”

  Never pick a fight you can’t win.

  She turned away. “Now clean up your mess.”

  * * *

  I entered my broom closet of a room and groaned at the wreckage. With barely enough space for my few splintered pieces of furniture, Helena’s destruction somehow managed to outweigh that restriction. Hurricane Helena loved to do maximum damage.

  What could a kid be hoarding that she wanted anyway?

  The answer was simple. Anything that meant something to me.

  Once, on one of my feistier and stupider days, I had installed a cheap drugstore lock. Not only had she smashed it to bits, but she also extended the violence to my face. Lesson learned. Helena could do whatever she damn well pleased around here. Even if that included ransacking my room then calling me a thief. The worst part? She was right. How else would a kid get her hands on an expensive laptop? Deep down, I was no better than the rest of them.

  I heard the front door open followed by the click of slutty heels. Helena. Within the next hour, she’d be lying under some sweaty oaf, also known as her latest victim. She’d offer him her body and the poor sap would leap at the chance, unaware she’d take him for everything he had.

  It ran in the family.

  My dad’s silence indicated he’d located more booze and was well into his nightly stupor. A virtual legend prior to taking up residence in a bottle, it was pathetic to see him now, but since conning clients out of their hard-earned savings required a clear and sober head, my dad was officially retired. One of the greats, defeated by a pedestrian vice and now reduced to petty cons on a good day.

  Which is why he needed me to get it all back.

  Helena was wrong about one thing. Daddy didn’t let me stay out of pity. I earned my keep and the minute I stopped, I’d receive worse than a one-way ticket out on my ass.

  Because even on his best days, he’d never come close to my talent—something I shouldn’t take so much pride in.

  His requests had started out small and when my compliance had led to a reduced number of bruises, my self-preservation rationalized it as harmless. But nothing stayed benign around here for long and what began as protection for my body eventually demanded payment from my soul.

  That explained the sick, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach at the mention of another job. What now? Use my skills to steal from another innocent who had the misfortune of getting on my father’s bad side?

  It’s time. You can’t do it again. Not for him.

  I sighed. Either enact my plan or… what was the alternative? Stay until I died in this hellmouth? If Helena had her way, that would be sooner rather than later. How sad if I perished with nothing but the memories of a sadistic monster and his sadistic-monster-in-training sidekick.

  That sobering thought had me digging in the box for my computer.

  I may not deserve it, but I wanted more.

  I almost backed down, much like the previous hundred times, but my options were dwindling. Now that he had an inkling of what I could do, the crimes were escalating. I’d already inflicted more damage and pain than I could atone for, but all that would be child’s play if he ever learned the true depths of my capabilities.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could survive in the world without committing more crimes—it was in my blood, and I was too damn good at it—but at least if I got the hell out of here, I’d dictate the terms. That accounted for something.

  I focused on the screen but instead of words, images bounced across like characters in a video game. Focus. I shook my head.

  So much for the information that’s supposed to set me free.

  I cast the
computer aside and laid on my bed, shifting to accommodate a protruding spring. After years of sleeping on my sagging mattress, my body had conformed to the divots so well, it almost felt comfortable. I stayed in that position, well into the night, waiting until I heard nothing more than the sounds of a neglected house in the throes of collapse. Then I sprang—more like a weak shuffle—into action.

  Like a well-researched intruder, I crept into Helena’s bedroom, careful to avoid each creaking floorboard committed to memory. I halted at the bed and watched her sleep, mouth open, salivating. She mumbled something—which I assumed was evil—and rolled into her drool puddle.

  If all the boys could see her now.

  When I reached the dresser, I ignored the scattered condoms and inched open the ballerina jewelry box—my jewelry box. At one time, the tiny dancer twirled to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, but the plastic doll had long since broken like everything else around here.

  When my fingers brushed against the daintiest piece of jewelry amongst Helena’s garish collection, I clutched it in a death grip. Confident, I sneaked back to my room and smiled at the lily pin, twinkling as if happy to be reunited with its rightful owner.

  As much as I hated to agree with anything that bitch said, Helena had a point. Given the resentment I harbored for my mother, why did I keep it? Yet, in a rare show of sentiment, I coveted the cheap gift. It reminded me of a day in my childhood when innocence blinded me to the genuine nature of those around me. Before I learned I could only count on one person. Me.