Dark Redemption

Book 3: Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

Genres: African American Mystery & Detective; Coming of Age; Female Sleuths; Contemporary Romance; Fantasy Romance; New Adult Romance; Paranormal Romance; Paranormal

Synopsis

From rising star Angie Sandro, a steamy Southern gothic romance that will appeal to fans of Beautiful Creatures . . . Deep in the Louisiana bayou, Mala LaCroix cannot escape the mysterious things she's seen. Haunted by her otherworldly past, she only wants to hide her special abilities and care for the man she's come to love. But the dark swamp she calls home holds more than just Mala's secrets, for a killer is leaving behind ghosts trapped between worlds, hungry for vengeance . . . Landry knows Mala could never turn her back on those in need. It's part of what attracts him to her. But now that he's wrestling with his own demons-and losing-he fears that just being near the woman he loves endangers her life. And that traps him in a terrible dilemma: leave Mala alone to catch a murderer by herself or stay close-and risk entangling her in the brutal battle for his very soul.

Release date: September 2, 2014

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 384

Sample

Chapter 1

Crazy Like a Rabid Raccoon


I glance at the clock. Crap. We’re late. Again.


I stumble down the hall and push open the door to my old bedroom. When the Acker boys moved in, I moved into Mama’s old room. They have their own twin beds, but both boys startle easily. They sleep together most nights.

I shake the larger blanket-covered lump at the foot of the bed. “Jonjovi.” I hiss the last syllable through my teeth, careful not to wake Axle. “Wake up.”

Jonjovi sits up, rubbing his blond head. He squints in my direction, then tries to lay back down. “Aw, Mala. Just five more minutes. Please.”

“We’re running late.”

“Didn’t you set the alarm?”

“No, I forgot. Hurry and get dressed. No time for a shower. I’ll drive you to the bus stop.”

Jonjovi scrambles off the bed. “What about the twins?”

“Landry promised to get them on the bus.”

Jonjovi’s lip pokes out. I’ve learned how to read his skeptical expression. I also know he’s right to doubt Landry’s ability to get the twins to do anything they don’t want to do. And right now, they’re on a finishing-high-school’s-bullshit kick. Daryl and Carl’s grand plan is to drop out and work odd jobs like gator wrangling or taking city folk on haunted-swamp tours.

No. Come to think of it, Landry came up with the haunted-swamp bit. He figured he’d put my swamp and his ghost-seeing ability to good use by starting his own business. I shot that plan down faster than the wild turkey we ate for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m not losing all the insurance money Mama left for me ’cause some sue-happy idiot gets his arm eaten by a gator.

I sigh. “We’ll worry about the twins later. Go on.”

Truth is, I understand the reasoning behind the twins’ quest for fast money. They want to support themselves and their little brothers. The idea of living off my insurance money rubs them the wrong way. Makes them feel less than manly. Course I’d feel the same in their position—chock-full of raging testosterone—and prickly over being beholden to someone else. But no matter how uncomfortable I may be, I always pay my debts.

What the Acker boys don’t realize, and for all our sakes I hope they stay oblivious to the truth forever, is that I owe them more than I can ever repay. I let their sister die. Or rather, I didn’t bring Dena back from the dead when I had the chance.

At least not completely. I trapped her in limbo during a conjuring gone wrong. Brain dead.


I blink back tears that well up whenever I think of Dena and lean over to gently rub Axle’s back. At twelve, Jonjovi’s pretty good about controlling his temper, but three years age difference is huge when it comes to the baby of the family. If Axle wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, he’s liable to flip out into a total meltdown, setting the tone for the rest of the day—his first day back to school after Thanksgiving break.

“Wake-y, wake-y, it’s time for eggs and bac-y…” I sing. “Time to get ready for school.”

The kid buries himself under blankets. “I’m not goin’…”

“Come on, Axle.”

The blanket bundle rolls across the mattress. I catch his foot before he topples off the bed and lands on his head. His social worker would be royally pissed if the kid had bruises when she checks up on him. And I’d be declared unfit for guardianship before appealing to the court.

“Kids, breakfast!” a voice booms through my paper thin walls.

Axle throws the blanket off and scampers from the bed. “Coming, Rev.”

I can’t control my eye roll. All of the kids respect Reverend Prince. I’m the wicked stepmother—a place filler—until they need me. Every move I make with them is wrong. I can’t replace Dena in their hearts or remove the pain in their eyes, no matter how guilty I feel. The only way for their lives to return to normal is to give them their sister back, even if it’s at the expense of my soul.

I make it sound easy. As if raising the dead’s like baking homemade bread. Just throw the correct ingredients into a bowl, add yeast, and let the dough rise. Only everyone in these parts knows that there are more steps involved in the process of raising a zombie. I just don’t know what they are. And the one woman who does know, my aunt Magnolia LaCroix, Hoodoo Queen of New Orleans, is someone I’ve done my best to avoid.

I sniff the air, and my mouth waters. Bacon, even burned and extra-crispy, smells heavenly. If I want breakfast, I have to hurry. I check to be sure the boys are at the kitchen table, then grab a change of clothes and run into the bathroom. The bus will be at the crossroad in twenty minutes. After a two-minute shower to wash off the filmy sweaty layer coating my skin, I pull on clean panties and then try to stuff myself into my tight jeans. They won’t button.

Freaking Reverend Prince and his homemade pie experiments. The man can’t cook worth a damn because his wife took care of the kitchen duties for twenty-five years, but bless his heart, he takes his duties seriously. He promised to help me care for the Acker kids and do all the housework while he stayed with me. It makes for a crowded house. It’s been almost impossible for Landry and me to find any private time. The rev takes offense to any impropriety or allusion to sex outside of marriage. He’d shit a brick and then stone us with it if he ever caught wind of our midnight trysts in the toolshed.

The image of a naked Landry going down on me flashes before my eyes, and my heart rate speeds. The muscles down low clench. Sweat breaks out. I fan myself, not wanting to get all hot and bothered right after freshening up, but that man sets me on fire with nothing but a smoldering glance or the quirk of his dimpled smile. Guess that’s the inherent power of true love. Really steamy sex. Ha.

A firm knock on the bathroom door startles a high-pitched, guilty squeak out of me.

Reverend Prince yells, “Mala, open up. Your food’s getting cold.”

My face flames hotter. I swallow hard, not trusting myself to sound normal. I crack open the door, only to have a plate shoved through the crack. I grab it from the rev’s hands with a muttered “Thanks,” and close the door.

The greasy eggs slide across the plate as I set it on the counter, and my stomach gurgles. I take several deep breaths, eying the toilet. The kids like to leave floaters. Every so often, Axle will call me into the bathroom to show off a particularly large specimen. Once he even had one in fluorescent green. I think the culprit was a heaping bowl of Apple Jacks, but really, I’ve got no idea what he ate to turn his poop that color. Those boys just aren’t right in the head.

My stomach settles after a few deep breaths. Happiness over not puking up my guts gives me the courage to tackle the important matter I’ve put off for over a week. With shaking hands, I pull the brown paper bag out of my jumbo-size bag of sanitary napkins—the one place none of my male houseguests would touch. The directions on the test say to pee on the stick first thing in the morning. It takes a couple of minutes for my bladder to relax, and all the while, those damn individually wrapped maxi pads seem to mock me. It’s been almost two months since I bought them, and if I’m really unlucky, those pads will survive for another eight unbloodied months.

My toes curl on the cold floor. Barefoot and pregnant. My life’s a cliché.


Pee splashes on my fingers.

No! Everything will be fine. Landry and I used protection. I put the condoms on him myself, except that one time. But I’m also on birth control. So what if my tender breasts, weight gain, and nausea are all symptoms of pregnancy. When put together, they could mean many things.


Another hard knock rattles the door, and I almost drop the test stick into the toilet. “What now?” I yell, studying the white center of the test stick. Is that a…no, it’s too soon. Oh hell. Are those two faint lines? Are two lines good or bad?


Bang, bang, bang.


“I’m coming!” Damn it! I flush the toilet. “Hold on.”


I stuff the test stick back into the bag of napkins, wash my hands, then grab a rubber band and wrap it around the buttons on my jeans to hold them together.

I’m breathing hard by the time I finish pulling on a baggy, purple sweatshirt, about ready to blow up. Whoever’s outside better have a damn good reason for disturbing me. The boys know they should keep away when I’m in here. I fling open the door. “What?”

“We’ve got trouble,” Carl says. The look on his face sends a chill down my spine.

It doesn’t take but a second to figure out what’s wrong with this picture. I press my hand against my rolling stomach. “Oh no. Not again…”

Daryl strides down the hall. “We’ve searched everywhere we can think of at our place. Landry’s gone.”

Great! My maybe-baby’s daddy has wandered off in his sleep again. Pray to God he hasn’t walked into the swamp. “Keep your voice down,” I whisper, rising on tiptoes and craning my neck to see over Daryl’s shoulder into the kitchen. Reverend Prince continues to spoon scrambled eggs onto the plates in front of Axle and Jonjovi.


Landry will kill me if his dad finds out he’s sleepwalking. He’s been very, very determined to keep his affliction secret, no matter how much I argue the need for honesty.

I grab the twins by their arms and drag them toward the front door. “Do you swear this is a legit walkabout? You’re not trying to scam me into letting you stay home from school, right?”

The twins tag-team the promise, fingers crossing their hearts. Their identical blue eyes widen with barely checked panic. “No…” Carl begins.

“…way,” Daryl finishes. “He was missing when we woke up this morning. We searched the whole property. Even the…the…lodge where we found him the last time.”

My stomach twists at the memory of Landry asleep beside the bloodstain on the floor. Vomit burns the back of my throat. I swallow the sourness down. No time to puke.

I lean my head against the cool wall, then push off. “Okay, the rev will drive you to the bus stop. I’ll search for Landry. He can’t be far.”

“But you’ll need help,” Carl says.

“You’re going to school, Carl Acker.” I stab the end of my finger at his chest. “No excuses. You’re a minor and legally bound to attend classes. I know you think getting a job will better your situation, but you’re gonna screw yourselves into getting the government involved. Social Services will snatch Axle and Jonjovi and put them in foster homes if you act up.”

“No, I’m staying with you,” Axle wails, running into the room. He throws his arms around my waist, almost knocking me over. I curse under my breath as Jonjovi slowly follows him into the room. How did this happen?


“You were yelling,” Reverend Prince says, answering the question I didn’t know I had asked aloud from the kitchen. He doesn’t even stop washing dishes to come into the living room. When did this become my normal life? The kids look scared, and I feel like shit for making them feel this way. Which pisses me off even more. My emotions are topsy-turvy, spinning all over the place like a damn Tilt-A-Whirl. And I can’t control them.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t lose you guys.” Tears sting my eyes. “I swore to Dena that I’d protect you. Don’t make me into a liar.”

A knock on the front door sends a wave of relief coursing through my body. Landry’s back.


Carl echoes my grin and throws open the door. “Where have you been? Oh no…”


I’m moving before I fully have time to process what I’m going to do. Instinct has me yanking Carl behind me while grabbing a baseball bat from the umbrella stand at the same time. I raise it over my head, ready to defend the kids from whatever danger stands on my doorstep.

The older woman slaps the bat aside with her clipboard. Her piercing scream sends the chickens scurrying across the yard. My heart falls into my stomach and lands in a lump of “Oh, shit.”

I’ve screwed up. Big time. How am I going to fix this? Excuses run through my head. I’m frozen with them. The kids’ social worker is halfway across the porch, heading toward the sheriff’s deputy standing at the base of the stairs.

Deputy George Dubois shoves his gun back into the holster when he realizes the only danger is me making an ass out of myself. He grabs the woman by the arm. “Everything’s okay, Mrs. Moulton.” He fixes a hard glare at me. “Mala Jean?”

I stumble across the porch. The twins huddle at my back, whispering. Axle peeks his head around the door. Reverend Prince takes matters into his own hands by bypassing the kids and heading toward the social worker who cowers behind George.

“Genève Moulton, what an unexpected surprise.” He grins his infamous congregation-worthy smile and holds out his hand. “What has it been? Ten years?”

The woman steps around George to take it. Her firm, no-nonsense pump and release of his hand reasserts her sense of authority. “Why, Reverend Prince, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. I imagine it’s closer to fifteen. My husband and I now live in Lafayette and attend services there. The Acker case was transferred to me yesterday, and I thought a visit would be appropriate.”

“Ah, so you’re here on official duties.”

Her smile could crack ice. “I admit to being curious about Ms. LaCroix’s application for guardianship. And your involvement with this family seems unusual.” Her eyes practically glitter with curiosity. She waves toward George. “I never imagined I’d be greeted so violently on a routine home inspection. I’m certainly grateful that Deputy Dubois arrived right after I did.”


George shuffles his feet. “I’m here on official business…”

My eyes widen, and I wave for him to shut up! She’s going to assume someone called the cops on us for being disorderly. “Deputy Dubois isn’t here officially, officially. He’s my brother. Right, Georgie?”


“I’m not your brother.”

“Adopted…”

My cowardly, nonblood-related, older brother raises his hands and steps back. I’m on my own. Start with an apology. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Moulton. This is all a huge misunderstanding. I thought…I didn’t exp—”

Her glare stuffs the words back down my throat. Her wrinkles perform a gremlin act, multiplying across her forehead to form a scowl. “I assume you are Malaise Jean Marie LaCroix? The girl who filed to be the Acker children’s guardian?”


I nod, trying to speak over the lump forming in my throat. I wipe my sweaty palm on my jeans before holding out my hand for her to shake. She stares at it with a moue of distaste, and I let it drop. Her eyes scan the kids clumped around me.

“And you older boys must be Carl and Daryl.”

The twins exchange a raised-eyebrow grimace. Daryl speaks for them. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Daryl and he’s Carl.”

Mrs. Moulton taps her long nails against her lips. “Which means you’re Jonjovi and Axle Rose.” She glances back at Reverend Prince. “Is there a specific reason why the boys aren’t going to school today?”

“The bus…” I glance at my watch and then clap my hands. “We still have ten minutes. Everyone grab your backpacks. Let’s move.”

The kids scramble back into the house like rats after chicken feed. I leave Mrs. Moulton in the capable hands of Reverend Prince. She probably hates me now. Anything I say will only make my situation worse. I hope he can explain why I almost brained her with a baseball bat. After all the attacks I’ve been through the last couple of months, I have a react-first, think-later kind of mentality. Which is not helpful now that all of my enemies are dead, in jail, or locked in a mental hospital.

George follows me into the kitchen. He stands beside the table while I hand out bagged lunches. “I really am here on official business, Mala,” he yells over the chattering kids. “I have a case I want to talk to you about. A murder…”

I cover Axle’s ears. “Not in front of the little ones, Georgie. ’Sides, I can barely hear myself think. Unless it’s an emergency, it can wait until after you drive the kids to the bus stop.”

“Me, drive?”

“I need to stay here and take care of Mrs. Moulton. Somehow convince her I’ll be a fit guardian for the boys.”

“Yeah, you totally screwed that up,” Carl says with a snicker.

Daryl snorts. “Idiot.”

“Brats, get to school.” I swipe at them with a lunch bag.

A clearing throat spins me around. Reverend Prince and Mrs. Moulton are standing in the living room, and once again I want to crawl through the floor. George takes pity on the disaster that has become my daily life and helps to hustle the kids outside. Of course, they freak out over riding in his patrol car. Axle talks him into turning on the siren, and they ride off down the driveway accompanied by blaring wails.

I spend another minute contemplating whether to run for it. The only reason why the kids were placed in my home while they did the Kinship Placement assessment is because Reverend Prince is friends with someone in authority at the Department of Children and Family Services. He convinced them that the kids had been through enough trauma and that keeping them together in the same community would help them heal. Besides, at fifteen, the twins would just run away from a foster home.

As first impressions go, this is the worst. I already had my age, lack of a degree, and current unemployment as a deterrent to being found suitable. Not to mention my stint in a mental institution. Gah. When considered on paper, even I wouldn’t find myself a suitable parental figure. I rub my belly, silently apologizing to the pea-size embryo that may have taken up residence in my uterus.


Mrs. Moulton and Reverend Prince exit the house. “So Axle and Jonjovi sleep in the second bedroom. Where are the twins staying?” she asks.

I answer her question. Can’t keep being a coward. “They’re staying at their own house with my boyfriend, Landry.”


Reverend Prince cuts in. “As you’ve pointed out, Mala’s home is too small for seven people. My son, Landry, is of age. He and the twins are doing some home renovations. Once those are complete and Landry and Mala walk down the aisle, we’ll all move into the Big House.”

Walk down the aisle? I avert my gaze before Mrs. Moulton can read my shock. Why am I so surprised? Reverend Prince hasn’t exactly been subtle about his “no sex before marriage” rule. And living in the same house before we’re hitched is definitely out. It’s just that I only turned twenty-one a couple of weeks ago. I deferred this semester because I wanted to devote all of my time to the kids’ adjustment to being in my care, which means I’ve still got a whole year before I’ll earn my Associate Degree in Criminal Justice. It’s like the universe deliberately keeps side-lining my educational goals. And marriage, well, it’s just another trap to delay me. I’m too young to be saddled with the responsibility of being a wife.  


And I’m sure as hell too young to be pregnant.

Tears fill my eyes again, and I dash them away. Damn hormones. Mrs. Moulton asks for a tour of the rest of the property. She takes notes on everything, searching for potential dangers to the kids. Rightly so. Only it still sticks in my craw when she points at the rusted nails poking out of the boards of the chicken coup. If she’d seen the Acker place before Landry started fixing it up, she’d think the kids had found paradise. Pure heaven on earth.


I scowl at the dangling chain on the chicken coop. One of the kids forgot to lock it. I pull open the door and freeze so suddenly that Mrs. Moulton crashes into my back. I spin around, shoving her back with one hand while slamming the door with the other. My hands tremble as I fumble for the chain, slipping the lock through the links one-handed while the door shakes from the body smashing against it, over and over.

Then stops. I press my ear to the door, listening. The quiet is even more unnerving than the initial violence.

“Ms. LaCroix?” Mrs. Moulton’s voice in my ear totally freaks me out.

I let out a shrill screech, which Mrs. Moulton echoes. Her clipboard rises, and I wave her down. “We’re okay.” I lean against the door, pressing my hand to my throbbing heart. The clipboard drops. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in there.”

Her scowl returns. “Why not? What’s in there?”

Why? Why? “A, uh, r-rabid raccoon got into the chicken coop. It’s not safe. Or a sight you need to see. I’ll call someone out to put it down.” I swallow hard, working to push back the bile burning my throat. Nausea causes me to break out in a cold sweat. Maybe I look as sick as I feel because Mrs. Moulton steps back right before I vomit into the bucket of chickenfeed beside the door.


The woman doesn’t show any compassion. She hightails it back to the house. I hunker before the door with my eyes squeezed shut, too scared to open them again and see what is already branded crimson in my mind.

A naked Landry lying on the ground, covered in bloody feathers, while hugging a half-eaten hen to his bare chest.

Chapter 2

Tastes Like Chicken


My sister crouches beside me in the thick grass. Her long black hair tangles around a face so emaciated, it looks like she’s been hitting a crank pipe in the afterlife. Not that drugs should affect Lainey at all since she’s dead for almost six months. This must be a dream. Which explains the whole me not feeling at all ashamed about my big sis seeing my dinky waving in the wind for the first time since we ran around the backyard naked as kids.


Terror fills me to the brim and leaks out to form pools of cold sweat on my bare skin. Each breath burns in my chest, coming shallower and shallower. The bushes to my left rustle…low to the ground. Leaves crinkle beneath a heavy, slithering form.

Words claw their way from my tightening throat. “No, not again.”

Lainey spins on her toes, facing me. She presses her hand against my mouth and lifts a finger to her lips, shushing me. Yeah, stupid. Now it knows exactly where we’re hiding. We’ve been lucky to stay under its radar for so long. Big sis used some mad mojo to put up a mystical retaining wall of sorts around us. It kept the demon contained in a corner of my mind, but like an idiot, I punched a hole in the barrier when I let the thing out to fight Red. At the time, I didn’t think I had a choice. I couldn’t fight him and Clarice on my own. And Dena…well, I wasn’t really thinking straight after she got shot.


I squeeze my eye shut.

Lainey punches my shoulder. “Come on, baby bro. Don’t fade on me again. I need your help.”

A vein throbs in my forehead. “Mala thinks you’re a product of my subconscious. Not real, but a manifestation of the part of me trying to fight the demon.”

“I’m real enough to save your scrawny butt,” Lainey says with a grimace. Her gaze darts to the bushes again. I think they represent the barrier in my head. It’s pretty realistic. Hell, this whole dream is.

“You’re not dreaming, Landry. The demon’s taking a ride in your skin. It’s in control, and you’re too much of a chicken to come out of hiding to see what it’s doing. You let it free. If it kills, it’s your fault.”

Lainey’s right. I tried not sleeping, but it didn’t matter. With exhaustion comes the lowering of my resistance. I couldn’t escape, and now I’m cowering in this fake forest so I don’t have to acknowledge the truth of all the horrible things it does when it takes over my body at night. Denial is the only way I can preserve my already strained sanity. I’m not ready to face the inevitable, and so far, I haven’t hurt anyone.

I need to leave before that changes, but I just want a little more time. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? Time to say my good-byes.

Lainey takes my hand and squeezes. She feels so real. “Leaving is the right choice. I can’t draw it back inside your mind for much longer. My protection as your ancestral guardian extends only so far. I’m sorry, baby bro. You need help from someone more powerful than I am.” She gives a sad grin. “But I have the juice to shove it in deep, one last time.”


By shove it in, she means it’s here.


I lunge backward, but Lainey’s hand wraps around mine. Her grip is so tight that my bones grind together. She keeps me from running away. ’Cause it sure isn’t pride making me hold my ground when the smooth skin of the giant snake rubs across my ankles. Its head, followed by its thick body, twines around my torso. My hand tightens around my sister’s. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and despite telling myself I need to relax, I tense up when its dry, musty smell hits my nose.

God, I hate snakes. My breath hitches in my chest, but I grab hold of myself. I fight my gag reflex and open my mouth, letting my jaw stretch wider than humanly possible. The huge snake’s head shoves past my lips to slide across my tongue. Its scales tickle the roof of my mouth, then the back of my throat.


*  *  *

I’ve got gas. Not the explosive kind, but the type that settles in my intestines and presses against my internal organs until my guts are about to burst. My skin itches. Something feathery brushes the tip of my nose. It tickles. I blow out a heavy breath, then inhale the sharp, coppery scent of blood and the acrid stench of chicken shit. Uncontrolled sobs filter in next, sending a full-bodied shiver through my body. I’m fully awake now and afraid to open my eye—to confirm what I already know.

I’m not in my bed at the Acker’s house.

And Mala’s crying.

Whatever the demon snake did while walking around in my skin is worse than anything it has done before if it broke Mala. I crack open my eyelid and wince at the shaft of sunlight shining through the opening door. A shadow hunches against the door frame. My body aches as if I’m suffering from the flu. Tight muscles protest when I sit up. A weight falls from my arms, and I stare in horror at the headless chicken on my lap. The yell comes from deep inside, bursting out. I fling the carcass across the shed and scramble on hands and knees toward the door.

Mala looks up when I reach her. She flinches from my bloody hand. The horror in her eyes stops me from moving closer.

“Mala,” I whisper.

“You a-ate Tabitha.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, sniffing. “S-she was my b-best laying hen.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” she wails.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. It’s just…” Her dark-eyed gaze scans the inside of the chicken coop. “This is beyond…I’m so scared, Landry. You’ve never traveled so far while unconscious. Never k-killed before. That thing inside you is getting stronger, and we can’t hold off any longer. I think it’s time to call Magnolia.”


I’ve been hol. . .