Echoes

  Imperial Publishing House Presents

  Echoes

  King Ellie

  *a lingering trace or effect*

  “There is no great genius without some touch of madness.”

  *Aristotle

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  Prologue

  Alexander

  I looked at my weary reflection in the mirror. The lack of sleep stared back at me through the slight redness in my eyes and the puffiness underneath them. My mind and spirit were in utter turmoil. Something wasn’t right with him. Paris was different. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky kid I knew. He was turning into me with the way he embraced the darkness in him. What was I going to do? How could I save him from going dark? What the hell was I supposed to do?

  I didn’t want to be my dad. I didn’t want to force my son to do something he didn’t want to do out of misplaced duty. But, if I agreed to his decision, would that make me a worse parent than I already persecuted myself to be sometimes?

  Then, there’s our baby girl, Pandora. Yes, I named her after my baby sister who was terribly mistreated by our father. He didn’t hurt her physically, but he scarred her emotionally. He just didn’t love her enough, and it led to her death. I do understand things change, but if only I could go back, I would stop my father, take my little sister, and run away, never looking back. She deserved better than what we all gave her. She deserved to be loved, not cast away in exile and shame, despite her skin that was much more sun-kissed than ours and despite her eyes that matched not only mine but father’s as well.

  I met my sister again in this lifetime. Her name was Xena, and she was a psychiatrist. She was smart. She was sweet. But she had a traumatic past that she didn’t talk about. She wasn’t comfortable with other men touching her, except one, and that was Nathaniel Hendrix. When I first saw him touch her, I almost ripped his arms from his body, but then I saw the way he looked at her. There was no mistaking the love he had in his eyes for her. That was her story to tell, a story filled with my favorite, well my only, nephew Brodie. He reminded me more of Paris than anything. I wished Paris could see Brodie’s care-free spirit and happiness and be reminded that he used to be the same way.

  I saw the moment Paris’s eyes opened. After waking from the coma, he was forever changed. Darkness had entered my son’s heart. Paris had seen and experienced too much, and it morphed him into someone else, much more than anything else in his life ever could.

  I sighed as I reached out, turning the faucet on and wiping away the blood from my face. I looked down at my white dress shirt that cost more than that man’s life to me. I cringed at how horrible my shirt looked smeared with blood all over the collar. I couldn’t even take the shirt to the maid, so it could be washed. Besides, I’d given her enough to wash with Mckenna in my bed every night.

  I finished cleaning myself up, grabbed a small towel to dry the excess water from my face, then threw it in the trash. I needed a facial with all the blood that was on my face. I walked back into the warehouse room and looked at the cop that ran away with Helena. I’d known I would find him one day, but not like this. I smirked at him as he lay there on the floor dead as a rat. He tried to turn people against me, so I guess he had to learn the hard way. I smiled even wider as Tank walked into the room rolling his eyes at me.

  “Do you need to go under again man?” he asked.

  I lightly chuckled. “No, I don’t. The Mad Boss of Nevada is back, baby.” I winked at him as we left the room knowing someone was going to clean it.

  Once we got outside, there stood Paris, waiting near his Jeep, in his sweats and black t-shirt.

  “Good choice of clothing,” I said to him.

  He looked at me as he pulled his now curly, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail away from his face.

  “I’m ready,” he replied.

  I looked my son in the eyes. He truly was transforming into a man before my eyes.

  “Clean it up, then meet us at the strip club. I got a senator I want you to put in his place.”

  “Got it Old Man.” He nodded once, then began to walk away from us.

  There was that nagging feeling again.

  “Kid?” I called out to him, waiting for him to turn and face me.

  “Yeah, Dad?” he asked as he turned to faced me.

  “You sure about this? I told you, don’t ever feel like you have to be in this business. You don’t have to do this, at all. You can go back and join the drama club and go meet up with other friends. I’m sorry about Marisol and Travis; I wish I could’ve done something.” Losing people as young as Paris did was painful. I knew it all too well. It hurt to know Marisol and Travis were gone. They were never coming back, and that knowledge made me angry, wishing I could kill every single thug, including Helena, all over again.

  He shook his head. “Old Man, I told you, don’t feel bad about them. It’s been two years. They’re gone, and there’s nothing any of us could’ve done to stop it. I’m lucky I even survived it. I don’t want to join the drama club again or anything else. This is my last year of high school. After that, I’ll still go to college, but I’m taking over the family business because this is who I am. I am Paris Troy. Now, I’m going to go be the cleaner that we both know I am. Better than your other men.” He smirked and winked at me as he walked off.

  I shook my head as I grinned. Dare I say it? I was proud of my son. No matter what, he was still mine, and I would never trade him for anything else.

  Tank smacked me on my back, chuckling. “Damn, we’ve raised him well. Haven’t we, Alex?”

  I nodded. “We have. We have raised a killing machine without even knowing it. He might be worse than me. One can only hope he finds someone like Kenna to be his anchor.”

  “I really hope so because we both know he took it hard when Marisol, the girl he loved, died and he couldn’t save her.”

  I tried not to think about it, but Tank was right. The kid deserved to find someone who could make him feel again.

  “I hope he finds someone, Mario. Someone who sees what I see when I look at my son, instead of the name he earned for himself as the Mad Prince of Nevada.”

  Chapter 1

  Imogene

  Paris Troy.

  I looked at him as he sauntered into the classroom after Christmas break. This was the last year I would ever be able to see him. To be able to crush on him as I had been doing since I moved there in the sixth grade. I’d always looked his way, saved him a seat, and made sure he had the best for lunch. My mom worked in the school’s cafeteria, and I made her promise to save the best food for Paris, whether I was in school or if I missed a day. I meant to tell him about my crush, but I thought I had forgotten all about him the summer before high school started. However, when I came back to school, everything changed.

  First, Paris Troy had a lot of girls flocking to him. He was in the drama club, and he was nice. His boyish looks and charm made everyone like him. Sometimes, I would daydream he was looking my way. But I knew that was impossible. He never batted an eyelash at me. I used to wish he would turn around and look my way, but he hadn’t yet—not even when I once said ‘excuse me’ because he and a couple of his friends were in front of my locker. Paris quickly moved and even apologized. Yet, he didn’t turn around to look at me.

  I could be like typical girls and blame it on my face or body or even skin color, but that wasn’t true. I was beautiful even with my glasses that ate up my entire face; my mother couldn’t afford new ones, so she gave me hers. My skin tone was beautiful. I wasn’t as chocolate as my father, but I wasn’t as caramel-skinned as my mother either. I was just in the middle, and I was okay with that. The only thing I was ashamed of was my hair. It was too wild, too curly,
too everything, so I never went without braids or crochets.

  Wait… I’m losing focus.

  I looked at Paris Troy again and sighed. Could he tell that I knew he was different? That he smiled less and glared more? That although he didn’t fight everyone in school, he was still much more intimidating than he used to be? He had new tattoos and wore his hair longer and curlier than I remember. He was so handsome to me.

  Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday. I was invited to his party, but mom said no, just like she said when I wanted to go on the camping trip. The events of that outing made me realize I loved Paris much more than I realized. I couldn’t stop crying when I heard he was hurt and in the hospital.

  For a whole month, I tried to sneak in and see him, but I wasn’t allowed in because I wasn’t family. I hated it, and I hated myself for not being able to see him. But he came out of the coma, and there he was, strong as ever. Paris sat in the seat in front of me. His scent enveloped my senses, spiking it into overdrive. He still smelled fresh like he always did. I focused on Mr. Michaels as he began to speak. This was my last year together with Paris, and I wished he would just say something to me.

  As the bell rung, the rest of my classmates rushed out. Paris took his time putting his stuff away in his backpack. He looked down at his phone, and I took the opportunity to gather my things, then pull out the gift I got for his birthday. I took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled, and made two little steps toward him, stopping at his desk. I put the small wrapped gift box on his desk and froze on the spot for a moment when he looked up at me.

  “What’s this?”

  Damn! Puberty did him well. He looked different and sounded different. His voice was much deeper, but those mismatched eyes were what pulled me in when I first met him, and they did the same now.

  “It—” I cleared my throat.

  Come on Imogene!

  “It’s your birthday gift. I can’t make it to your party, so I thought I’d give you this in advance. Okay bye!” I couldn’t say anything else as my nerves got the best of me. I turned and smacked him in the face with my backpack. I swung back around, and he was a bright shade of red. My eyes widened, embarrassed I actually hit him with my backpack. I ran out of there as if the devil was at my heel.

  What the hell Genie!

  Paris

  I couldn’t help smirking, thinking of how cute the whole exchange as I rubbed the side of my face at the same time. I looked at where she had just run off to and chuckled as I gathered my stuff and put it away in my backpack.

  I looked at the box again.

  To Paris Troy from Genie Roberts.

  I grinned because it was cute.

  “What are you smiling about?” Mr. Michaels asked me.

  I raised my eyes to him, my grin transforming into a scowl. I glared up and down at him, wondering why the hell he felt the need to address me about my personal business.

  “You need somethin’?” I asked him as I placed the box carefully in my backpack and began leaving the classroom.

  “Yeah, there’ve been rumours about you selling dope in school, and I need you to know if we find anything on you, you will be arrested. Your father can’t cover this up.”

  Turning around to face him, I gritted my teeth. “You sit there and think you can address me like I’m on your level, but I’m not. This is strike two. I dare you to address me like this again. You won’t live to teach another day.” I kissed my teeth and left the room.

  As I got in the hallway, I searched for Genie Roberts but didn’t see where she disappeared to. I wanted to say thank you to her, but she was nowhere to be found. I shrugged my shoulders. I’ll thank her on Monday or something.

  I pulled my cell out of my pocket and texted my old man.

  Me: You’re taking Mom and Dori away right?

  Old Man: Yes, kid. How many times are you going to ask me about this? We said you could have the party, didn’t we?

  Me: Yes. I’m just checkin’. And someone’s going around saying I’m slingin’.

  Old Man: Tell your teacher strike two. This is the last time he addresses you about that matter. No one else has the balls to say something except his dumbass self.

  Me: Already ahead of you.

  Old Man: Good. Now, don’t forget to swing by and make sure your mother actually leaves her class on time or else we’ll miss our damn flight!

  Me: Jesus Old Man, chill out.

  Old Man: Whatever.

  I shook my head. The old man was such a pain, but I loved him.

  “Yo!” Brock yelled out to me as I reached my locker next to his.

  “What’s up?” I smiled at him.

  He patted me on the back as he leaned against the wall for support.

  I looked at him. Brock was big, like offensive lineman big, and he was my right hand. He was Tank’s son, and we grew up as best friends just like our fathers. Brock looked like Tank, from the dark skin and almond-shaped eyes to his height. But, his hair wasn’t like Tank’s, who I called Uncle Mario. To everyone at the school, Brock and I were family. He was my cousin, and no one could tell me differently.

  “Nothing. You excited for the next week’s game, quarterback?” Brock addressed me with a smile on his face.

  I smiled back at him. I fit into the whole clichéd stereotype of a wealthy boy becoming a quarterback, but I needed to place my aggression somewhere. The old man offered me a choice between football or fighting him. It was a hard pass on fighting him. I wasn’t about to fight him, no matter what I looked like now. Almost his height at six foot three, I was built for a seventeen year old quarterback. Well, seventeen for one more night. I smiled as I thought of the gift from Genie.

  “The hell you smiling about?” Brock asked me.

  I shrugged. “Some girl in class named Genie gave me a gift.”

  Brock scrunched up his face in confusion. “Genie? As in Imogene Roberts? The one who almost blew up the gym at the eighth grade science fair?”

  “Her name is Imogene? I like it.”

  Brock snickered. “Of course, you’d like it. Your name is Paris. Before you pummel me to the ground for making fun of your name like you did freshman year, what’d she give you?”

  “Still haven’t told Uncle Mario it was you that started making fun of my name then, huh?” I shook my head at Brock.

  Brock eyes widened. “Are you nuts! I’m never owning up to that. He’d kick my ass.”

  “Serves you right,” I said, as I left my textbooks in the locker and slung my backpack on my shoulder. “Anyways, let’s go. I have to tell mom that dad said to come straight home. Then, we got a job to clean up.”

  “Alright. And Uncle Alex definitely didn’t say it like that.” Brock chuckled.

  I laughed with him as we walked down the hall through the double doors leading to the lower grade classes. “Hell no, he didn’t. But I’m not gonna face mom’s wrath ‘cause of Dad. I’ll use it as blackmail for that new Jeep I want.”

  “You mean the one he already got you?” Brock slapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit.”

  I smirked. “I knew that Old Man fucking loved me.”

  “He does. Now, don’t tell him I told you.” Brock side-eyed me.

  “I won’t. He’d just try to box me again. That time when he saw all my tats was enough. It’s never going to happen again.” I shuddered at the way my dad kicked my ass in the ring when he saw my tattoos he didn’t know about.

  Chapter 2

  Imogene

  I looked in the mirror at the hideous dress my father bought me. It didn’t fit me, and it was loose as hell. I cringed at the way it looked. It was at my ankles. At this point, I knew what my parents were trying to tell me.

  “Oh, Genie,” I heard Mom at my door. I looked up at her reflection through the mirror. She shook her head at me in disapproval, and I braced myself for what was to come. “You have got to lose weight. We told you you’re too big for your age. Your father and I love you, and we are saying this from a place of love. Lo
ok at you right now compared to your other siblings.”

  I wanted to open my mouth and say something, anything really, but I was used to this. My mother and father always talked about my weight. It made me feel bad, unloved, and unworthy, but they didn’t understand that. To them, it was just their truth and they were only saying it because they cared about me.

  I tried losing weight. I really did. But starving myself wasn’t an option. Working out didn’t help either. I even became a vegetarian for my whole junior year.

  Why am I like this?

  I looked at myself in the mirror, blinking away the tears that threatened to pour out. I wasn’t going to cry, not now or ever. I took in a deep breath and let it out. I wanted to shout at my parents for always comparing me to my siblings who were thin and tall. I stood at five feet and weighed way over one hundred fifty pounds. Sometimes, I loved myself. Other times, I couldn’t. All they did was remind me that I needed to lose weight. Mom continually reminded me of the reason Paris Troy never looked my way.

  I couldn’t make the cheerleading or track team, or even be part of the band. I sucked at just about everything. I couldn’t paint. Damn, I couldn’t even draw a stick figure. I sighed and shut my eyes.

  I didn’t want to revisit my imperfections, one of which was that time I almost burned down the gym. It was horrifying at first, but then I laughed right after terrifying the whole student body. Then, rumors started about me being a lowkey arsonist. I simply shrugged it off. None of those students could or would hurt my feelings as much as my family had.

  I breathed deeply and opened my eyes.

  My mother was still shaking her head. “I wish you would go natural like all the other girls. Maybe it would help?”

  My mother had a fit when I tex-laxed my hair. I explained to her what it was. The process was made to make your curls looser and much easier to maintain for those who had a hard time like me. Some would say I was no longer natural, since I used chemicals in my hair. But, unless they were going to do my hair for me every day, they could kiss my ass.