Pretty Savage Read online

  Pretty Savage

  This book is an original publication of C.A. Kunz LLC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by T.A. Kunz.

  All rights reserved.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, re cording, or otherwise, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Visit the author’s website: www.authortakunz.com

  Cover design by Sarah Hansen at www.okaycreations.com

  Cover art copyright © Sarah Hansen 2020

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Free Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Your Free Book is Waiting

  Secrets and lies can be deadly little things.

  A secret Halloween party in the woods. A missing teen. The jarring mystery stirs the small town of Crystal Ridge into a frenzy, and Peyton Bromwell finds himself right in the middle of it.

  Peyton thought the biggest complication in his life was his ex, Foster Hill, sauntering back into town and stirring up long buried feelings. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Labeled a possible suspect in the disappearance, Peyton finds himself on the hunt for answers to clear his name.

  Then, he receives the first chilling message… Want to know a secret?

  Someone has secrets they threaten to reveal if Peyton doesn’t submit to their twisted agenda. Forced into a deadly game of cat and mouse, can he trust his instincts and separate enemy from ally? Or will he be crushed under the weight of the evidence stacked against him?

  PRETTY LITTLE LIARS meets I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER in ALL YOUR SECRETS AND LIES; a gripping, queer Young Adult thriller sure to have readers on the edge of their seats!

  Get your free copy of this queer YA thriller with a dash of romance

  ALL YOUR SECRETS AND LIES here:

  www.authortakunz.com

  For my family and friends. You have always believed in my writing, and have never stopped encouraging me to follow my dreams.

  Donovan

  There he is.

  Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte.

  I mean, that’s obviously not his real name. It’s his usual drink order. Chai tea, steamed milk, and two shots of espresso. A rebel’s drink for sure. And since I haven’t gotten up the guts to ask him his name yet, he remains Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte.

  It’s at times like this I wish we were like most coffee shops and requested a name for each order rather than just the to-gos. But the owner refuses to switch from the ever reliable—his words—order number system. Today, Mr. Filthy is number twenty-one.

  My lucky number. Kismet?

  At least once a week he meets here at The Pour Over with a group of similarly aged teens and they chat for hours. About what? Beats me. I’ve contemplated lingering by their table, performing menial tasks like restocking the oat milk at the drink prep area or wiping down nearby tables, in order to eavesdrop. But every time, I chicken out.

  “A large filthy chai tea latte?” I ask before he has a chance to utter a word.

  His eyebrow—pierced by the way—quirks up, and I realize I must’ve sounded like a major creeper for committing his order to memory.

  A hint of a smile breaks the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Thanks, Donovan.”

  I die.

  I die.

  I die.

  My name rolls off his tongue like caramel sauce dripping down the side of a hot latte. I’ve clearly been working here too long if I’m making coffee metaphors already … and it’s only my second month.

  Wait, he knows my name. How does he know my name? Has he asked about me?

  I glance down at my apron and see my name tag resting there. The bright white letters radiate against the dark background. You could probably see it from space. Makes sense.

  He pays with his phone and then, just like clockwork, drops a folded five-dollar bill into the tip jar. He’s so intriguing, paying for his drink electronically but also having cash on hand. And when I’m at the register, he leaves five dollars. Every. Single. Time. He might do the same for everyone else, but I enjoy living in the fantasy that I’m his chosen recipient. I imagine them as little love notes he leaves behind for my eyes only.

  Okay. Pull it together, man. Composure.

  I take in the show as he strolls off to join his group at a table near the back of the café. His tall, dark, and mysterious routine never fails to work on me. I sigh internally, but I’m not convinced a little didn’t seep out by accident.

  “Smooth.”

  My co-worker Marcus stands there grinning like a fool. A ridiculously gorgeous fool, but a fool nonetheless. His slicked-back chestnut brown hair is perfectly shaped to accentuate his chiseled features. The solitary dimple on his left cheek adds an extra kick to the impish grin he sends my way.

  I laugh. “Yeah, definitely not my best work.”

  “Nah, you did great. A real pro,” he teases. “Hey, why don’t you go talk to him? We’re slow right now and someone does have to bring him his drink, you know.”

  He wriggles his brows at me. I roll my eyes.

  Marcus is no stranger to affection. Unlike me, he probably hasn’t been rejected by anyone. He exudes confidence, which comes in handy when he dons a dress and a wig to perform in drag on the weekends at the one and only gay bar in Haddon Falls, Mae’s Lounge. Marcus becomes Miz Markie Marc. And yes, he does have a slight unhealthy obsession with Mark Wahlberg. Hence, the drag name. And he loves to refer to me as Donnie for the same reason.

  “I don’t even know if he likes guys in that way,” I s
ay. “Besides, he’s sort of out of my league. I mean, will you just look at that jawline?”

  “With the perfect amount of scruff too,” adds Marcus.

  “Exactly. And he has at least four or five inches on me in the height department.”

  “What a shame, Donnie.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  I know that’s not all he wants to say. He has more. Marcus loves to give input … and constructive criticism.

  “It’s just….”

  And there it is.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s just a shame you have such a low opinion of yourself, that’s all. Sure, he might be a certified eight and a half or even a nine if he ran a proper comb through that disheveled mess he calls hair, but boy, look in a mirror once in a while. Not only do you have the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, but you also have a beautiful full head of red hair.” He leans forward slightly to examine the top of my head. “With no signs of balding in your future whatsoever, I might add.” He relaxes back while swirling his hand in front of my face. “And with that complexion and bone structure? You pretty, my friend.”

  I’m overwhelmed by the compliments. I’ve never been great at accepting them. I pretend to blow them off as he moves to the end of the counter where Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte’s drink is waiting. Marcus winks at me, scoops up the cup, and saunters over to the table near the back. He delivers the drink and then laughs while touching Mr. Filthy’s shoulder. The whole table joins in, and just like that, Marcus has ensnared them all.

  Nothing seems to ever faze Marcus. I wish I had his level of chill. Teach me your ways.

  On his return, I try to look busy and not seem like I’d been observing the whole scene.

  Marcus props himself up on the counter by his elbows and rests his chin daintily on his hands. “His name is Connor, he’s most definitely into dudes, he’s single, ready to mingle, and he’s a Libra. You’re welcome.”

  “How the hell did you find all of that out just by delivering his drink?”

  “A drag queen never reveals her secrets. That’s why our wigs are so massive. But also, the first two things were true. The others I may have made up in the moment. They just felt right.”

  “You’re the worst, you know that?”

  “If by worst you actually mean the best, then I accept the praise.”

  The door chime pulls our attention to the entrance of the café. My new bestie Lori rushes up to the counter seeming like she’s ready to burst with news. Her wavy black hair bounces as she busts into an impromptu shoulder dance. Having friends like her and Marcus has made my transition to living in Haddon Falls considerably more tolerable.

  “Guess what?” she asks. Marcus joins in by mimicking her head bops and shoulder shakes. “And this right here is why I love you, Miz Markie Marc.”

  Never a dull moment with these two.

  Marcus pauses for a moment. “Girl, not in front of the breeders, okay?” he chastises before resuming to bop along with her.

  “My bad, Marcus,” she corrects with a giggle.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate whatever’s happening here,” I say, gesturing at the two of them, “but what’s up?”

  Lori comes to a dead stop and a grin curls her lips like the Cheshire Cat. “Trent invited me to Sophia Gomer’s party tonight. The Trent.”

  Her excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but match it. “Shut, up … wait, which one is he again?”

  “That’s my cue to exit stage left,” Marcus says. “High school? Been there, done that, hated every second of it, and wrote a memoir.” With that, he heads over to bus one of the tables.

  Ignoring him, Lori looks at me and groans. “Come on, you know Trent. I realize you’re new to school, but you can’t miss him in the halls. He’s one of the top players on the varsity football team. And he’s always with that hottie Harrison, the team’s quarterback. Perfectly quaffed hair, nice abs, great calves and butt. That Trent.”

  “It’s really cute that you think I pay any attention to sports in the slightest. Half of what you just said was completely lost on me.”

  “You and I are both fully aware that you don’t have to know squat about sports to admire the men who play them,” she argues.

  “Touché,” I say, stroking my chin and searching my memory banks. “Oh. Isn’t Trent the one that a lot of people at school refer to as the ‘Twat Waffle Casanova’?”

  “Only in some circles,” she fires back. “But he’s not like that. He’s nice. And, hello, more importantly he’s interested in moi.”

  “So you’re going then?”

  “Obviously, and you’re going to be my wingman.” She aims a double finger point in my direction for emphasis.

  “I don’t know, Lori. I really should get a head start on my calculus homework tonight.”

  “Seriously?”

  I shake my head with squinted eyes. “No.”

  She snickers. “Okay, so I’ll pick you up at seven. When we get to Sophia’s, we’ll pregame in the car with some serious liquid courage and then Project Trent will be a go.”

  “It’s a date.”

  One of the guys from Connor’s table calls out to Lori, putting a pause on our conversation. She glances over her shoulder and sends him a quick wave before turning back to face me with an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Who’s that?”

  My gaze lands on the guy in question. He sends over a wicked, knowing smile that gives me instant chills. Then his expression softens when he laughs at something said at the table.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she replies. Her demeanor changes. She seems put off.

  “Just curious is all. Do you know them?”

  She raps her hot pink painted fingernails on the counter, looking back over her shoulder when she hears her name called again.

  “Hey, I got to go,” she tells me. “But I’ll see you at seven, right?” Her smile seems forced, hollow even.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Why didn’t she want to talk about that guy? I get that we’re new friends, but this is the first time she’s been cagey around me. Definitely going to pin that for later.

  She moves toward the group in the back. Her overall confidence and presence has noticeably dimmed. I can’t help but wonder how she knows them. I’m pretty sure they don’t go to our school. And who is the guy whose lap she’s currently sitting on? If I’d known her for longer than the month we’ve been in school together, I probably would’ve pressed her further on the subject.

  “Would you call his skin tone olive?” Marcus inquires as he rejoins me behind the counter. “He looks Greek, right?”

  “Who?” I ask absently, my attention on Lori.

  “Hello.” He flashes me some dramatic side eye. “Connor. You know, the guy you’ve been standing there drooling over for the past few minutes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I see all.”

  That gets my full attention on him. “For your information, I was keeping an eye out for Lori over there.”

  “Uh-huh.” He waves his hand in front of his face. “This right here is my convinced look. And if you believe that, then you’re gullible as hell.”

  I laugh. “Hey, do you know how she fits in with that group?”

  “Uh-uh. I ain’t got time for your high school drama club. I’m four years sober from all of that grade school B.S. If you want any tips, tricks, advice, and the like, I shall direct you to my countless diaries on the subject.”

  “I’m serious, Marcus.”

  “Nope.”

  Three … two … one.

  “Okay, okay, you’ve twisted my arm.”

  Marcus can never pass up an opportunity to gossip. Like a moth to a flame.

  He purses his lips. “If I tell you, will you promise to get back to work?”

  I nod. “Promise.”

  “I don’t know much, but I’ve seen Lori in here a few times with them. It’s been a while though. I think t
hey’re her old friends from middle school or something. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from what she’s told me.”

  “Doesn’t she seem uneasy to you?”

  He tosses a damp cloth at my chest. “Nope. Uh-uh. Back to work with you. I’ve played around in your high school games long enough, and there’s a counter just waiting for you to scrub it down like the dirty thing that it is.”

  I give him a half-assed salute and begin wiping down the counter. My eyes find Lori again just in time to catch her laughing with the group and hugging all over the guy whose lap she’s perched on. She’s relaxed, more at ease.

  I guess maybe it was all in my head.

  Donovan

  The honk from Lori’s car has me sprinting down the stairs toward the front door. I grab my coat from the rack and house keys from the hook on the wall in the foyer. A throat clears behind me. It’s my aunt. I figure it was the jingle of the keys that betrayed me and gave away my intentions.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  I whirl around on my heel to meet her inquisitive stare. “I’m going to a party. Is that cool?”

  She crosses her arms in front of her chest. The serious look on her face falters into a half smile. “I guess I should be happy you’re making friends who invite you to parties, huh?”

  I nod emphatically.

  “Look,” she says, “I know you’ve only been living with your aunt and I since the summer, and you’re probably thinking because you’re a senior and an adult now that you can just run around town all you want. We’re going to give you your space, don’t worry. And we trust you’ll make the right decisions. But please, could you let us know when you have stuff like this going on? Helen is just as neurotic as your dad used to be and she’ll worry about you, as will I.”

  “Sorry for not letting you know, Aunt Lucy. I just found out about it at work and it completely slipped my mind. I do appreciate everything both of you have done for me, really.”

  The car horn sounds again. I send my aunt an innocent smile while motioning to the door.