Gifted Connections 01 Read online

  Gifted Connections (Book 1)

  By S M Olivier

  Gifted Connections: Book One

  S.M. Olivier

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2017 by S.M. Olivier

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form, or by electronic means or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademark, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  Copy editing by Ellen Yates

  Cover by Jenifer Knox

  Chapter 1

  I could see my breath in the cold night air as I exhaled. I rubbed my hands together, hoping to get some warmth back into them. I looked down disparagingly at my uniform—it barely covered anything; tiny black shorts and a halter top that showed entirely too much skin. Complete with thigh high boots, I looked more like a lady of the night than a server at a bar. I didn’t know why the owner insisted that the outside patio would remain open all year round. Even with the patio heaters on, it was cold. If the money wasn’t so good, I would have left here long ago, but it was the only place willing to hire a seventeen-year-old with no experience. I was paid under the table. I tipped out the bar at the end of the night, but the rest of the money was mine.

  I tried to work at the local drug store and a clothing boutique, but the pay had been crappy, and they were strict with the child labor laws. I barely got any hours, especially when it was a school night. Here, they didn’t care. I showed up for my shifts and picked up as the extra shifts that the other girls didn’t want.

  “Here you go, darlin’,” the man I was serving drawled as he handed me the cash for his tab. “The rest is all yours.”

  Inwardly I cringed when I felt his hand slide up to my rear and squeeze. Outwardly I gave him a warm smile (after seeing the large tip). “Thanks have a great night,” I replied before trying to remove myself from his groping hands. He smelled heavily of alcohol and body odor.

  “Now, now, darlin’. What’s the big hurry? I have plenty more where that came from.” He leered at my breasts. His stained teeth made me shudder in revulsion. “I know a pretty girl like you would love to earn some extra cash.”

  “No thank you,” I said a bit crossly. I didn’t want to piss off the man and have him take back the money he had already given me. We needed groceries, and the thrift store had a new shipment of coats that I wanted to check out because Ella and I both needed new coats. “I have to get back to my other customers.”

  “I can make it worth your while.” He startled me as he yanked me back. I tripped over the leg of his chair and stumbled onto his lap.

  “Blake, is this man bothering you?” a cool, clipped voice asked.

  I looked up, surprised, my jade green eyes met electric blue. I was shocked, to say the least, to see Mr. Bell, or Mr. Jace (his first name) as he liked to be called, standing ten feet away from me. He was dressed meticulously as always, in a buttoned-up blue shirt that hugged his tall, lean, muscular form, and black slacks and shoes. He was wearing a black pea coat and looked like he stepped off the pages of GQ magazine. He had dark hair, a tad on the longer side, and piercing eyes, and a strong square jawline. He was normally clean shaven, but now he had a five o’clock shadow. It made him look raw and powerful. All the girls had a crush on him; most had switched their elective class to music since he started teaching at my school last year. He was also my teacher.

  There was a reason I chose to find a job 30 minutes away from my home. It was for reasons like this. I didn’t need anyone to know I worked at a bar. For one, I needed this job. And two, I would never be caught dressed like this in public under normal circumstances.

  He was surrounded by four other men that looked like they all belonged in New York City, Paris, or Milan, walking the runways. I’ve never seen so many jaw-dropping men together at once.

  “Blake?” he asked more gently.

  I shook my head, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m,” I started, my voice coming out with a croak. I cleared my throat, “Fine.” I looked at my customer. “Remove your hands. Now,” I said coolly.

  I could tell my patron wanted to argue, but as Mr. Jace and his friends took one step forward, he let go of me. I quickly stood up and hurried back inside, all the while hyper-aware of five pairs of eyes following me.

  I was exhausted and more than ready to go home by the time my shift ended at two in the morning. I went into the bathroom and quickly counted out my tips before changing into my clothes. I felt almost back to normal as I slipped on my boot-cut jeans, long sleeve red thermal, black hoodie, and black Converse I glared at myself in the streaky mirror as I began to wash off the heavily applied makeup—my second persona washing away in the rust-stained sink. Without it, I looked my age, maybe younger. I grabbed my long, black, curly hair and threw it up in a messy bun. I was off the clock; Greg could no longer force me into his demeaning uniform or my work requirements of leaving my hair down and wearing make-up. I knew he did it for two reasons— it made me look older, and it kept the customers “happy.”

  I grabbed my beat-up duffel bag and turned to leave. I checked my cell phone and noticed I had six minutes to get to the bus stop before the next bus got here. I ran out, calling my goodbyes to the bartenders and servers still drinking around the bar winding down after a long night. I didn’t want to miss the bus or I would have to wait another hour before the next one came. I wanted a little sleep before I had to be back up at 6:30. That gave me enough time to get myself and Ella dressed, fed, and walk her to school before walking to my own school.

  Normally I would be hyper-aware of my surroundings, but tonight I was running behind, so I carelessly ran into the parking lot. The bar wasn’t in the best of areas; the security cameras worked when they wanted to, and half the lights were burnt out. If I had been paying attention I would have noticed my customer from earlier. Instead, I was roughly grabbed from behind and slammed into the brick wall. A hand clamped around my mouth. I tried to squirm, but I could feel that the man easily outweighed me by eighty or so pounds, and he had at least a half a foot on me.

  “I wish you would have done this the easy way,” he hissed, smelling of sour beer and rotten breath. “I would have paid you handsomely and made sure you had some fun.” He groped my breast as his head dipped to kiss my neck.

  I was almost in a near panic. I bit one of his meaty paws. He hissed and dropped his hand momentarily. A strange calm came over me, and I said in a deadly voice, “Let me go.”

  As if he became a puppet, his body seized, and his hands snapped to his side as if they were glued there. I saw the panic in his eyes as he fell hard onto the asphalt. I stood in shock, fear enveloping me once more. This wasn’t the first time that calmness fell upon me and the words I spoke were obeyed as if the person on the receiving end of my words were powerless to disobey me. Unbidden tears sprung to my eyes. I felt like a freak, what was wrong with me?

  “It looks like he got what was coming to him,” a cool, husky voice said from behind me.

  I stiffened as I knelt beside the customer to see if he was still alive. In a panicked voice I said, “Mr. Jace. He grabbed me. I just told him to let me go. He’s still breathing. I didn’t kill him.”

  A ghost of a smile played upon his lips. “I saw everything. Now, why don’t you let me take you home and
my friends will take care of him?”

  I was in a state of shock, unable to argue or reason with him as his friends stepped into the alley and started to lean over the man. Mr. Jace gently grabbed my shoulder as he picked up my duffel bag that had fallen to the ground. I jumped, still in disbelief of how close I came to becoming a victim…again.

  “Where do you live?” Mr. Jace asked softly as he led me to the sports car not too far away. It reminded me that he seemed like a well-off man. Which was surprising. I didn’t think he could be older than twenty-two and he was a teacher. I concluded his parents must be rich since there was no way he could afford a flashy sports car and designer clothes on a teacher’s salary.

  I stopped, slightly panicked. I couldn’t show him where I lived. He was always one of those teachers that seemed concerned about me. He hadn’t been fooled by my lies when I would come to school with a black eye, a busted lip, a sprained wrist, a sprained ankle; the list went on. Most teachers couldn’t care less about the girl from the poor side of town. Like my circumstances were of my own doing. Appearances were everything to them.

  “I can catch the bus,” I mumbled under my breath.

  His brows knitted together. “Blake, there is no way I am going to allow you to wait for an hour for the next bus to come.”

  I watched in horror as the bus, less than 500 feet away from the parking lot, pulled away from the curb. If I ran after it, it wouldn’t have stopped—I’ve tried before. I shivered as the cold night air cut through my hoodie. “I can wait.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said sternly. “You’re coming with me. It’s late, and you have school in the morning.”

  My chin lifted in a challenge. I can be quite stubborn at times, my embarrassment outweighing my common sense. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll be fine.”

  “Didn’t you say she was one of your students?” One of Mr. Jace’s friends asked as he walked up from behind us, startling me. “Isn’t it against the law for you to be working so late?” He turned to me, his cool gray eyes assessing me. Without my makeup on, I know I looked younger. Plus, it didn’t help that I was petite. Over the years, I had been given a lot of nicknames; Tinker Bell, Fun Size, Tiny, Midget, Smalls—if it meant small, I was called it.

  Mr. Jace’s eyes narrowed, assessing me as he made a point to look down at his watch. “I guess I can go talk to the manager, or you can hop in the car and I will take you home.”

  I was both angry at his manipulation and fearful of the possibility of him carrying out his threats. I needed this job. I averaged five hundred dollars a week, and since I got this job Ella never went hungry anymore, and the eviction notices stopped showing up at the door.

  With great reluctance, I sighed. “Fine but promise me you won’t talk to my boss. I need this job.”

  His eyes narrowed, clearly wanting to argue, but he nodded. Soon, I was sitting in his warm leather black seats. The seat warmers were on, the heat on high. He put my address into his GPS. I had never been in a car so nice. With the smell of leather, his pleasant-smelling cologne, and the heat, I felt my eyes closing until his voice broke the silence.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” Mr. Jace’s soft, husky voice asked.

  I stiffened, my startled green eyes quickly looking over at him. “Do you want to tell me why you were still outside of my work, hours after you’d left?” I deflected.

  He really was one of my favorite teachers. The old music teacher had been archaic and always tried to put me in a box. She had been all about the grades and testing. She never let us express ourselves freely, which always confused me since I felt that music was a part of your soul, not something to put a grade on.

  I had to admit I liked him, even when I felt he was too meddlesome at times. He was always asking me how everything was at home, constantly probing me for answers. I knew he was concerned about me, but I had learned long ago not to trust anyone. After being separated from my sister for almost a full year, six years ago, I didn’t trust anyone. The abuse I suffered from my stepmom and her boyfriends could be tolerated as long as I had my sister. She was the only remaining link to my father. She was the spitting image of him, with her pale blond hair and large sapphire blue eyes.

  He chuckled dryly. “You really need to start talking to someone. Your eyes carry far too much burden for someone so young.”

  I snorted, knowing I was being immature, as I crossed my arms over my chest. “As if you’re so much older than me. What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  He gave me an amused glance, clearly not fazed by my defensiveness. “Twenty-two,” he replied quietly. “You’re stalling. What happened back in that alley and why the hell are you working at that hole in the wall place?”

  “Why do you care?” I asked with a deadpan expression. He was highly attractive. I wasn’t delusional enough to ever set my sights on him. It really was disturbing, the number of girls I knew that went out of their way to flirt with him. He was always professional. I saw his embarrassment when flowers were sent to him, when he found panties and bras in his desk drawers, and when he heard suggestive remarks from my classmates. There had been an influx of females in his class, and now he had to turn students away.

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I’m not just a teacher. I’m a…talent scout, and I had a feeling that you were hiding a very big talent.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. I was told a time or two that I excelled on the piano and guitar, and on the rare occasions I was caught singing to myself, people asked me if I had been taking lessons because I was a “natural.”

  “So, what? Am I going to audition for some reality singing show? No thank you.”

  “You sing?” His eyebrows rose.

  I scrunched up my nose in confusion. “Not around other people.” My eyes narrowed at him. “I know I’m pretty good on the piano and guitar, but nothing special.”

  He chuckled, his husky laughter making my stomach do a weird flip-flop. But then his eyes got serious. “What happened in the alley?”

  I was majorly confused now at the quick change of topic and a little bit leery of his intentions. He never struck me as anyone creepy or someone hiding stalker tendencies, but not for the first time tonight, I wondered why he had been in a hole-in-the-wall dive bar with his model buddies, lingering outside after leaving.

  I snorted once more. “I think it was pretty obvious. I had a creepy bar customer try…to accost me, and I was able to make him stop.”

  He gave me another sidelong glance, confused. “Yes, but how?”

  I saw a look of confusion flash over his face as we pulled into the trailer park. He looked at the GPS on his dashboard and then over at me. It was clear he rarely encountered this part of town. Embarrassment set in once more. The trailer park I lived in wasn’t even nice. The owner didn’t care that most of the trailers were dilapidated and in need of repair. A lot of the trailers had trash literally piled in front. There were cars up on blocks or in horrendous conditions. Some trailer inhabitants were sitting on their front porches smoking weed, cigarettes, and imbibing liquor and beer. Music blared from sound systems even though it wasn’t the weekend and was past two in the morning. I even saw that the druggies down the street—I disparagingly dubbed the drugged-out diva duo—had a group of guys over, scantily clad and dancing. Their movements clearly indicating that they were high.

  In short, the trailer park would be better off being bulldozed to the ground. The owner was nothing shy of a slum lord. Instead of putting money back into the park, or enforcing common decency rules, he continued pocketing the money and looking the other way. That’s why I was infuriated when we received our eviction notice.

  Luckily, we owned the two-bedroom trailer I lived in, but lot rent was still five hundred dollars a month. Heidi, my stepmom, burned through the monthly allotment of money my dad had left us. After the foreclosure of my dad’s beautiful home in a nice suburban neighborhood, she had wanted to
move in with her mother. Her mother had died two years ago and had left her the trailer. She only needed to come up with the lot rent, but she had failed to do so.

  Tired of being hungry all the time, watching my half-sister, Ella, suffer, and the threat of being homeless looming over my head, I had gotten my job at the bar. I was finally able to catch up on all the back rent last month after finding out my stepmom was taking my money and using it elsewhere, mainly to buy drugs. Much to my stepmom’s horror, I went to the trailer park office every week and paid them. She even beat me until I told her I would still give her some of my money. So, after I bought our groceries, paid rent, and gave Heidi money, I had very little to spend on other things like clothes.

  This week was a good week at the bar, so I had every intention of giving Heidi a small portion of my tips and using the rest to buy myself and Ella new clothes.

  “This is me,” I said quietly as he stopped in front of my trailer. It was a little better than some of the trailers we had passed, but not by much. Ella and I had planted flowers and shrubs in the tiny front yard. There was a lack of trash surrounding the trailer too. I made a game out of cleaning up after Heidi and her boyfriends, the mess they made on a nightly basis was astounding.

  I cringed when I saw Tom’s car parked out front. He gave me the creeps. I think mainly because he wasn’t like the normal ex-felons she brought home. He was a lawyer and made great money but had a horrible coke habit. He was always watching me—and not in an innocent way. Of course, Heidi was oblivious to it all. She was too enamored by the gifts he brought her along with the “good” stuff, as she called it. He was supporting her habits. She couldn’t see what I saw. I knew he had an ulterior motive for sticking around. My skin crawled.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Mr. Jace gently reminded me.

  I was so caught up in my embarrassment, fear, and thoughts, I forgot he had asked me a question. Without censor, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes when…” I shook my head. It was bad enough he saw how I lived. I didn’t need him to judge me any further. How could I tell him that sometimes when I was afraid or angry, strange things happened? I couldn’t. I’m a freak. He already knew too much about me. I was an extremely private person. There was a reason I didn’t get close to people. “I don’t know,” I repeated once more. I grabbed the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.” I scurried out.