Command: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2020-2021 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by KB Worlds LLC.

  Cover Design by: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Image by: Wander Aguiar

  Editing by:Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts

  Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading

  Taryn Lawson

  Jade Visosely

  Formatting by: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Published in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  INTRODUCTION

  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

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  ALSO BY AMÉLIE S. DUNCAN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the Everyday Heroes World!

  I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! COMMAND is a book based on the world I created in my USA Today bestselling Everyday Heroes Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.

  I truly hope you enjoy COMMAND. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.

  Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.

  Happy Reading,

  K. Bromberg

  Shana

  How many lives do we live? Most say only one. I was on my second by twenty-five. The first time, I existed as my brother Jackson’s shadow. Though we shared the same birthday, he came out first and shone so bright from that day on. I wanted to be him. I wanted that light to touch me, but no matter what I did, I never came close. So I became his shadow.

  Whatever he did, I did. Wherever he went, I went. So much so, “Shadow” became my nickname. And honestly, I liked being his shadow. He made me a part of something bigger than myself. It felt better than just being me. But what happens to the shadow when the light is gone? Does it still exist?

  My knuckles went white as my hands stiffened on the steering wheel. The exit off the highway for Sunnyville had finally come into view after eight hours on the road. I should have exited at Lake Drive, far closer to my parents’ home in Callahan Hills. But I drove down Main Street first. The familiar sights and smells flew past the open window of my 1967 Chevelle SS. I inhaled the espresso’s earthy scent from Better Buzz, a coffee shop tucked between a shoe store and a donut shop, with strings of lights out front. Daisy’s Flowers still took up a whole corner, with cheerful florals plucked and preened to perfection. Lulu’s Diner—packed to the gills. Shops in Sunnyville rarely changed. Like most of the people here, they stayed in place, like ornaments, shiny and perfect for hanging—though most were less dazzling when cracked open.

  The only things that had changed in the three years since I’d left were my parents, who’d “asked” me to come home. My Simple Style app company went bust. With no more money or access to my trust (thank you very much, Dad), I had nowhere else to go. Living in LA was great when you had your shit together, not so much when you lost it.

  Nothing on Main Street enticed me to stop. I turned around at the end of the oceanfront boardwalk in the visitor parking lot and headed up Ocean Drive toward Fox Point Bridge. A chill went through my body on approach. If there had been another way to reach Callahan Hills from downtown, I would’ve taken the route. But I couldn’t turn around.

  The repaved road was lined with joggers and bikes pedaling along the painted divide. Hands raised to wave as I passed, and I waved back with little thought. I almost made it to the other side before Jackson appeared.

  He stood between an opening in the capstones at the peak of the incline on the bridge. Water dripped from his body and drizzled off his boxer briefs. His brown hair, usually tousled waves, slicked back from his face, revealing a mischievous grin. Come with me, Shadow. He leaped back, falling into the water below.

  I gasped. The air rushed out of my lungs as I swerved. A horn blared, and “What the fuck!” came from the passenger side of the car I almost hit. Shit. My hands shook as I gripped the wheel. I took short breaths to ease my racing pulse. Then I sped up, cutting off a car to take the next exit off the bridge and leaving Jackson’s ghost in my rearview mirror.

  McGregor’s had the biggest parking lot off the exit. Pulling in, I shut off the car and reached for the glove compartment. The bottle of pain relievers rattled in my shaking hands as I unscrewed the lid and dropped two into my hand.

  I hadn’t gone crazy. Jackson’s not there.

  The ache that accompanied that thought was like stepping on glass shards breaking the skin, and leaving fragments behind. And I didn’t want that. Which meant I had to make a call to Amber. She had a Ph.D. in “Tuning the Hell Out.” Right now, that’s what I needed.

  After a few rings, she answered. “Shana. Holy shit, what’s up, girl?”

  “Hey. I’m back in town.”

  “How long?” Her voice dropped an octave. Was she excited to hear from me?

  “Don’t know.” Short as I can make it.

  “Then you have to come out tonight,” she squealed with her usual high-pitched enthusiasm. “It’s Brit’s bachelorette party,” she added after my pause.

  “Brit” was Brit
tany Holland. There weren’t many in Sunnyville I didn’t know. From birth to dirt nap, the people here circled each other’s lives, from play dates to your adult social group. Something Jackson and I had resisted. Hell, it had become Jackson’s mission to break every rule Sunnyville had and, as his shadow, mine too.

  Amber’s suggestion of a bachelorette party meant small talk with people, like Brittany, who I hadn’t spoken to in years. I’d have to spend energy trying to find something to say back. That didn’t sound like a good time.

  “I’m not up for that. I should probably head to my parents’ house and see what they want.”

  “Oh, come on,” she begged. “I want to hear more about LA, not that you’ve called and invited me to visit lately.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re always welcome,” I deadpanned.

  She laughed. “You’re full of shit.”

  “I am.” I could point out that I saw her post where she’d visited LA a few months ago and didn’t call me, but I understood why and didn’t care. Sometimes you had to be in the mood to hang with certain people.

  “Come on out. Brit has hot strippers and good food. We can drink Brit’s wine, smoke pot, pop some Molly, and go dancing like old times.”

  Dancing and ecstasy were so high school, but it would give me a chance to escape for a while.

  “Cool. When?”

  “Now. I’m at my house picking up something I forgot to bring. I’ll swing by yours on my way back.”

  The sun had faded in the sky; the evening was close. “I probably should at least swing home first—”

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up, and we can take the party van with Brit.”

  “I—” She hung up on me? Some things never change. Guess I’m going out tonight.

  Back on the road, I turned on the radio and hummed to the music, already anticipating the pain relievers taking the edge off. I set my car on cruise and sailed the rest of the way to Callahan Hills.

  My parents left the front gate unlocked. Their cars weren’t in the driveway. That meant they expected me but were out. Nice. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

  I stared at our sprawling three-story Tuscan Villa, beautifully woven into the hills. The type of home so luxurious and grand, most aspired to own it and would never leave if they had it. So I had thought at one time.

  Dad gave Mom free rein to transform the place into her dream home. Her pride permeated every imported French and Venetian limestone balustrade. She had a double row of pinnacle-clad casement windows installed and custom-made Colonial revival shutters. Below, a channel of Koi. If I followed the path around the house, I’d find well-maintained roses, boxwoods, and cypress trees near the mosaic-tiled swimming pool.

  I took a step toward the footbridge and stopped. So many times I’d walked that path—mostly with or in search of Jackson. We never went too many hours apart. Besides being twins, we’d been best friends.

  I hugged myself to steady my heart. Jackson.

  A memory surfaced, one of Jackson running out of the house to greet me. I braced myself for another painful ghostly vision. However, that time it wasn’t just Jackson who materialized running across the footbridge toward me. Like a movie from my past, Jackson’s best friend, Nathan Donleavy’s long-legged stride came to me.

  His voice floats to me through the damp Sunnyville air. “Hey, baby.”

  He kept his tone low and raw just for me.

  My body heated just thinking about the many times he’d called me his. The times he’d caressed his full lips down my body or pushed deep inside me.

  But I bet he has a baby by now.

  I didn’t dare ask.

  I couldn’t bear to know.

  The blare of a car horn yanked me back to reality. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there. Amber pulled into the driveway in a Porsche Boxster. Her long, pearl-blonde hair covered her tan shoulders. She drove around the circle before she stepped out.

  Amber stood an inch shorter than my five nine, with curves to die for, though she often complained. They made her look extra sexy in her skinny jeans and pink crop top with “Corks Are for Quitters” printed on the front.

  “Yikes. You’re wearing a booby billboard?” I teased her.

  She laughed. “Yeah, I had them printed for everyone. I brought one for you.”

  She danced over to her car, picked up the pink shirt from the passenger side, and held it out. The one she had for me read, “I Make Pour Decisions.”

  I scoffed. “No way.”

  She pouted. “Oh, come on. It’s all in good fun. You can wear something over it, but Brit’s expecting everyone to wear one.”

  What Amber meant was she expected everyone to have one but didn’t want to come off as uptight.

  I glanced at the house. Empty. I let out a dejected sigh. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “What about the top?” Amber pressed.

  I rolled my eyes, and she laughed as I pulled my shirt overhead and put on the screaming pink, fitted T-shirt. The low-cut front showed off too much breast.

  “It’s not that bad. You look hot.”

  “I’m wearing my jacket.” I opened the trunk of my car, taking out the leather boots to replace my sneakers. A quick brush of my long wavy hair and, with my purse in hand, I joined her in the Porsche. I sighed and sent a text to my mom.

  Shana: I went out with Amber. I’ll see you later tonight or tomorrow morning.

  Amber launched into a catch-up on her life as she drove.

  “I’m closing in on three million followers, and I keep getting so many offers for products to advertise on my Instagram page. I’ll have to hire a second assistant to handle it all,” she bragged, pausing to pull out her selfie stick. She braked to snap photos of herself, and some of us together, then continued down the hill.

  “So, tell me about you?” she asked. “When I heard you created a company about style, it shocked me. All you ever wore were hoodies and jeans.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. When style came to me, I turned out to be great at it.”

  I may sound proud, but I spoke the truth. I couldn’t go anywhere without someone asking about my clothes. “Anyway, the business recently experienced a setback.”

  “Starting a business from scratch is hard. I know. When I started my social app, I didn’t have a clue. It took a team of social coaches and design investors to get the right fit and traction. I’m sure you tried hard, but put that behind you and enjoy tonight.”

  I grinned. “Thank you for your permission. I shall do just that,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.

  Amber giggled. “Damn, I’d forgotten how funny you can be.” At a stop sign, she paused to light a joint, and passed it to me.

  I took a long drag when she passed it to me, then let out a rallying cry, “Let’s do this.”

  “Woo-hoo,” Amber cheered and blasted the stereo.

  With baggage left behind, I went with excitement into the night.

  After a short drive, due to Amber’s speeding, we reached Brittany’s home, one of the newly built cookie-cutter mansions. On approach, Brittany sat on her front steps with a bottle of wine in hand. When Amber beeped the car horn, she sprung to her feet like some overly sprung jack-in-the-box and let out an eardrum-splitting shriek.

  Amber barely got out of the car before she threw her arms around her.

  Brittany’s smile wilted once her attention turned to me after their gush-fest.

  “Shana called me, and I invited her to come out,” Amber said in an upbeat tone.

  Brit gave me a tight smile. “Well . . . okay. I’ll be right back. The strippers are on the patio.”

  “Come on, Shadow,” Amber tossed back to me.

  Shadow. God, I hadn’t heard that in three years. It felt—wrong.

  I followed Amber out to a built-in stone deck with a large outdoor firepit, where a small group of women clustered around the modular half-moon sectional with linen cushions. I couldn’t make out what they were talking about over the music. Everyone had a
cocktail in hand. Amber passed a hot pink margarita from the bar to me and I swallowed it in two gulps.

  Brit returned and handed out pink envelopes with cash. “Here is the money you all pitched in. I had to make up a new envelope since someone else came.”

  She handed the envelope to me (the someone). Oh the irony. How many times had they all gotten drunk at my house and broken or stolen my family’s valuables? Jackson and I had absorbed the cost and blame. Every time. We’d also let them all come back. Every time. Why the hell did we bother?

  The music turned to hip-hop, and two men in black slacks and bare chests appeared from the side of the house. They immediately broke into a renegade dance, a sync lock, and pop coordinated moves that imitated every boy band ever made. They yanked off their breakaway pants revealing the tiniest pink G-strings while wiggling their hips. And then it was on.

  After much gyrating, dancing, drinking, almost fornicating (Brit), a guy who’d played baseball with Nathan and Jackson came out. He had on a business suit that didn’t fit his thin wraith body. I turned to Amber, who chatted with Brit beside her.

  “What’s Skelly doing here?”

  Amber glanced over at him and waved when she saw he stared directly at her. “Skelly’s Tim’s best friend. He agreed to drive us.”

  As if on cue, Skelly announced the car’s arrival.

  We lined up for the black Mercedes Sprinter limo van. Before I could get in, Amber pulled me aside. “Here.”

  She handed me a Molly and a pink bottle of water embellished with “Brit’s Bachelorette.”

  I hadn’t partied like this for a while. Maybe if I only took half a pill. I tried to break it, but it crumbled a bit. Fuck it. I tossed the whole thing down with a gulp of water. I came out to have fun, right?

  2 Unlimited’s song Get Ready for This boomed through the small room. The strippers started gyrating, and we all danced in our seats as Skelly drove us away.

  Evan spoke to the bouncer, and we cruised past the line, right into the club. We joined the tangled web of people tugging and pushing against each other to the thrumming, electronic bass. We ordered shots and danced, unable to talk over the music.