All That Glitters (Raven Soul MC #4)

Prologue

HAZEL/LEGS

I walk across the room without tripping, turn, and walk back to my mother in these stupid high heels.

She watches me, a wrinkle forming between her brows. I’ve disappointed her... again.

“You need to put more sway in your hips,” she says. “God gave you my hips and ass for a reason. Use it.”

As if God cares about my hips and ass. But then what do I know? Every guy I’ve ever met was worse than the one before him. If God made man in His image, maybe He’s more of a creep than a creator.

Then again, I’m not even sure there is a god. If there is, He sure hasn’t done me any favors. People like to say He has a plan, but that sounds like an excuse––something they tell themselves so they don’t have to admit they messed up their own lives. How convenient

I grin as I think about my English teacher, who’s also in charge of the debate team. She keeps trying to get me to join, saying my ideas and arguments are insightful for someone my age and that, given the right opportunities, I could go far in life.

As my mom yanks up the waistband of my already-too-short skirt, I sigh. The farthest I’m going is to a trailer a couple doors down from this one.

“Now, do it again, Hazel. Like I showed you.”

Taking a breath, I turn and walk back across the room, this time putting extra sway in my hips. I feel totally ridiculous but do it anyway.

“Remember, if anyone asks, you’re eighteen. It’s important you don’t fuck this up. Most people won’t give a damn about how old you are, but there’s always some holier-than-thou asshole who does.”

I nod, and she continues as I turn and head back to her.

“All men are assholes, but rich ones are the worst. They act like they’re better than everyone—driving around in their Ferraris, judging women just trying to feed their kids after their scumbag of a husband runs off with the babysitter.

They won’t spare a buck for a hungry kid or a pack of diapers, but the second their perfect little wives stop putting out, they’re throwing cash at girls like us,” she spits.

I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. I’ve heard it all like a million times. My mom’s got this way of mixing just enough truth into her stories that you believe the lies. But honestly, I doubt my mom’s ever even seen a Ferrari, let alone met someone who drives one.

“Rich assholes like that only want one thing. Pussy.”

I stop in front of her, and she reaches up and taps my temple with her finger.

“This means nothing without money. Even rich bitches get sold into marriages to protect family assets.” She snorts and waves her hand down my body. “People like us have different assets. There’s no shame in using what God gave you, Hazel. You hear me? None.”

I nod, and she motions for me to do it again.

After a moment, she sighs. “I might’ve been in high school when I met your father, but I had plans.

You’re not the only one with brains, you know?

But he messed that all up, telling me lies and treating me like gold.

Then two pink lines showed up, and he was outta here like his ass was on fire, leaving me with nothing and threatening me if I ever contacted him again. ”

I pause when she swallows and looks away. I’ve heard this story so many times, but even after all these years, I can still hear the heartbreak in her voice.

“You know who stayed, though? Me. I didn’t get an abortion. I didn’t give you up. I fed you. I kept you warm and clothed. I made sure you got to school and took you to the doctor when you got sick. I did that.”

She sucks in a breath, but it catches in her chest. She leans forward, one hand gripping the arm of the chair as she starts coughing like crazy. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to go to her. She doesn’t like it when I fuss.

I watch as she pulls a tissue from her pocket and coughs into it before wiping her mouth. She crumples it in her hand, but I see a flash of red and freeze as she struggles to catch her breath.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything.

We wait in our bubble of denial—her acting like I didn’t see the blood on the tissue, me pretending everything will be fine.

The silence is heavy, pressing down on my shoulders. Looking at my mother’s frail body practically folding in on itself, I know she feels it, too.

She lifts her head, and the look in her eyes will stay with me for the rest of my life.

“You might hate me for this, and you have every right to,” she says quietly. She swallows hard. “But one day, you’ll understand that I’m out of options.”

Taking a breath, she stands and walks toward me, her shaky hand reaching up to cup my cheek.

“You’re all I’ve got, baby girl. And when I’m gone, you’ll be alone. The streets are unforgiving, and I don’t want you to join me until you’re old and gray and have a million stories to tell me.”

A tear slides down her cheek as she talks. This is the closest she’s come to admitting she’s dying.

“Men will always take from you. It doesn’t matter if it’s on offer or not, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be smart about it.

I can’t get you out of the game, but I can teach you how to play it.

I can make it so you’re a key piece on the board, but you have to understand—safe doesn’t always mean happy.

Happy can come later. Right now, safe is all that matters, okay? ”

“Okay, Mama,” I say softly, trying to understand it all.

“Good girl.” She pulls me close and presses a kiss to my forehead. Her chest hitches, but this time, I don’t think it has anything to do with her cough.

“Now, let’s practice that walk again.”

I walk until my feet are sore and blistered, and she’s finally happy with the way I move. Later, when I’m lying in bed, I go over everything she’s ever told me, scared I’ll forget something. But my biggest fear is forgetting her.

Our relationship’s a mess. It’s so broken there’s no fixing it, even if we had more time.

We’re just two versions of the same story.

She lost her parents too young, and now I’m losing her.

I’m scared to my bones of what’s to come.

But there’s still a tiny piece of me that hopes my story will have a different ending.

That maybe one day, I’ll live in a big, fancy house with a handsome husband and a big dog that yanks my arm when I walk him.

We’d have pretty babies—two of them. A boy first, then a little sister. ‘Cause every little girl needs a big brother to protect her.

I roll onto my side and let my tears fall. I want a family so bad it hurts. My own happily ever after. I close my eyes and hope I fall asleep fast. My dreams are the only place I can escape all this.

I toss and turn until I finally fall asleep, and when the dreams come, they’re full of monsters. I wake up gasping, my heart racing and my body soaked with sweat. Then a chill runs down my back, and I’m covered in goosebumps––like something bad’s about to happen.

I climb out of bed, wincing at the cold floor under my bare feet. Grabbing a sweatshirt, I pull it on over my Hello Kitty pajamas and tiptoe down the hall to my mom’s room.

The second I open the door, my stomach cramps. It’s like all the color’s gone, and everything that made her room warm and safe has disappeared.

I walk over to her bed, my heart pounding. She’s lying so still, tucked under the blankets like Sleeping Beauty.

I reach out and touch her foot. “Mama?” I whisper.

When she doesn’t move, I walk around to her side and lean over her, holding my cheek above her nose, waiting to feel her warm breath on my skin.

But there’s nothing.

I fight down my panic and shake her. “Mama, wake up.”

I shake her harder. “Mama. Mama, please wake up.”

Tears run down my face and drip onto her cold skin.

“Please,” I beg. “I’m not ready. “I climb onto the bed and curl up beside her like I did when I was little. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I lay my head on her chest and hold my breath as I listen for the comforting thud of her heart.

But it’s silent.

I bury my face under her chin and breathe her in. Someday I’ll forget how she smelled—like licorice and coffee––like home. My tears come faster now, soaking her nightshirt as I cling to her.

It’s the silence that forces me to accept the truth. She’s gone, and I’m alone.

My chest hurts as I sob. I fist the fabric of her nightshirt, overwhelmed by sadness and so much anger.

Why her? Why me? What did we do to deserve this?

It’s not fair. I’m just a fucking kid, and now I have no one.

I cry until my eyes are sore and my head’s pounding. A part of me wants to stay here next to her and disappear, the way she did. But the thought of letting her down somehow hurts even worse now that she’s gone.

Sitting up, I wipe my eyes before climbing to my feet. I tug the blankets up higher, hating how cold she feels.

I stand there, not sure what to do next. I look over at the photo of us together on her nightstand and frown. Leaning against it is a letter, my name written on the front in my mother’s messy handwriting.

I reach for it, my hands shaking as I open it and start to read.

Hazel,

I hate that you’re reading this because it means I’m gone.

I know I wasn’t the best mother. You deserved better than me. I’m sorry the choices I made will affect the ones you’ll have to make now too.

I gave up wishing and dreaming a long time ago, but if I could, I’d give every single one of them to you, sweet girl.

I won’t lie to you, the next few years will be hard. You’ll hate me, and some days you’ll even be glad I’m dead.

I sob at her words, swiping away the tears that blur my vision.

It’s okay, baby. You can hate me. Be mad, but let it fuel you because one day, you’ll come to a crossroads, and you’ll need everything you’ve learned.

Every trick I showed you and every ounce of courage you’ve got to help you choose the right path.

I don’t know what you’ll face, but I know the easy way is usually the wrong one.