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Austin Macauley Publishers - Mahin Mughal

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121 pages

English

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Henrietta (Ria) is seventeen and never been kissed. While one part of her wants a boyfriend, another part of her is confused. Then Ria meets Flynn. Sweet and smart with a sly grin and an intense gaze, Flynn seems to be the kind of boy that Ria has been thinking about. But as their relationship deepens, Ria senses that Flynn is keeping secrets--dark, dangerous ones.

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	28 juin 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645366386
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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BadLands
Mahin Mughal
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-06-28
BadLands About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright Information Acknowledgement Prologue Part One Chapter One 7 Months Earlier Chapter Two Chapter Three Three Hours Later 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 Part Two THREE DAYS LATER 30 MINUTES LATER TWO WEEKS LATER Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine
About the Author
Mahin was born and raised in Portland, Oregon. She’s been writing since she was a child. BadLands was written when she was 15. This is her first novel. You can find her drowned in a book or watching Lord of the Rings religiously.
About the Book
Henrietta (Ria) is seventeen and never been kissed. While one part of her wants a boyfriend, another part of her is confused. Then Ria meets Flynn. Sweet and smart with a sly grin and an intense gaze, Flynn seems to be the kind of boy that Ria has been thinking about. But as their relationship deepens, Ria senses that Flynn is keeping secrets—dark, dangerous ones.
Dedication
Dedicated to my parents for their unwavering support.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Mahin Mughal (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Mughal, Mahin
BadLands: Love Can’t Be Forced
ISBN 9781641829052 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781641829069 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645366386 (ePub e-book)
The main category of the book — Young Adult Fiction / Romance / Contemporary
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgement
I want to thank my mom and dad for their constant support and encouragement. Thanks Dad for convincing me to query editors in the first place. I would like to thank Nikki for always replying to my quite annoying emails and I want to thank the staff at Austin Macauley for helping me bring my dream to life.
Prologue
He wasn’t answering.
I glanced at the number of messages left, and still, no response. I could feel my fingers beginning to shake as they glazed across his contact name in bright letters, and I released a breath I never realized I was holding. Liz told me to call the police and I did. I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.
God damn it. Where was he? I don’t know where he is. I realized the sound of my heart rate increasing was a sign that I knew something utterly terrible was happening, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, and that was by far the worst feeling imaginable. I suddenly felt the world was spinning on an entirely different axis as the numerous police cars came into view; the sound of a police car the only thing I could hear. I didn’t understand what came over me; I hadn’t a single idea of what was going on, but I felt like I knew.
So, when the police entered my house without warning, I choked back a sob because the sheer sight of them worried me. Where was he? I started to move away to the corner of the room, lowering my body on the surface of the wood and yanking my phone out. I was crying before I realized it.
I hated this. I hated not knowing. I felt sick, wanting to throw up. I held my stomach. In a way, I was trying to hold myself together.
Eight days since our last texts. He read my message but never replied back. Everything flew into my head, the parties, the dates, the dinners, and it was then when I realized my head knew exactly what was happening but my heart refused to believe it. My fingers glossed across the texts messages, just as my head ached with a new pain that was unrecognizable.
I didn’t understand.
It wasn’t like this was the first time Flynn had been off the map; he had run away so many times that it almost felt normal. He never did anything like this when he was with me—was . Was. Was. The use of the word in the past sent an instant red sign to my chest. A mess . This is a mess. I was a mess. He was a mess. This wasn’t right.
I guess the policeman understood something, because in an instant, he was racing up the sidewalk, pushing the front door open, and bombarding me with questions I had no response to. And that only scared me more because Flynn was someone I thought I knew, but maybe I didn’t. Maybe I never knew. Maybe I created fake promises and fake people in my head to replace the true beings. Or maybe he simply never bothered to show me himself. All these months, I never truly knew him. And that hurt more than the idea of him being gone. Because he always was. Gone, gone, gone—my mind chanted as the policeman snapped his fingers in front of me in an effort to regain my attention, but maybe I was gone too.
“When was the last time you saw 18-year-old Flynn Johnson?” The police guy had an intent look in his eyes, his hand gripping a pen as he held a notebook in his other hand. He sighed.
“Henr—”
I couldn’t look at him as I uttered my next words.
“ I don’t know . A week ago, I think. Maybe.”
“ Maybe ? You’re his girlfriend, correct?”
Girlfriend.
“Um…” I started, my voice drifting off into a mere whisper, and I hugged myself like I was cold, but only, I wasn’t. I was alone. “Yes.” The one word was supposed to roll off my tongue so smoothly, yes, yes, yes, I was his girlfriend, but it didn’t feel like that and that wasn’t right. I should know where he is. I should be there for him. I should understand him. Know him in ways he didn’t. But I didn’t. So I turned my body and started walking towards the front door, but the policeman caught up to me, his fingers gently brushing across the fabric of my tee.
“What’s his house address?” And then, I suddenly placed a hand to my mouth, covering the loud gasp as I hurriedly grabbed my car keys and ran off towards my car, leaving the man at my door with no response. What was happening?
I didn’t understand. I didn’t get anything. I couldn’t tell myself that that was true, it couldn’t be. It doesn’t make sense.
Oh God. My mind went into a whirl and I bit back a series of uncontrollable sobs that I knew would eventually crawl down my cheeks. I ignored my dad, my mom, my sister, and I just ran, and the entire time, I prayed I wasn’t right. He’s not gone, I told myself. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. To me. To us.
And then, in the back of my head, she whispered, there hardly was, and I couldn’t even shake my head. In this state, I knew it wasn’t even safe I was on the road, but I had to get to the barn before the police did. I racked my brain for the address as my fingers dug into the leather material of the steering wheel. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and then my eyes caught the smoke filling the sky behind his house, and it was all I could see.
Suddenly, everything froze.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, but only stared as the blue skies turned into a gray. And then, I was running—running towards the side of his house and forcefully pushing the backyard gate open as tears finally spilled across my lashes. I fell apart, as if my body was no longer in control of my actions. I couldn’t feel anythin g.
I don’t think I really wanted to.
“ Flynn ! Flynn!” I covered my mouth, blocking the smoke as much as I could. And there I saw, in the corner of my eyes, Flynn’s dad’s wheelchair broken in two, and his body laying still beside it, his eyes were open but his skin was pale. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t think about what happened.
I could only think about him.
I tried to race around the barn, figuring out ways to enter. I couldn’t see anything—everything was a dark black—until his curly hair came into view. He was here. I was alone . But he was here.
And then, I was falling to the ground; my trembling fingers snaking around his shoulders as I pulled and pulled him further and further from the burning barn. It was so hot. So dark. But I could still make out the pills surrounding his body.
“You’re making a fucking mistake,” I cried, gripping his left arm as forcefully as I could muster. I sucked in a harsh breath as my nails scratched into his white skin. It felt as if the only air I was breathing in was filled with utter poison; not that I really could breathe in anything.
Only mere seconds before, I couldn’t see his chest rise up and down. Only seconds for me to feel the beat of his heart slow down, until it completely stopped and his body was perfectly and utterly still. No. No. No . I bent down, my fingers winding around his head as I furiously shook him. Over and over and over. I pressed at his stomach, his face, praying for a sound.
And then his eyes snapped open. And then he was begging for breath. His eyes grew as he grabbed my head, pulling me down towards him, but only, it wasn’t him . It didn’t feel like him; his hands pressed against mine, but the touch felt different, felt fake; didn’t look like him, because this boy lying in ashes in front of me, wasn’t my Flynn. He was a stranger.
“Ria,