Paradise Fought: Abel Read online

  Paradise Fought: Abel

  L.B. Dunbar

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 2016 Laura Dunbar

  Cover Design – Kari Ayasha – Cover to Cover Design

  Cover Photograph – Eric David Battershell – Eric Battershell Photography

  Cover Model – Chase Bergner – Chisel Chase

  Edits – Karen Hrdlicka – Barren Acres Editing

  Format – Brenda Wright – Formatting Done Wright

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Sensations Collection

  Sound Advice

  Taste Test

  Fragrance Free

  Touch Screen

  Sight Words

  Legendary Rock Stars Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale

  The Truth of Tristan Lyons

  The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance

  Mouth: A Steamy Anthology

  “Paradise Tempted” – prequel to the Paradise Stories

  Paradise Stories

  Paradise Fought: Abel

  Paradise Found: Cain (coming June 2016)

  For those who battle words, not

  fists; and those who fight back, without using their fists.

  "Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead?"

  -Luke 11:11

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Pre-Fight

  Round 1

  Round 2

  Round 3

  Round 4

  Round 5

  Round 6

  Round 7

  Round 8

  Round 9

  Round 10

  Round 11

  Round 12

  Round 13

  Round 14

  Round 15

  Round 16

  Round 17

  Round 18

  Round 19

  Round 20

  Round 21

  Round 22

  Round 23

  Round 24

  Round 25

  Round 26

  Round 27

  Round 28

  Round 29

  Round 30

  Round 31

  Round 32

  Round 33

  Round 34

  Round 35

  Round 36

  Round 37

  Round 38

  Round 39

  Round 40

  Round 41

  Round 42

  Round 43

  Round 44

  Round 45

  Round 46

  Round 47

  Round 48

  Round 49

  Round 50

  Round 51

  Round 52

  Round 53

  Round 54

  Round 55

  Round 56

  Round 57

  Knock Out Thank You

  Connect with LB Dunbar

  Books by LB Dunbar

  About LB Dunbar

  Sneak Peek

  Betta – otherwise known as the Siamese fighting fish – is a warrior being. The iridescent fish is beautiful in its own right; however, males are often more brilliantly colored. Typically put on display in small confines with the intention to highlight the splendor of the fish, the too small space can be unhealthy for such a magnificent creature. The confines are mentally restrictive and physically harmful.

  Considered a labyrinth creature, the fish was forced to make adaptations after climatic changes occurred to its historical environment. It developed the amazing ability to breathe in two worlds at once. It has the skill to gain oxygen from two sources: air and water, two of the four classical elements.

  The betta name comes from a clan of warriors and watching the fish fight became a popular sport in the mid-1800s. Spectators placed bets on the bravery of the combatant fish, not necessarily who would be the victor. However, as dominant creatures, they will fight until the death.

  Solitary creatures, they do not swim in schools but prefer to be alone as soon as possible. The beta, the second, will break off from the alpha, and in this case, prefer to remain independent. Considered unsocial, this mysterious fish will fight males or females. It will even battle itself, if faced with its mirrored image.

  This is the story of one such betta in the form of a man.

  [Winter Break]

  I met a girl in the pouring rain. It seems cliché, and yet it was true. The waves rolled in anger against the Hawaiian sand as I finished my run along the Kaanapali beach. The morning hours were dark, despite the time. The clouds were ready to break any second, and did so, just as I rounded the first building of the complex. I stopped abruptly and walked the remaining feet of the beach-side path, exhaling heavily from the exertion, despite the sudden shower.

  That’s when I saw her.

  She was standing with her arms crossed over her stomach. Her hands tucked into the ends of her sleeves, a hood on her head. I knew from the shapely tan legs, she was a girl. White shorts accentuated a tight ass. I passed her without a care as the rain increased. I purposely came too close to her but thought nothing of her. Removing my earbuds, that’s when I heard her. She was crying.

  As I passed her, I questioned the sound until the unmistakable sound of a sob shook her. I turned back as her hand came up to wipe at her face. The rain was coming down in heavier pelts. Regardless of the warm air, the ocean water spray was cool. I was planning to ignore her. Whatever her problem was, it wasn’t mine. I had my own issues.

  I was here on holiday, conditioning early so as not to be caught by my father. My daily runs were also a much needed escape from his wrath. Since my brother Cain’s possible incarceration, my father’s temper had reached new explosive heights. I was too old for him to take it out on me, besides I was the second son: the lesser one. It wasn’t my fault anyway that Cain was in trouble. It almost never was my fault.

  Her sob sounded above the rolling thunder of waves, crashing on the sand, and made me stop. I turned back to her again and approached slowly. Damsels in distress were not my area of expertise. In fact, girls in general were not something I specialized in. I’d had limited experience, and what I’d had wasn’t particularly memorable.

  “Excuse me. Are you okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to frighten her. We were strangers after all. We were alone on a stormy beach. The rain had increased further and the hard sheets were soaking us both. My sweatshirt was plastered to me with the combination of sweat and raindrops. Her head was still covered by the hood of her sweatshirt, so I wasn’t able to see her face. She waved me off without a response.

  “You seem upset, but it’s really raining. Maybe you should go inside?”

  She didn’t respond again. Her gaze remained focused on the rumbling waves that collided with each other and crashed onto the shore below us. I reached out and touched her upper arm. She flinched, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen pierced me to the core. I recognized her, but I couldn’t place how I knew her. Tears mixed with raindrops on her face. I was stunned into silence. Her liquid eyes were hard. I recognized the pain behind that cold stare.

  I reached for her again to find her sweatshirt was as soaked as mine. Surprisingly, she let me tug her to a cabana. The complex had t
wo large buildings adjoined with a main lobby, several stores, and a restaurant. My father owned his apartment and we were here for the winter break. We were also here avoiding. There were two pools, the outer one being closer to the ocean edge and surrounded presently with empty lounges and cabanas. A double lounger with cushions was huddled under the protection of the canvas overhead, and I led her inside.

  She crawled to the upper edge, tucking up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She was gently shaking, which wasn’t apparent in the torrential rain that originally surrounded us. I slid the overhead piece to cover us further. We were cocooned in our own little protective space, for a moment. I was cautious as I climbed the empty side of the lounger and laid back. I didn’t want her to be afraid of me, but I was afraid to leave her alone.

  “Want to tell me what’s wrong?” I asked quietly. The rain pattered on the canvas over us. The waves argued in the ocean. Yet, silence surrounded us as the sounds of nature roared. I waited.

  She pushed her hood back and blonde hair cascaded around her face. She wiped briskly at her cheeks, and I risked a glance sideways at her. One arm was crossed behind my head as I continued to wait her out.

  “My brother’s dead,” she said. Her tone was cold. I turned abruptly to look at her.

  “I’m so sorry.” I paused a beat. “What happened?”

  “He was killed.” Her voice was bitter.

  “How?”

  Her silence told me she didn’t intend to tell me. I continued to stare at her.

  “Are you here for the holidays?” I tried again.

  Shaking her head, she answered. “My mother. She wanted to get away. She’s…she’s having trouble moving on. She wanted to forget the holidays.”

  I nodded my understanding. That’s why we were here. Avoiding and forgetting there was a holiday that most people celebrated.

  “My brother took care of us. He took care of everything. My mom doesn’t know what to do without him.” She sighed, rubbing her covered hands up and down her legs. Drops of water still rested on her tan skin, and the gooseflesh rose as she only spread the water around with her wet sweatshirt sleeves.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she emphasized softly. Her voice was almost a whisper, excessively sad in tone.

  I don’t know what made me do it, but I reached out to touch her. It wasn’t like I knew women. I wouldn’t make this move typically, but I took courage in the safety of our little cave. I wiped the rain from the side of her face then pushed her loose hair behind her ear. I might have imagined it, but I thought she leaned into my knuckles as they graced her cheek. Then she stilled. I retracted my fingers. She hadn’t looked at me since we entered our protective grotto. I, in turn, studied her profile: slightly pouty lips, a sharp nose, and those bright blue eyes. She looked so familiar.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she asked abruptly. Glancing down at my phone, I spoke.

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “Oh God, I’ve got to go,” she said, pushing herself forward, scooting to the end of the lounger. I sat upward.

  “Wait.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “But…” I didn’t know what to ask, what to say.

  She stopped as she reached the edge of our cave. Turning to face me, her hands touched the top of the canvas. She stared back at me. Blue eyes again pierced me. My heart rate jacked up. I couldn’t lose her, and then she ran. By the time I’d made it out of our hovel, she was gone.

  [Spring Semester]

  “Oh, Momma, not again,” I groaned as I nudged her to roll over. Her body was positioned in a way that her head draped over the edge of the bed. Dirty blonde hair curtained the side of the mattress. Her arm hung so her knuckles dragged on the floor. Her upper body was naked. The trashcan next to the bed reeked. My gag reflex kicked in, and I struggled as I choked back my own vomit, triggered from the smell. I hurried to remove the offensive odor by simply throwing the whole can in the bin in the kitchen. Returning to her room, I found my mom had shifted and lay flat on her back. Her head rolled back and forth on the soiled pillow as I questioned once again, How did my life get like this?

  We’d had it all: a nice house outside of Vegas, a car for each of us, and credit cards. Since Montana’s death, we had nothing. He’d been born Joseph Montana, but everyone knew him as The Mountain. He’d been an unstoppable prizefighter. His strength was in the ring, until one fight it wasn’t. Something had happened. My brother was dead. Along with his death, came the loss of all that we’d known. We had to sell the house to cover debts Joey owed. We got rid of one car to conserve our limited funds. I cut up the credit cards when my mother maxed them out. Our trip to Hawaii had been our last hoorah. I hadn’t known then we didn’t have the money for that trip. Joey had paid for it a year in advance, before his death. My mother refused to give up that final luxury.

  We now lived in a shit small apartment off campus. It was the best I could do, as I couldn’t leave my mom alone, and I was determined to complete my degree. She had to come with me to Santa Clara, and I had to move out of the dorms. It wasn’t ideal at twenty-one years old. I was supposed to be in the prime of my life. The young live to be twenty-one. But my mother was sucking the life out of me, and I had to take the fun only when I could steal it.

  She groaned as her head rolled to the right and pinched her eyebrows over closed eyes.

  “So bright,” her voice croaked. She’d been a beautiful woman. She still was in many ways, but the death of Joey aged her. The drinking was making her hard. The boyfriends were getting worse.

  She moaned again. We didn’t have curtains and the standard plastic blinds did nothing to block out the bright California sunshine. I had already been up for hours. Despite our circumstances, I wanted to look pretty. My blonde hair was curled, my make-up light. I had freshened up some slowly outdated clothes with accessories. My tan would be distracting to the older print dress I wore with a pair of cowboy boots.

  “Momma, I gotta go,” I said, pushing back her wayward hair. Today was the first day of spring semester, and I had to get to campus early. She swiped at the hair herself, while her lips smacked at nothing. She nodded her head in acknowledgement, but I didn’t believe she understood me. Exiting our small place after locking up, I took the yellow VW convertible that remained in my name and headed for campus.

  “Can you check the records again? It has to be paid.”

  The girl in front of me leaned against the counter. Her sweet voice spoke with a twinge of Southern accent. Her arms crossed over the worn wood, hands clutching her elbows as she tried to keep her voice cheerful. It almost sounded like she was flirting with the clerk, who happened to be an older woman, with glasses on some kind of chain and short gray hair. She didn’t appear to be taken by the voice of this girl.

  I was growing impatient. I needed to get to class, but I had to pay the semester bill. For some reason, my dad hadn’t taken care of it, or so the notice stated. Gold card to the rescue: his money advisors would sort it out later. While the clock ticked, my eyes wandered to the girl in front of me. A floral dress flounced over her body but suggested curves. The material draped short over her ass, as she stood on tiptoe in cowboy boots, while she lounged over the counter. Her legs were long and tan. I felt a rise in my jeans and blushed, as if someone had caught me checking her out. I looked left then right to note it was all in my head.

  I was rather indistinguishable. Not many people took notice of me, least of all my family. It started with them, and it trickled over to me being slightly introverted. I was content by myself. I tried to stay out of trouble and not draw attention to myself. I was comfortable in my little glass bowl. Alone.

  “Next?” The woman behind the counter broke into my thoughts.

  “But I’m not done,” the girl squeaked. “There has to be a mistake. Can you check again?”

  “Look, sweetie,” the patronizing woman spoke, “I’ve checked three times for you. There’s no deposit for this semester. You aren�
�t enrolled in any classes. I’m sorry, honey.” Despite the endearments, she didn’t seem apologetic. The girl had one hand in her blonde hair as her elbow rested on the counter. Her body leaned forward as if she was trying to block me out from her view. I was convinced she was embarrassed.

  “Ms. Montgomery, I’m sorry,” she said one more time, then addressed me with a wave of her hand. “Next.”

  Ms. Montgomery. Elma Montgomery? I knew her. She had sat in front of me in freshman English. I’d stared at the back of her head and dreamed of running my hands through those blonde locks, while I imagined her squirming under me. Elma was a walking wet dream for me, and nightly images of her relieved a ton of pent up frustration in my lower region. On the other hand, she had no idea who I was. Assigned to one another in Biology 101 as lab partners, she requested a change. She was sorry later to be paired with the campus heartthrob. According to talk I’d heard; he throbbed her, and then turned out to be too stupid to pass the class. I was the top student in biology that semester.

  I should have recognized that hair, but it seemed a little brighter, almost sun bleached. Tan legs should have given away the hint of a holiday vacation.

  When I stepped forward, she straightened. Defeated, she collected her bag and turned in my direction. That’s when it hit me. The most piercing blues eyes held me frozen. The eyes that haunted my dreams since December were the same eyes as the girl of my wet dreams. Maybe it had been the red rim of tears. Maybe it had been the hard stare of vulnerability. Maybe it was the setting in Hawaii, but Elma Montgomery had been the girl from the beach. I had second guessed those eyes, but as they looked at me now, my doubts were erased.

  She stared back at me only briefly, a look of pain across her face. I held my breath in momentary belief that she would remember me from the Hawaiian beach. Then the moment passed without a trace of recognition.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, as she slung her bag higher over her shoulder, although it was already there. Her hand held the large bag in place for a second, and she took a step left to walk around me.