Crash & Burn.pdf

Prologue

My palm was sweaty and my knuckles were white as I gripped my cell phone in my hand, pulling at

my hair with the other. Why the fuck isn't he answering his damn phone?

Have the symptoms already taken over? Has he finally reached his breaking point?

I listened as the ringing droned on in my ear, going straight to voicemail each time. I'd already left

countless messages, and I needed a new tactic. I had to get to him; he shouldn't be alone at a time

like this. I remembered all too well how it was for me when I'd gone through the same hell, and I

would never have wished that upon anyone.

My stomach clenched and my heart dropped as the tears that had built in my eyes began to fall. I

would never forgive myself–or them–if something happened before I could reach him. I had one

last option, and as desperately as I didn't want to use it, I had no other choice. I hurriedly dialed the

number into my phone and prayed that they'd pick up.

"Calling to bitch me out more, Bells?"

"Cut the shit, Emmett. I need to know where the fucking spare key is."

"Oh, what's the matter? My wonderful brother shutting you out now?"

Just the sound of his obnoxious, hateful voice made my blood boil. "I swear to God, one day you're

going to regret everything you've done and said about him, and you'll be begging him for

forgiveness. And to answer your question, no, he's not shutting me out. He wouldn't do that, not to

me. Something's wrong, and if I don't get to him I'm going to lose my fucking mind," I sobbed, my

voice panicked and stomach sick.

There was a long pause of silence before the dick spoke again. "I don't know why you care so damn

much about him. Why the fuck are you defending him all the time, knowing what he's done to this

family?"

" God dammit, Emmett! I don't have time for your bullshit! Do you know where the spare key is or

not?" I shouted into the phone, having had enough.

"I have the key, Bella, but I don't think you should go alone. If he's under the influence…"

"I am going alone, Emmett. None of you fucking deserve to be anywhere near him, and besides, I

know how to handle him if he is; I've fucking been where he is right now. And he won't hurt me; he

has more control than any of you give him credit for, and that's not the kind of person he is.

Anyway, I'm on my way. When I get there, you'll give me the key and let me go. I don't want any

shit."

Without giving him a chance to say anything back, I snapped my phone shut and grabbed my keys

from the bar before racing outside to my car.

As I sped toward Emmett and Rose's, I continuously dialed his number, hoping to God that he

would answer.

But he never did.

Each time I heard his soft voice through his voice mail, my tears fell harder and the fear settled deep

in my stomach, eventually rising to my throat.

When I pulled up to their house, I jumped out and found Emmett waiting on his front porch, arms

crossed over his chest. "Why didn't you ever mention that you were an addict?"

I wanted to fucking hit him. I'd had my quota of Emmett's stupid questions and the concerned faces

of the rest of the Cullen clan; I couldn't stand anymore. "Do you really think that I would volunteer

that information after seeing how you've treated him because of his addiction? None of you have

given him the fucking time of day. None of you have even tried to understand what he's going

through, and I know for a fucking fact that none of you ever asked for his side of the story about

what happened two years ago. So back the FUCK off ," I spat at him as I snatched the key from his

hand and ran back to my car.

The rain pelted against my windshield as I pushed my old Ford pickup at a furious pace through

Forks. It felt like I was in a race against time. I had to reach him before he gave in and had another

fix. The angry words his family had spewed at him over dinner could have very easily ruined all the

progress he'd made in the past day or so. It had been his decision to try and get clean, but that was

when he assumed he'd have their support. The withdrawal symptoms had already begun to set in

before dinner, and I was fairly certain without seeing him that they had multiplied in intensity since

his abrupt departure from his parents' house.

Nearly forty-five minutes had passed before I finally pulled into his drive. All the lights were out,

but my heart faltered at seeing his Volvo haphazardly parked. At least I knew he was here. I jumped

out of my pick-up, grabbing my purse and the key Emmett had given me.

My body was one big ball of nerves as I approached the front door, not knowing what to expect. I

pounded my fists against the door, screaming his name. Getting no response, I took in a deep breath,

entered the key into the lock and felt my heart freeze, not sure what I would find on the other side of

the door.

I very slowly eased the door open, and opened my eyes to his darkened entryway. There wasn't a

sound to be heard and that alone frightened me. I kept walking, cautiously looking over my

shoulder and around every corner so as not to startle him when I found him. The soles of my shoes

squeaked against the smooth marble tiles of the floor as I stepped into the kitchen. I had yet to see

anything out of the ordinary. My heart was beating at a fast pace, and I could feel my body

trembling with nerves as the adrenaline coursed through my body.

After finding nothing in the kitchen, I made my way into the living room and as I rounded the side

of the couch, my heart slammed into my throat. There, on the floor next to his crumpled body, was

his 9mm. His hair, skin, and shirt were completely saturated in a cold sweat, and he was breathing

unevenly. I ran to the edge of his coffee table, falling to my knees beside him. But as I focused on

the weapon beside him, there was a sickening feeling growing in my stomach. What had he been

about to do with that gun?

I was brought out of my panicked thoughts as his muscles spasmed violently, causing him to let out

an anguished cry and curl up into a fetal position. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and hooked my

arms under his armpits, pulling him with all my might into my lap. He groaned and started to

weakly fight against me until I placed my lips against his dampened forehead and ran a hand

through his hair.

"Shh, Edward…I'm here," I cried. "You're going to be okay."

"B-Bella, you s-shouldn't b-be here. Y-you d-don't need to see m-me like th-this," he stuttered with

a strained voice that sounded alien to the velvety softness I was used to hearing.

"I'm not leaving you, dammit," I told him, clutching him tightly to me. I felt him fist his hands in

my shirt and struggle to pull himself closer. I watched as his eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and

glazed with the excruciating pain he was under as he looked at me.

Tears fell heavily down his cheeks as he struggled to swallow, his eyes pleading with me. "Help me,

please," he cried out hoarsely.

"I will, I promise," I whispered, brushing a few strands of damp hair from his forehead. "I need to

know, Edward…what were you doing with that gun?"

CHAPER 1

BPOV

"Bells, are you sure you're doing the right thing?" Charlie hollered at me from across the house.

I ignored his question. There was no need for asking, as he knew better than anybody why I was

moving the fuck out of this town. Charlie was my father and Chief of Police of Lake Arthur,

Louisiana, a small town of just less than three thousand people. There were no secrets in this town;

you couldn't so much as break wind without everybody and their grandmother hearing about it. And

I'm not exaggerating-just ask Old Man Waylon why his old lady forced him to touch up all the paint

on their white picket fence.

Let's save Old Man Waylon and his tale for later and move on with my oh-so-interesting life.

Right, I need a fucking drink.

Again, moving on!

After graduating from high school, I began working as Charlie's assistant at the police station, even

though it wasn't common for someone in his position to have one. I helped him with his paperwork

and handled all of his personal phone calls. I also rode with him on a few minor house calls. I'll just

put it out there in simple terms; I was his fucking secretary. Dammit, he was lazy as hell, okay? He

only had me handling those things so that he could plop his ass on the couch and watch sports. The

job paid me some, but not enough, which was why I also worked at Cowboys, a popular bar an hour

away in Lake Charles. I worked to pay my way through my culinary classes at McNeese University,

also in Lake Charles. Outside of Charlie, Billy, and Jake, I didn't really have any other friends, so

naturally rather than staying in the dorms on campus, I traveled early in the morning to my classes

and drove back home to Lake Arthur at nearly three every morning once my shift at Cowboys had

ended. My life literally fucking sucked for a good four years. I ran on little to no sleep. But it paid

off as I eventually opened my own bakery in the town square.

Anyway, most of the locals had lived here all their lives. Charlie and I, on the other hand,

hadn't...obviously. We moved here from Forks, Washington after Charlie was offered a position by

his friend, Billy Black. He and my bat shit crazy mother, Renee, had just divorced a few months

prior. After having reached wits' end with her and her gold-digging ways, we packed up shop and

left. Granted, we'd lived here for the past fifteen years, but that didn't mean that I liked it any more

than I did when we first arrived.

Okay, so that's not true. I loved it here. I loved the food, the people were genuinely nice, and Lord,

the parties around here were insane. Let me tell you, there's nothing like a couple of Cajuns drunk

off their asses. Give 'em a few beers, turn on the zydeco music and watch the fun begin! But the

thing I loved most here was the land. Yeah, imagine the look on Charlie's face when I told him that I

found solitude while I fished off of the Lacassine Reservoir. He'd looked at me both with pride and

confusion, like I'd grown a second head. Something about it was just calming for me; don't judge

me. I could spend forever outdoors, which was one reason why I was going to fucking miss this hell

hole so much.

What made me start referring to it as a hell hole you ask? Well, that all started two years ago when

Billy's son, Jacob, and I began dating. Everything started out great, but I quickly learned about the

secret life Jake led behind his father's back. A life that even I wasn't privy to through our fifteen

years of knowing one another, but once I was introduced, it wasn't long before I wished I'd never

met him. Our relationship was sick, twisted, and completely unhealthy. Sure, I'd loved him at one

point, but as with everything else in my life, it went to shit quickly. The only problem was that this

time, I got sucked into the dark side of things and nearly lost my fucking life in the process.

See, it turned out that Jake was the go-to drug dealer in Jeff Davis Parish. There wasn't anything out

there that he didn't have access to, and his father being on with the police department didn't hurt; if

anything, it made it easier for him. Most of what he sold, he managed to steal from the evidence

room. The bad part was that Jake had become a genius at forging evidence, pinning it to another

unsuspecting local, or sometimes, one of the police department's own. I had never felt right about

any of what I had done while I was with Jake, but I was too afraid of what would happen to me if

we ever went our separate ways. That, and I loved him too much. Or at least, I thought I did.

I went from being daddy's little girl and owning a successful bakery on Main Street to being a full-

fledged drug addict. I'd made the mistake of trying heroin one night after Jake had promised me that

he'd never make me do it again. At the time, I was so in love with him, he could have asked me to

jump off of a fucking bridge and I'd have probably done it. Within a month's time, I needed a fix of

heroin at least three times a day. I hated myself during that time of my life. I lost my bakery due to

my irresponsible handling of the finances. I had begun dipping into the account I'd set up for my

bakery to pay for my drugs. One would think that being the girlfriend of a drug lord would entitle

me to certain privileges...Fuck no, not with Jake.

I'd literally thrown my dream away for a thirty minute high. I was nearly unrecognizable. My

normal weight of a hundred and fifteen pounds dropped to a startling ninety pounds. My face

hollowed out and literally looked skeletal, as did the rest of my body. My skin, which had always

been healthy, became splotchy and marred with blemishes, and my teeth began to suffer.

Thankfully, I'd managed to get myself off of the drug before my teeth began breaking from the

effects of the drug use and I was able to get what problems I did have fixed. I knew that I'd fucked

my life over and all of the dreams I'd ever had. That's when my feelings for Jake began to dwindle. I

knew I couldn't put all of the blame on him, but he never should have pressured me into trying the

drugs, knowing how powerful and highly addicting they were.

In a drug deal gone sour four months ago, Jake was shot to death in the old warehouse out past the

boardwalk where he had conducted most of his dealings. All of his boys that usually did the dirty

work for him–Sam, Quil, Embry, and Paul–had turned against him in favor of the new buyer,

Laurent Plaxton. I'd never met the man, but I'd heard of him from Charlie. Apparently, they'd been

searching for the guy for a while. Laurent didn't know about me, at least as far as we knew he didn't,

but Jake's guys did and that left a horrible feeling in my gut. I never got along with Paul, as he was

one of the world's biggest assholes. He was a womanizer and a beater. I saw many battered women

leave him. I never turned him in because had I have done that I knew Jake and the boys would have

nailed me to the wall. I also made the mistake of confronting Paul once. I told him that I knew he

was gunning to take over Jake's position in the drug ring around Jeff Davis Parish. Of course, he ran

and told Jake about it. Needless to say, Jake reamed me for a good couple of hours about my

ridiculous accusations. Those accusations turned out not to be so ridiculous after all. From what I

heard, Paul was now Laurent's right hand man.

Charlie put me up in a safe house for a while, but the nightmares and grief over Jake's death were

too much. I became so paranoid that I stole one of the guns from Charlie's gun safe at home just so I

would have something to protect myself, should anything happen. I wasn't sleeping, and, when it

came to Charlie's attention that I was going through withdrawals from heroin, he sent me off to a

rehabilitation center in Los Angeles. It had taken me a little over two months to get myself back to a

place where I felt I could move on with my life, leaving Jake and the hell he had brought to it

behind me. Getting clean was a long, hard process, but I was happier than I'd been in years. I wasn't

naïve enough to believe that two months was all it would take before I'd be able to leave my

addiction behind forever. Every day was a struggle. The urge to fall back and relapse would always

be there, only now I knew how to fight the urges off and had ways of distracting myself from such

thoughts when they surfaced: such as playing the guitar and sketching. I'd dabbled at painting for a

while, but after realizing my artwork was the equivalent to that of a three year old child, I gave it

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