Novel: "Renegade" Chapter 1

Things to note:

- Chapters 4 & 5 have yet to be edited to match my regular posts. The formatting (text, font, etc.) on these chapters is a bit messy from when my blog received a new design, and fixing them involves rewriting each one. Because of this, they likely won't be changed until I'm ready to overhaul the entire story.

- Current chapters (1-5) will be completely redone when I've finished the story. My writing has changed quite a bit since I first started this project, and some distance from it has shown me just how much of a first draft this thing is.

- Because of the above, I've decided not to post any further chapters until the story is finished (some extra details about this here).

So, as you read, please keep that and the following in mind:

This book is a work in progress. It turned out to be more of a "first draft" than I intended. Until complete, story elements are subject to change. Consider yourselves "beta readers"! ;)
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Temporary cover

Note: This book contains mild language.

Renegade

By Eve Estelle

Description: Elena Belletori, a woman with a grudge against society, fights injustice with a vengeance - but when she is recruited by a like-minded organization, it turns out to be more than she bargained for.

Chapter 1

     "Mom, why are people so mean to each other?"

     "That's just the way people are, Elena."

     I looked at Mother, with the childish innocence of a little girl. "I would never be mean like that."

     Mother gave me a sad smile. "You have a kind heart, my little Lena. But as you grow older, you will find that a kind heart is... difficult to maintain."

     I frowned, unable to understand. "But I don't like being mean. I'm never going to be mean like them, Mother. I promise..."

     "Don't move," I snarled to the man I had pinned against the building wall. I held a knife to his throat. "You stay here, with me, until the cops get here. They'll haul you off, and you never have to see the likes of me again," I told him, my voice authoritative, even mildly threatening. "Assuming you get your act together, that is."

     The man, dark-haired and probably in his early twenties, muttered, "You're a real piece of -"

     "Quiet," I snarled again. "Don't speak. Nothing intelligent could possibly come out of your mouth at the moment." He quieted.

     The man - let's just call him "Perp" - that I was currently holding down had severely beaten a woman who, judging from the blue and yellow Wolverines logo that she had plastered over nearly every inch of her clothing, appeared to be on her way home from a late-night sports event. I don't know the reason why he felt the need to harm her, and I don't particularly care to find out. I despise people who do such things, and I don't let it stand when it happens. Some would call my actions vulgar, but I simply think of them as... regrettably necessary.

     It wasn't long until police sirens could be heard coming down the street and towards the dark alley we stood in. Once I was certain that Perp wouldn't be able to make a run for it, I dropped him and quickly sheathed my knife, preparing to run away from the scene before the police could set eyes on me. Dressed in a fairly suspicious all-black outfit and armed with knives, pepper spray, a gun, and various other small items, I would be just as likely to be taken to prison as the criminal I had detained.

     I ran at a steady pace for about two blocks or so, until finally slowing down to a power walk. I made sure to stay in the darkest areas of the sidewalk, in hopes that the gaze of any human night owls would simply pass over me. It was around twelve in the morning, last I saw, so there shouldn't have been that many folks out - and those who were would be three sheets to the wind and hardly a risk.

     I came to a small intersection and took a sharp left, onto Sistine Avenue, a street that, despite its holy name, was almost completely abandoned. I took another immediate left, and stepped onto the browning lawn of an old, run-down house. I carefully tried to avoid the loose debris that was scattered about the property, and made my way back behind the house and to a small garage that looked no less run-down and in fact seemed like it would be a wonderful place to house a demonic entity or two. Because that's just how life works.

     However, being as uninviting as it is, the garage made for a great place to store certain things that ought to be kept hidden for the time being. My current clothing being one of those things. It was pretty much your average garage, with both a small human door and a larger car door that opened to reveal a decently sized, concrete-floored space. Within this space, there were a few items that the last owner had left behind; these included a couple small bags of assorted tools - many of them had long since rusted, but a few were still usable - as well as a worn desk upon which they sat, and a large, wooden cabinet that was in fairly good condition.

     I began taking my protective apparel off, starting with my gloves, and went to the cabinet. Upon opening it, I noticed my home-made bulletproof vest lying on a shelf above the hangers and proceeded to mentally smack myself. I was supposed to have taken that with me - though, quite honestly, I didn't even know if it worked. It certainly wasn't Kevlar-grade material, but it was the best I could do.

     After removing the rest of my gear, I plucked out my casual work clothing. When I was finished redressing, I closed the cabinet and headed back out of the garage. Hands in my pants pockets to shield them from the chilly night air, I began walking back to the place I was currently staying: My parents' house. Don't give me that look - I actually had a pretty good reason for it. I'm no beggar, mind you.

     It was about a fifteen minute walk from Sistine Avenue to my mother and father's home on Kinsel Road. They had been kind enough to offer me a place to rest my head after my own house was destroyed by flames. Nearly all of my insurance money went into repairs, and it'd taken them over a year and a half to repair the damage done. I don't know the exact details of why it took that long - I had a relatively small home. I never had the courage to ask. They told me that I was good to head back about two months ago, but I've been reluctant to return. Someone I cared for very much had been in that house when it caught fire.

     But on a happier note, I reached the door to my parents' house alive and well. They lived in a smaller, two-story 1890's Folk Victorian home with a history all its own. My parents were like that. They didn't care for shiny, new things - they've always lived relatively simple and preferred homes with a strong sense of history.

     I dug the keys out of my pocket, found the appropriate one, and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, I gently pushed it closed again and turned to head through the living room and into the main-floor guest bedroom. Given the time of night, I nearly jumped out of my skin when my mother greeted me.

     She smiled. "Elena," her tone was one of gentle excitement, and her voice had a bit of an accent to it, "you're home late, tonight."

     "Oh, good morning, Mom," I said. "I had to stay late at work today." I made my way over to one of the tables next to the couch and placed my keys on the surface.

     "You work in a coffee shop," she replied with a small chuckle. "I'm sure you make the best drinks in Rivergate, Michigan, but I don't think they'd make you stay and brew coffee for twelve hours straight." She paused, appearing to think that over. "Would they?"

     I laughed. "No, no. There was a special event going on tonight - live music, that sort of thing." I wasn't lying. Not really. There truly was an event with live music planned for that night at the New Leaf Cafe. I just wasn't in attendance.

     I'd never told my parents what I tended to do after work. I always thought it better that way - at least for the time being. I brewed liquid heaven for a reason - well, two reasons: The New Leaf had simple hours that were flexible and left me time and energy enough to do my part in stopping a few of the uncivilized, thoughtless murderers, thieves, and flippant dolts running around Rivergate. Also because the smell of a coffee house, cafe, whatever you prefer to call it, is something that never gets old.

     "I'm heading to bed, you need anything before I go?" I asked my mother, yawning in the process.

     She shook her head. "You get your rest," she said, pausing to pull me into a quick hug. "See you in the morning - ah, later in the morning."

     I gave her a tired smile. "Love you, too. See you in the morning." I turned and once again headed for the guest room.

     The main floor had your usual areas: Kitchen, living, and dining. But it also had two bedrooms - one off of the living room, which was used for everything but sleeping, and one off of the dining room. I slept there. They'd left that room specifically for guests. Just in case, I guess.

     The second floor, on the other hand, had three rooms: two bedrooms (one could be considered an office with a bed, really), and a spare bathroom. All in all, it was a cozy house, and I was so very thankful that they allowed me to stay for a while.

     I shut the bedroom door and settled onto the guest bed, which I had remade earlier in the day. The room itself was very clean, and contained a lot of neutral colors. The closet was apparently where they stored all of their brightly-colored or obnoxiously-patterned bedding, though. I began to fall asleep almost immediately, but quickly sat myself up back up to get out of the day's less-than-clean clothing. Plopping back down, I closed my eyes and started fading into dreamland.

     Until I heard frightening sound of shattering glass.

Chapter 2 >>