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Fighting Silence is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.
Cover photo by Sara Eirew
Cover Model: Mat Wolf
Cover Design by Ashley Baumann at Ashbee Designs
Edited by Mickey Reed at I’m a Book Shark
Formatting by Stacey Blake at Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
Other Books
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Aly Martinez
The Wrecked and Ruined Series
Changing Course
Stolen Course
Broken Course
Savor Me
“GET OUT OF THE CAR.” The cool, metal tip of a gun pressed against my temple.
“I don’t have any money,” I quickly announced, cautiously lifting my hands in the air.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out of the car!” a large, well-dressed man yelled manically before snatching the door to my truck open.
“Take whatever you want, man,” I said as I stepped out.
“Oh, I plan to. Where the fuck is my money?” He swung the butt of his gun toward my face, but he was too slow. It breezed past me as I ducked to the side.
The forward momentum sent him stumbling, and I made my move before he could recover his balance. I landed a hard fist to his face, but just as I followed it with a right hook, I heard the gun fire.
“Till!” my dad yelled from somewhere in the distance.
He needed to get the fuck out of there. We both did.
“He’s got a gun!” I warned as I scrambled after the man. I had no idea if I’d been shot already, but I knew for certain that I would be if I didn’t get the gun away from him.
I was able to knock him off his feet, but I wasn’t quick enough to keep him from regaining control of the weapon.
“Move one more goddamn inch and I swear I’ll it make your last,” he promised, aiming directly at my head from less than a foot away.
I had no choice but to still.
“Fuck!” he shouted, dabbing his mouth with his thumbs. The blood was pouring from his nose, but he simply wiped it on the back of his sleeve then shoved the gun against my chest. “Walk,” he ordered with a deep snarl, motioning to the dark warehouse.
“No,” I replied firmly. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Take my truck, my wallet, whatever you want.”
“You know what I want, motherfucker? My. Fucking. Money.”
“I don’t have your money!”
“Bullshit!” He grabbed the back of my hair and shoved the gun under my chin. “That bag you stole from Clay Page belonged to me! Just give me the goddamn cash and you walk away without a hole in your fucking head.”
Two simple words sent ice through my veins.
Clay Page.
He was the only reason I was there in the first place. About an hour earlier, he’d called me for a ride home. He’d sounded desperate and offered me twenty bucks. I’d figured he was drunk, but with a gun pressing into my neck, it became blindingly obvious that I wasn’t just at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I’d been set up.
By my own father.
“I didn’t steal anything from him.”
“You don’t have to lie, Till. Just give Frankie the money,” my dad said, limping out of the warehouse. His face was badly beaten, and blood dripped from what appeared to be a gunshot wound to his leg.
My body stiffened at the sight, but so did Frankie’s fist in my hair.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growled at my dad. “You know I don’t have his money!”
He continued toward us until the gun was suddenly removed from my under my chin and leveled on him.
“Don’t come any closer, Clay. I will drop your ass right fucking there.”
Slowly, he stopped and lifted his hands in the air.
With a hard shove, I was pushed forward to join him on the wrong side of the weapon. It was then that I got my first real look at the triggerman.
An unusual dragon tattoo peeked out from under the sleeve of his dress shirt and continued onto the back of his hand. The green monster was