Delinquent Demons Read online

  Delinquent Demons

  Copyright © 2020 K Webster

  Cover Design: Covers by Christian

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About This Book

  Dedication

  Welcome to Penitentiary Paranormal Prison Collection

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  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

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About Author K Webster

  Books by K Webster

  I’ve been wrongfully accused.

  Sure, everyone sent to prison says that.

  It’s true, though.

  I’m not who they say I am.

  Dark. Evil. An abomination. The worst of the worst.

  They sent me to the deepest, most awful catacombs of Nightmare Penitentiary. It’s where they put all their secrets they don’t want anyone in the world—both human and paranormal—to know about. I’m left to be forgotten and waste away until the day I die.

  And I’m not alone.

  I’m there with others. Others who are worse than me.

  Terrifying. Horrible. Monsters.

  Four demons in particular who seem to wake from their evil slumber the moment I enter their presence.

  They want me.

  All four of them.

  I’m not sure what they plan on doing once they get their hands on me.

  But one thing’s for sure…

  It won’t be good.

  To Mr. Webster and Marilyn Manson—my two favorite demons.

  WELCOME TO PENITENTIARY PARANORMAL PRISON COLLECTION

  Siren Condemned by C.R. Jane and Mila Young

  Delinquent Demons by K Webster

  Conveniently Convicted by Ivy Asher and Raven Kennedy

  Noir Reformatory by Lexi C. Foss and J.R. Thorn

  Blindly Indicted by Katie May

  Wraith Captive by Lacey Carter Andersen

  Stolen Song by Autumn Reed and Ripley Proserpina

  Prison Princess by CoraLee June and Rebecca Royce

  Succubus Chained by Heather Long

  DISCOVER THE FULL COLLECTION HERE.

  Charis

  When Grandma finds out I tattooed my tits, she’s going to lose her shit.

  She won’t find out.

  This is okay.

  We’re okay.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Ribb, my best friend, whispers.

  He, of all people, knows what a psycho Grandma can be. She’s not your typical grandma. Sure, she wears velour tracksuits, coupons, and watches Wheel of Fortune like it’s her job, but she’s also a witch. At least that’s what I used to tell the neighbor kids to scare them away when I was a kid. Maybe not a witch, but she’s definitely a bitch with a penchant for making strange soups with stuff like quinoa and seaweed—I mean, are those really even edible?—and burns a myriad of different plants to “cleanse the home of evil.”

  Evidence suggests she could be a witch, or it could be that Grandma watches too much YouTube.

  “I’m positive,” I tell him, nudging him with my shoulder. “I’ve lost it twice and that stupid guy from apartment twelve tried to steal it.”

  Ribb lets out an exaggerated sigh. “But is it even sanitary?”

  This comes from the guy who sometimes licks my face for the fun of it.

  “Grandma says the medallion isn’t toxic. I asked.”

  “She said it just like that? That it isn’t toxic?”

  “Maybe not exactly. I asked her what would happen if I swallowed it.”

  He lets out one of his throaty laughs that sounds like a frog croaking, hence the nickname Ribb as in ribbit. His real name is Thomas Jayden Eisenhower IV, which is a total mouthful and doesn’t fit my goofy bestie. Ribb fits. He’s skinny and so tall he towers over my five-foot-nine frame. When we go swimming at our apartment pool and his shirt is off, you can see his ribs too.

  Definitely not an Eisenhower.

  Just Ribb.

  “What did she say?” he asks once he recovers from his laughter.

  “She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not doin’ the Heimlich if you swallow that big ass coin. If you do manage to swallow it, you won’t die from lead poisonin’, but you’ll die from bowel obstruction. You’re blond, girl, but not that blond.’”

  “Oh, Grandma,” Ribb says with a grin, “always has such a way with words.”

  “So it’s safe.” I shrug my shoulders and point to another picture in the book. “What about this one?”

  “A dagger through a heart? Super cliché, Char.”

  “I could add wings. Wings are cool.”

  “Like bat wings?”

  I smack his thigh. “No, dummy, angel wings.”

  “I think you’d do better adding horns and a tail.” He snorts out a laugh. “Maybe add in some fire…oh, and claws. Definitely claws.”

  “Asshole,” I grumble. “I’m angelic.”

  “In what world? Not this one.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Nah, you love me.”

  I flip the page on the book and sneak a peek at Ribb. In another life, maybe I’d be attracted to him. Some days, I try. I really do. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him besides being a skinny beanpole. He’s cute and funny and always there for me. I know one day he’ll be a good boyfriend to some lucky girl. And I’ll be the third wheel.

  Tears prickle my eyes. Not because I’m sad about tagging along on my best friend’s future dates. No, the usual heaviness that seems to always sit on my shoulders feels unbearable when I see a tattoo picture with the word “mother” on it.

  Momma.

  God, I miss her.

  So bad.

  I quickly flip the page, blinking away my tears. Ribb, always in tune with my emotions, gives me a side hug, leaning his head on my shoulder.

  She’s been gone a year, but it feels like yesterday. It was her heart, Grandma said. A literal broken heart. Small hole that led to bigger problems. But I think it was more of a figurative broken heart that killed Momma. Ever since I can remember, she’s pined over my dad. He’s gone. That’s all she ever offered me. At first, I took it that he died, but as I grew older, I wondered if he left us. If I ever probed her on the subject, she would burst into tears and I would end up soothing her until she smiled again.

  Momma was perfect.

  An angel in every sense of the word.

&
nbsp; She was a teacher at the local elementary school and the kids loved her. Never had a bad thing to say about anyone. How someone could love her but leave her is beyond me. Impossible. Dad is most definitely dead. Or kidnapped.

  Oh my God.

  What if someone took him?

  My skin burns hot with anger. It’s an angle I never considered before, but it does make sense. Who kidnaps a nice man from the South but leaves behind the loving pregnant woman? The whole thing stinks.

  What if he has another family? A real family? What if Momma was the “other” woman?

  “You’re doing it again,” Ribb says, a warning in his tone.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Obsessing over your dad.”

  “I am not,” I huff, hating how he can always read me. “Fine. I am. How can you tell?”

  “I just can. Bestie sixth sense.”

  I peel my gaze from the book to look at Ribb. “Why hasn’t DNA Root Finder mailed me my results? I took the DNA test and mailed it two months ago. It was supposed to send me my packet after four weeks.”

  “This isn’t CSI, so you won’t get your results within the hour and tied up prettily with a bow,” Ribb jokes. “Maybe they’re backlogged.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “Char, my adorable but mostly grumpy friend, you think everything is weird. It’s what makes you who you are. A skeptic by nature. For being a valued virgin in a world full of hoochies and manwhores, you’re overly cynical as though you’ve lived a million experiences to make you so jaded.”

  “Um, thanks?”

  “No,” he says with a sigh. “I’m saying you need to lighten up and stop thinking the world is out to get you.”

  “How do you know they’re not coming to get me?”

  “Because I just do. You’re a typical college freshman barely able to pass her classes in order to keep her grant money. The only people coming for you is the bursar’s office to put you on academic probation. Or maybe your grandma with her sage once she sees your titty tattoo.”

  I playfully shove at him. “You’re an ass.”

  “I’ve been called worse. Mostly by you.”

  “Charis Lucine?” a deep voice calls out. “You ready?”

  Ready as I’ll ever be.

  I feel naked without my medallion I always wear on a thick piece of leather around my neck. Knowing it’s the only thing I have of my father’s, I’ve grown accustomed to having it sitting on my chest over my heart right between my breasts. Since I was a child, I’ve worn my medallion. Only recently have I nearly lost it for good. It was enough to scare me. The medallion can be taken from me, but not for long. Soon I’ll have it permanently inked into my skin, so I’ll always have my dad with me.

  Even if he’s dead.

  Even if he has a secret family he loves more.

  Even if bad guys took him for unknown reasons.

  He’s still my dad and I feel connected to him. Momma would always smile anytime she’d see the medallion, which made me smile too. Now that she’s gone, I need to do this. And just like that, an image forms in my mind. It’s not cliché or lame like the artwork in the tattoo sample book. It’s unique and a perfect representation of both my parents.

  “I’m Bake,” the man with face tattoos and a burly beard says to me. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, princess.”

  I roll my eyes. Ew. He’s one of those old guys who gets a chub anytime a young girl comes in wanting titty tattoos. Too late to turn back now.

  “I’m Charis, not princess.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t mean to upset you. Just being friendly.”

  Guilt surges up inside me as I follow him down the hallway to a room. Ribb is on my heels, texting whoever it is Ribb texts when he’s not texting me. I can’t help it. I’m cynical as Ribb says. I just always feel like something is off. In every aspect of my life. Not quite right. Not clear. Vague and ambiguous. Momma used to always call me philosophical. I’m simply trying to figure out why I feel as though I live in a cloud that hides the rest of the world from me.

  “Right there in the chair, Charis the non-princess. Take your shirt and bra off. Lie back.”

  “We’re going to talk about my design request before or after I get half-naked, perv?” I demand, my brow arched high.

  He barks out a laugh. “Feisty girl. I thought we’d figure it out along the way. Together.”

  “Does that pickup line work with all the women?” I shake my head and make eye contact with Ribb. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Sit down,” Bake says, his voice taking on an alluring lull that makes me dizzy. “I know what you want.”

  I cock my head. “You do?”

  “The symbol that was on the medallion?”

  “Yeah,” I utter in disbelief.

  “And feathers all around it. Some fluttering down. It reminds you of your mother.”

  She collected all kinds of feathers and made art with them. It was her thing.

  “Exactly.” I glance over at Ribb and he’s no longer staring at his phone but straight ahead in one of his goofy trances he gets when his mind is on twelve things at once. “You can tattoo the gold into my skin?”

  “I can.”

  “Will I die from tetanus or lead poisoning or radiation or something?”

  “You’re more likely to get run over by a car in the parking lot.”

  “If you get pervy, I’ll rip your nose ring out,” I threaten.

  “I would never touch you in a way you didn’t want.” His features are serious enough I believe him. “Besides, you’ve already had the medallion melted down, so it would be a waste if we didn’t get that converted into some kickass art on your chest. Now let me do what I’m good at.”

  I glance over at Ribb again and he’s back to the here and now with us. His playful expression is gone as he watches me with narrowed eyes.

  “Look away,” I grumble.

  His green eyes flash with an emotion I’ve never seen from him. He finally peels his stare from me to look back down at his phone. With a sigh, I tug off my Marilyn Manson T-shirt, tossing it onto a chair. A flitter of unease shoots up my spine and makes the continuous ache between my shoulder blades hurt worse than usual. College is going to kill me from stress. That is, if I don’t accidentally kill myself first by metal poisoning.

  I unhook my black bra before tossing it onto the chair. Maybe I’m a virgin, but I’m no angel. I’ve gone to second base with a guy. Nick from my old high school and I went out on a few dates. We made out and he stuck his hand up my shirt. He’d managed to get it and my bra off my body before I panicked, cutting the date short.

  Once I settle on the chair and lean back, I peek at Bake. He’s busy setting up his station. When I look over at Ribb, he’s staring blatantly at my chest. His erection is obvious in his jeans, shocking the hell out of me.

  “Ribb,” I chastise. “What’s your deal?”

  He shakes away his daze and his cheeks blaze crimson. “Sorry.”

  “Can you go get us Starbucks?” I force a smile. I want to do this alone. “Please. I need caffeine.”

  “Black,” he says with a sheepish grin, “extra shot of espresso.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaves and Bake raises a brow. “He likes you.”

  “Shut up,” I grumble. “He does not.”

  “The kid was practically salivating over your tits. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice tits and I’m thankful they’re legal tits, but they’re not worth losing your life over.”

  I squint my eyes at him. “What?”

  “What?”

  “You said…”

  “I said lie back and relax.”

  “Oh.”

  He turns his back to me so he can prep his tattoo gun. I watch as he adds the liquified metal to the ink. I’m transfixed by how the gold swirls with the black, giving it an orangey look.

  “This will be hot,” he warns. “Like I could get fired and sued for doing this with just anyone.”

/>   “I’m just anyone.”

  “Let’s hope you can handle it.”

  He brings his gloved hand to my breast, openly groping it. I’m shocked by his touch but can’t find the words in me to tell him no. He’s old and trashy, yet his hand on me sends curls of lust dancing in my belly.

  “I’m going to make it big. Collarbone to belly button. Ribs to ribs. And everything in between.”

  “My nipples?” I rasp out.

  Grandma is going to skin me alive for this.

  “They’re too pure and pretty to tarnish.”

  Creep. God, he is such a creep. Too late to back out now.

  I’m nervous until the tattoo gun needle hits my flesh. It burns into my flesh in an excruciating painful way that seems to cut through my never ending sad fog. The weight that always crushes me down each day lightens. Everything in my line of sight grows sharper and brighter. The scent of my skin burning floods my nostrils and I can taste the remnants of my coffee from earlier as though I just took a sip.

  “Told you the metal was hot,” Bake says, “but you can handle a little heat.”

  The pain grows so overwhelming that I get dizzy. A few times I must pass out because everything goes black and then the bright colors are assaulting me again. Ribb still hasn’t come back, which worries me. I’m not sure how many hours have passed, but it feels late. I peek down at Bake’s work and I’m shocked at how huge this piece is. It’s beautiful and seems to shimmer from the gold. He perfectly tattooed the medallion on—how he remembers each detail is beyond me. The feathers that are coming out from behind the medallion are so detailed and 3D looking.

  I black out again.

  This time, when I wake, I’m cold. My black skinny jeans and silver Doc Martens boots are missing. I’m in nothing but my black knee-high socks and panties. The satin has been pulled down, almost revealing my pussy, as Bake tattoos me lower than he originally stated. Fire burns through me at his touch.

  I don’t want him touching my bare thigh, yet when he does, I shiver with need.

  He’s gross.

  Why am I so turned on by this?