Taming Savage

Taming Savage RS McKenzie Copyright Copyright © 2023 by RS McKenzie Edited by Meghan Macko All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents Trigger and Content Warnings . Chapter Dedication . Chapter 1. Chapter One 2. Chapter Two 3. Chapter Three 4. Chapter Four 5. Chapter Five 6. Chapter Six 7. Chapter Seven 8. Chapter Eight 9. Chapter Nine 10. Chapter Ten 11. Chapter Eleven 12. Chapter Twelve 13. Chapter Thirteen 14. Chapter Fourteen 15. Chapter Fifteen 16. Chapter Sixteen 17. Chapter Seventeen 18. Chapter Eighteen 19. Chapter Nineteen 20. Chapter Twenty 21. Chapter Twenty-One 22. Chapter Twenty-Two 23. Chapter Twenty-Three 24. Epilogue 25. Chapter 25 26. Chapter 26 27. Chapter 27 Afterword Trigger and Content Warnings Discussion of past parental and animal death that happens off page, on-page torture and violence, on-page murder, sale of drugs and weapons and dubcon. Explicit sexual content not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen. Dedication This book is dedicated to you, dear reader. You are the reason I continue on this author journey. Thank you. Chapter One Abel My brother never listens to me, though I wish he would. Instead of him doing as I ask and not going out in this horrible storm to steal from someone’s house, he spouts some shit about him having to work to take care of me. I’m twenty-two, so I shouldn’t be a burden to him anymore. I’ve told him plenty of times I would get a job to help with bills, but he keeps telling me to focus on school so I can get a well-paying job as a software developer and pay him back for all he’s done for me. A sentiment I don’t like, but I understand. I know he blames me for our parents’ death. Why wouldn’t he? They were bringing me home from soccer practice when the accident happened. I heard him say once to one of his friends had I not been playing soccer, they wouldn’t have been out during one of the worst flash floods in our county and he wouldn’t have been stuck with me. It hurts because I know he’s right. He was already grown and had a small apartment across town when they died. He was selling coke as his primary source of income, breaking and entering on the side just for shits and gigs. But he had to give up selling drugs when he got saddled with me. He had to get a nine-to-five job that could be verified and social workers had to check his place randomly to make sure it was a safe living environment. Something else he blames me for because, according to him, “selling coke brought in the big bucks.” Cris is smart. Like our mother and father were. He can do whatever he wants to do. I know he had it hard having to take care of an eight-year-old when he was barely an adult himself. That’s a full-time job on its own. I wish he could have found time to go to a community college or something while I was in school, so he would have more options for work, something less dangerous. Any option would be better than the life of crime he’s rocking now. Anything to keep him out of prison, or worse, the grave. The thought of something happening to him scares me more than I can say. Pulling my mind from those thoughts, I look up at him, watching him pack his bag while I sit on the couch with my philosophy book open. I’m in my last semester of college and I saved philosophy for last because philosophy sucks. Sighing, I shut the book and pull my legs closer to me. Cris glances at me in disgust, lips curled up when he sees my pajamas. How I dress has been a point of contention. The purple camisole pajama set is one hundred percent me, but Cris hates when I wear stuff like this, especially when his friends are over. Apparently it’s not manly. Whatever. “Cris, it’s storming out. Can’t you wait until the weather clears?” Although I don’t think my brother likes me, I love him. I would hate for him to go like our parents. Scoffing, he zips his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I can’t wait. I have to get this money now. Maybe if you got a job, I wouldn’t have to work so hard.” Pulling myself off the couch, I put my robe on and walk over to him. I stand in front of him and look up into his eyes. I’m not sure where I got my height from. Both my mother and father were over six feet. Cris is six two. I come in at a whopping five three. We also look nothing alike. The only thing we have in common is our light brown skin. Cris’s long, straight brown hair is pulled into a bun, some of it escaping his hair tie. His dark brown eyes are intent on what he’s doing—getting a bag together so he can break into an unsuspecting person’s home. “Cris, please. Just stay until the rain lets up. You know I hate being alone when it storms.” This really makes him scoff and turn his lips up at me. “Stop being such a bitch. Buck the fuck up and chill out. The rain isn’t going to come in here and get you.” He pushes past me and heads for the door. No bye, see you later, fuck you—nothing. Just lets the door slam behind him. Sinking back on the couch, I pull my legs back to my chest. Thunder rumbles and I jump, the noise loud in our small apartment. The tears start almost immediately. The panic attack can’t be held at bay and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I ran out of my