Kobe, Bad Blood (Blood Roses Book 1) Read online

  Kobe, Bad Blood

  Blood Roses

  Danielle Norman

  Copyright © 2021 by Danielle Norman

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from either the author and or the above named publisher of this book with the exception for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

  Danielle Norman® and Iron Orchids® are registered Trademarks.

  It is your responsibility to know the law: 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, 112 Stat. 2860

  Contents

  1. Kobe

  2. Kobe

  3. Easton

  4. Kobe

  5. Kobe

  6. Easton

  7. Kobe

  8. Easton

  9. Kobe

  10. Kobe

  11. Easton

  12. Kobe

  13. Kobe

  14. Easton

  15. Kobe

  16. Kobe

  17. Kobe

  18. Easton

  19. Kobe

  20. Easton

  21. Kobe

  Sneak Peek—Adeline, Getting Even

  Find Me

  Binge Read Me

  Box Set Madness

  Give Me My Audio!

  A Word From Danielle

  Meet Danielle

  Also By Danielle

  Special Thanks

  Kobe, Bad Blood

  Life was on auto, get up, go to work, then go home…alone.

  But deep down a fire burned inside, each flame, each spark was fueled by one thing—revenge.

  I needed justice for my brother.

  I had it all figured out.

  Infiltrate the gang responsible for his death.

  Bring the killer to his knees.

  I just never planned on Easton Crandall having the same plan as me.

  My secret was his secret.

  And before this was all over…

  My body was his body.

  To Elizabeth, my first TikTok troll.

  —Bitch, you need to get laid.

  “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

  — C. S. Lewis

  Kobe

  “Motorcycles are like boyfriends, if it isn’t yours, don’t touch it,” I shouted as I walked into church. Not like church-church with a preacher and a pulpit but church as in where we, The Blood Roses, congregated.

  “What’s got you so pissed off?” Ridley asked as she took her seat and I slid in on the left of her.

  “I ran into 7-11 to get an Icee, and when I came out, some dumbass was holding his kid up on my bike while the wife took a photo.”

  “You’re shitting me?”

  “Wish I was.”

  “What’d you do?” Ridley asked.

  “I walked out with my hand on my on my belly accentuating the fact that underneath my shirt was a 357.” I shook my head. “Really, what the fuck happened to common sense. If it isn’t yours don’t touch it. It’s no different than coming out and finding someone in your car.”

  Sage, our sergeant-at-arms, sat across from me. “I can’t believe that someone would put their kid on your motorcycle.”

  “Common sense is generally in short supply.” Ridley grinned before glancing around as everyone else joined us. “Before we let our Wednesday night festivities begin, let’s get our treasurer’s report.”

  Astrid went over the accounts from Kinky, the tattoo parlor that the club owned, and then any bills that we were paying.

  “Any new business?” Ridley asked.

  When no one answered, Ridley called the meeting adjourned and Wednesday night girls’ night was officially started. This was their weekly routine, mainly since Wednesday was the only day that Kinky was closed.

  I moved myself to the kitchen island where Sage had set out shot glasses and was pouring Amaretto, Kahlùa, and Bailey’s.

  “On three. One, two, three.” Keeping my hands behind my back, I bent forward, held the shot glass between my teeth, tilted my head back, and swallowed.

  “Damn.” Ridley sighed then leaned across the counter and gave me a high-five. “I probably should be high-fiving Easton instead,” Ridley said referring to my boyfriend.

  “Kobe…” Sage hemmed and hawed.

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t talk about your brother a lot, what happened?” Sage finally got the question out.

  “It’s a long story. It is how I found out who killed my brother, reconnected with Easton, and it’s also how Ridley and I became friends.”

  “Well, we have all night,” Sage said.

  Ridley leaned forward and squeezed my hand for encouragement. She of all people knew how hard it was for me to talk about my brother, even now after all these years had passed.

  I thought about it for a minute, then began, “It all started eleven years ago . . .”

  Kobe

  Eleven years ago . . .

  “No, I didn’t mean duck,” I yelled at my phone as I replied to a text and stuffed part of a bagel into my mouth at the same time.

  I glanced over my shoulder to the clock on the microwave and wondered for the fifth time where my brother, Jared was.

  I choked on a piece of bagel when my phone rang. My screen read unknown number, so I clicked the ignore button. Telemarketers, God I hated those calls with a passion—although, they did provide entertainment at times. I smiled at the thought of the time I answered the phone in a hushed whisper and said, “It’s done, she’s dead, leave my money in the normal spot.” Of course, I totally ruined my charade by laughing.

  I continued playing with my phone, stopping at a video that looked mildly interesting. My phone dinged. The caller had left a message. I sighed but hated having those notifications at the top of my phone, so I clicked on it.

  “Hello, this is Detective Getty calling from the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. I am trying to reach Ms. Kobe Brogan. Please give me a call back at 407-555-3904.” I almost dropped my phone as the rest of the bagel lay dormant in my mouth. The sheriff’s department? Was I in trouble for something? No, if I was, someone would come to the house and speak with me. Right? Then I remembered Jared and how he still hadn’t arrived home.

  I quickly dialed the number and waited for someone to answer all my questions. “Hello, you have reached the Orange County Sheriff’s Department’s non-emergency number, who are you trying to reach?”

  My mouth stopped working for a minute as shock was still reeling through my brain. I tried to work my words out. “Uh, hi, I think someone named Getty called me.”

  “Detective Getty,” the dispatcher corrected me like a child. “I’ll transfer you over to him. I believe he’s still in his office.”

  The phone rang again, and this time, each ring seemed to shake me.

  “Hello, this is Detective Getty speaking.”

  “Hi, I’m Kobe, Kobe Brogan. I think you just called me.”

  “I did,” Getty answered. His voice seemed to change from professional to sorrowful, which wasn’t helping my anxiety. “What is your relation to Jared Brogan?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “How about your parents? He had your number listed as emergency contact in his phone.”

  “No, it�
�s just the two of us.”

  I knew people said that their heart raced but mine had slowed as if someone had dunked it into a bowl of water and it was fighting to pulse.

  “I came by your house and knocked, but no one answered.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m home alone and don’t answer the door.”

  “I hate to do this over the phone . . .” He let out a sigh.

  “Just tell me,” I demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your brother was in an accident this evening,” Detective Getty explained. Once the word accident was out of his mouth, I slumped into the table. His other words seemed to fade away, only a few ringing in my ears. “Car...shooting...dead.”

  The line was silent. “Okay,” I dragged out the last part of the word.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Detective Getty finally spoke. Anger rose in me as he repeated the words that sounded so stiff, so untrue. He didn’t care that my brother had just died, it was a normal part of his job. “We need you to come down and identify your brother’s body.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “The morgue, it’s at the corner of Michigan and Bumby Avenue, I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  My fingers trembled as I wrote his instructions down on a napkin. Even getting up to get some real paper seemed like too hard a task. I knew I should get up, find my keys, and pull myself together enough so I could drive, but for some reason, my body seemed to have a mind of its own. I was moving so slowly, I was surprised that I wasn’t moving backward.

  Finally making my way to the bathroom that Jared and I shared in the back hall, I sat on the closed toilet lid. “You can cry now,” I said to myself, but nothing would come out. My chest was constricting, and breathing seemed nearly impossible. But no tears came. I squeezed my hands into fists then opened them again.

  I stood and stared into my chocolate-colored eyes in the mirror. They didn’t shine with tears, but they did look decidedly sad. That was it. That was when I started crying like a little blubbering baby, hating myself even as the tears slid down my face. “Jared’s dead!” I shouted.

  After our mom died from a heart attack when I was thirteen, Jared just sort of took over to keep me from going into a home. He was five years older than was and had to petition the court for custody, but he had refused to allow us to be separated.

  The entire way to the coroner’s office, my mind kept turning to me, which I knew was horrid especially since my brother, my rock, was dead. But I couldn’t help it, I kept wondering what would happen to me.

  I wasn’t sure how I got to the morgue in one piece, especially since the entire way. I kept staring out the window, watching the skyline of Orlando, Florida move by. Condos, where people were still sleeping. How could they sleep? Didn’t they realize my brother had just died.

  I turned into a parking lot and the reality of it all hit me. Each step to the front door was a strain, I fought to keep my legs moving. As I pulled open the door, funky smells hit me—too much bleach, some chemicals, and a very distinct smell that I couldn’t describe, and it was all overwhelming and made my stomach lurch.

  “I’m Kobe Brogan,” I said to the man standing inside the front door.

  “I’m Detective Getty, I’m sorry for your loss.” He gave a weary smile.

  “Where’s my brother?” I scrunched my eyebrows down and crossed my arms. I didn’t care about formalities—I needed to see my brother. He led me past several doors to a room that was empty.

  “Please wait here,” the detective said and then he left me.

  When the door shut, I tried to take in my surroundings of this stark and sterile room. No chairs, just the humming from the overhead fluorescent bulbs. In front of me was a large glass window.

  A light flicked on behind the window, I slid my hands into my pockets and held my breath as a woman in a white jacket rolled a gurney with a sheet covering the body up to the window.

  She moved into position by the head and glanced up for the first time, meeting my eyes. Then slowly she removed the edge covering Jared’s face.

  I let out a cry, and the woman recovered Jared’s face then rolled him away. I followed each rotation of the wheels on the bed until the light went out and there was nothing left to see.

  I bit my lower lip, fighting to hold back the tears. My brain was too busy trying to process the fact that my brother wouldn’t be coming home.

  The detective reentered the room. “Ms. Brogan, is that Jared?” he asked even though it had to be obvious by my reaction.

  “Yes. Can you explain to me what happened?”

  “Best we can tell is that he and his friend were in a parking lot and got shot by one of the local gangs. At this time, we think it was a drive-by shooting and your brother wasn’t specifically targeted.”

  “What gang?” I asked.

  “We aren’t certain which gang, but Jared was in known DT Coyotes territory.”

  “Which friend was he with?”

  “He was with Easton Crandall.”

  My heart dropped at that name, “Is Easton okay?”

  “Yes, he is a suspect. I think he knows more than he is letting on.”

  “No, not Easton. He and my brother…no, Easton loves Jared like a brother. There has to be someone else.”

  The officer held up a hand. “It’s going to take time to piece this all together, but we will get to the bottom of it. I wish that I had more to tell you, but I don’t, not yet. I will be by your home tomorrow to talk and explain to you everything I’ve learned.”

  I wanted to keep asking questions, anything that would keep me there, I didn’t want to go home to a place without Jared.

  I finally conceded and let the officer lead me from the room as I looked back just in case Jared would be there.

  I woke to a reeling mind, there was so much to get done, starting with organizing a funeral. I walked out to the kitchen of our small house to make something to eat, I had no clue when was the last time I had eaten. But plans for food was thwarted by a knocking at my door.

  Shit, the detective, he was here, and now more than food I needed to know about my brother.

  I opened the door, finding the detective waiting for me.

  “Good morning, Miss Brogan, may I come in?”

  I stepped back to let him enter and then headed back to the kitchen. He took a seat at my table.

  “Before I begin, I did a little research last night and discovered that you’re only seventeen. Since Jared is listed as you guardian, I had to notify the department of family services.”

  “What the fuck? My brother just died, and you want me to go into the system?”

  “I thought that would be your reaction, so I downloaded these for you.” He slid several sheets of paper my way. “It’s a declaration of emancipation. Fill these out, there is no reason that it should be denied. Your house is paid for. Are you still in high school?”

  “No, I just finished it online.”

  “Just fill them out and have them ready for when the social worker comes by,” he told me.

  “Fine.” I shoved one hand through my hair. “Now, about my brother?”

  “Like I said last night, he was in DT Coyote area, they have a funny way of deciding who is allowed to be there and who isn’t. They could have shot him for something as simple as trespassing or because they didn’t like the color shirt he was wearing.” Detective Getty stared at me, our eyes locked. “Or, your brother had pissed one of them off. Do you know if your brother had any enemies?”

  “No. Jared was the kindest person you could ever meet.”

  “How about Easton, have the two of them been fighting?”

  I thought about it but couldn’t remember a single time the two had ever argued. I shook my head adamantly. “No. Easton is like a brother.”

  “Gangs are dangerous, and the Coyotes are no exception, we don’t always know why they do the things they do.”

  “Are you sure it was a gang?” I asked, gripping the arms of the chair
. I needed to know these little details because he was my brother, my best friend, my protector. We had been there for each other when no one else had.

  I stared at the detective, who was looking down at his hands. He cleared his throat. “We don’t know for sure,” he finally answered. “It is just an educated guess when I say it was a DT Coyote. I’ve seen way too many deaths in my career. I find that people tend to look for elaborate reasons, conspiracy theories when in all truth the simplest answer is usually the correct one.”

  “Occam’s razor,” I stated. He looked at me somewhat baffled, maybe shocked that I knew what Occam’s razor was, I wasn’t dumb.

  “Exactly,” Detective Getty confirmed. “The easiest conclusion is often the right one.”

  “What do you think that is?”

  “Easton Crandall wasn’t shot. The DT Coyotes aren’t exactly merciful, there is a reason that Easton survived.”

  This man was crazy. “I don’t believe you. There is no way Easton was involved. You’re just going to jump to conclusions?” I said the words in a high, sarcastic fashion. “He was my brother, my best friend, and he was murdered. Doesn’t that mean anything to you people? You just want to close the case. You’re going to pin it on Easton just so you don’t have to do anything else.”

  “No. I’m going to bring Easton in and talk with him, I’ll get to the bottom of this, but just to let you know, your brother’s friend is refusing to talk,” Detective Getty responded. He was overly calm. “We are still launching a proper investigation, but so far we haven’t found anything that would identify the car or any of the passengers. Ballistics might come back with a match to a prior, but we have to wait on the lab until then all we have to go on is Easton Crandall.”