GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) by Tiana Laveen Page A

new day—but things had gone awry. As she reflected over the evening, she recalled falling into a strange mesmerizing spell as some Native Indian man, with long, dark hair beat the living life out of some drums. His muscular, tattooed arms moved in blurred motion and that damn hair danced about like waves of ebony silk, stirred by the breeze from an overhead fan. He could play his ass off… and she’d fallen down and prayed to each pummel and beating he administered. And then… she saw him staring at her. At first, she liked it, but feelings of guilt sprinkled lightly with flashes of anger crept within her.
    A bit later when she saw him approaching her, she grew a bit excited, and hated that feeling, too. For she knew, no matter what his motives, his slick words, sarcasm, or if he’d come to her as the son of God himself, she would have shot him down like enemy number one. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to be so cold… and why she relished the way Clara tried to light into him. She’d remained silent while the two quarreled, hoping the lady would put him in his place, but he ended up being just as snarky and vicious; in fact, worse… much worse.
    Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could see a bit of hurt in his eyes, almost as if they’d connected on some unseen level; and she wanted the association broken and destroyed before the circuits had a chance to completely fuse and boot up. There was such intensity in his black, almond-shaped eyes… a poignant depth, a been here and been there sort of feel. She saw something in him in that split second, and it was so hard to explain, so damn unnerving; so much so, she was ecstatic when he finally gave up, turned and walked away.
    Yet, disappointment had set in at that moment, too…
    I can’t have it both ways. I don’t know him, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want to get over the past, move forward, and yet, I keep one foot in the present day and one foot on ancient news. I can’t seem to break free…
    She sat up and started the car. Pulling away from the curb, she made her way down the semi-desolate street. Raindrops began to fall against her car, harder and harder. Silver turned on the windshield wipers and cracked the window so she could smell the air. She loved the smell of rain; it did something to her spirit…calmed her. Feeling the night air grab her, creating an unnerving chill against her skin, she fought feelings of relaxation and anxiety, all at once. She didn’t dare turn on the heat; she wanted to feel the coolness, the kiss of death, the hug of the non-living.
    He’s gone. He’s dead. And I could have prevented it… so I deserve to be cold, too…

Chapter Four

    “I don’t believe this shit.” Zenith gritted his teeth as he grabbed his car keys from his locker and slid on his black bomber jacket, the damn lining covered in ratty lint balls. Eager to leave, he hightailed it out of the sweatshop an hour early.
    The overtime had gotten good to him, so much so, he was saving up for a trip to go somewhere exotic and interesting, preferably warm with scantily clad women. He wasn’t certain where yet; perhaps Rio de Janeiro or Barbados… Japan wasn’t quite warm enough however. He drifted off into island and sand daydreams, anything to keep him distracted.
    His emerald green Chevrolet Silverado was parked in such a fashion, it took up two parking spaces and flirted dangerously with a third. He was called an asshole and prick on a weekly basis for doing such a thing, but if anyone scratched his precious truck, they’d find out that his asshole powers weren’t a myth, but a true blue reality.
    “Damn it!” he muttered to himself as he slid onto the driver’s seat and kicked on the heat. He’d made several calls to his Uncle Len, trying to figure out what the hell was going on to no avail. He tried one more time for good measure…
    “Yo, Lenny, it’s Zenith, man.” Putting the cell phone on speaker, he maneuvered