(A Betwixt Novella #0.5) (Betwixt Series)
Book
Description:
Dale
Finnigan is a teenage rebel; he lives for parties, girls and joy riding in
stolen cars. In spite of his uptight parents' constant warnings and lectures,
he continues to run wild. His crazy lifestyle is the only way he can live and
feel free…until his reckless behavior takes him down a path where there is no
going back.
In this prequel to BETWIXT, find out who Dale Finnigan was before he became known as “scar-face”—the unassuming hero everyone underestimates.
WARNING: This book is intended for mature teen readers due to coarse language and mature content.
In this prequel to BETWIXT, find out who Dale Finnigan was before he became known as “scar-face”—the unassuming hero everyone underestimates.
WARNING: This book is intended for mature teen readers due to coarse language and mature content.
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Excerpt:
The car horn sounded
like a trumpet, making me laugh hysterically. Hugh was anything but subtle.
Jamming my feet into my Converse shoes, I tie the laces in a hurry and rush for
the door.
"Where are you
going?"
My mother, one of the
shortest people I know, tries to block my way. I gently nudge her aside as I
zip up my hoody. "I'm going out," I mumble.
"No you're not.
It's Friday night. You have youth group. Your father is expecting to see you
there."
"Well he's going
to be disappointed...again. How many times do I have to tell you guys I'm not
interested? I don't want to sound snarky, but I can't help it. I hate youth
group. I hate church. I hate that my minister is my dad who is constantly
harping on about it and forcing me to go to stuff that is as boring as hell.
It's bad enough they force me to the Sunday morning snore-fest each week. I
decided a few months ago, that my parents could stop stealing my Friday nights
as well. I used to sneak out after youth group all the time, but it was getting
tiring. The last few months of just skipping it have been much easier, although
I could do without the arguments.”
"Dale,
stop."
I don't bother
holding in my sigh as I pause by the front door. My mother's voice, usually so
soft and sweet has taken on a hard edge. It's been doing that a lot lately.
"You know the
rules."
Do I ever!
"You must attend
youth group. How do you think it looks to the parishioners when their own
minister's son doesn't even show up?"
"I don't care
how it looks." I spin around to face her. "I don't care what any of
those people think. I'm not here to impress them. I never asked to be a
minister's kid."
"Dale…"
"No! I'm going
out."
Her expression crests
with sadness before bunching into a tight frown.
I race out the door
before she can stop me. Her voice chases me down the path all the way to Hugh's
car. I slam the door shut, trying to block out the, "Dale, you get back
here right now!"
"Go, man,
go!"
Hugh nods and
screeches away from the curb, but not fast enough for me to miss the tears
welling in my mother's eyes. I shouldn't have looked back.
I hate that. Why does
she have to go crying about it and making me feel bad? Maybe if her and Dad
would stop lumping so many rules on me, and actually listen to what I had to
say, I wouldn't have to cause her so much pain. This had been brewing for
years, mostly without me knowing it, but at the end of my freshman year I just
snapped. I couldn't play the role anymore. I refused to keep following the rules
I thought were stupid. They weren't doing it because they loved me, they were
just worried about what the damn church goers thought. It was all about
appearances to them. I refused to follow some religion I wasn't even sure I
believed in. Hypocrites were the worst kind of sinners, and I wasn't going to
be lumped in with them.
No, I had chosen to
swing to the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Having spent a lifetime
living by the letter of the law, I was now doing my best to live as far from
the law as possible.
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