The Raven (The Raven Four Series Book 2) Read online

  The Raven Oath

  (The Raven Four, Book 2)

  Jessica Sorensen

  The Raven Oath

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover Design by MaeIDesign

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Raven

  2. Jax

  3. Zay

  4. Hunter

  5. Raven

  6. Raven

  7. Raven

  8. Raven

  9. Raven

  10. Raven

  11. Jax

  12. Raven

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  Raven

  “You got that right swing down, right?” my dad asks as we cruise down the road in his old Camaro, music blasting from his iPod shuffle, his “old man music,” as my mom calls it, playing from some speakers sitting on the back seat.

  He’s been working on fixing the car up but hasn’t gotten very far yet. The leather seats are torn, the outside is primed but not painted, and the stereo is missing.

  The windows are down, letting the warm summer breeze gust into the cab, blowing strands of my hair into my face as I nod and raise a fist in front of me. “Like this?” I swing against the air, hoping I’ve got the right form.

  My dad smiles as he lifts up his hand for a high-five, and I smile proudly as I tap my palm against his.

  “That’s the perfect form.” He removes his cigarette from his lips and ashes it out the window. “Keep it up and you might just end up becoming a fighter when you grow up.”

  “Like Momma?” I ask, crossing my fingers he’ll say yes.

  My momma is the coolest person I know. She is so tough. A lot of people think she’s my sister, but my momma tells me that they only think that because she had me when she was young. I’m not even sure why anyone thinks she’s related to me at all. She has blonde hair, where I have black; our eyes are different colors; and unlike hers, my cheeks are covered in freckles. I don’t like my freckles that much. A lot of kids tease me about them. They say I look like I have dirt on my face.

  “Yep, just like your momma.” Dad puts his cigarette out in the ashtray then looks in the rearview mirror, messing with his scraggly brown hair.

  My dad doesn’t like to dress up. He wears a lot of old T-shirts and jeans. But today, he put on nice pants and a button-down shirt. He also made me wear a dress, which yuck, I hate dresses. The one I’m wearing right now is black. I’m glad for that because I hate bright colors, like pink, even more than I hate dresses. But I still don’t get why my dad made me wear a dress or why my mom braided my hair. They usually let me do whatever I want. Today, though, they were all about me being on my best behavior while we go to wherever the heck we’re going. My dad has also checked to make sure I remember how to swing a punch, like, a ton of times.

  I don’t know why he’s asking this so much. I’m the only seven-year-old I know who knows how to throw a wicked right hook. I even got suspended from school once for hitting another kid. He deserved it for pantsing me. My parents thought so, too, and argued with the principal about it, which is why I no longer go to that school. Well, that and we moved recently.

  I think the move had to do with me getting into the fight. At least, that’s what I think I heard my parents whispering about late one night when they thought I was asleep. They were worried about me getting in too much trouble and drawing too much attention.

  “All right, here we go,” my dad mumbles as he pulls up to a set of tall gates.

  We’ve been driving for what feels like hours and, until this gate, I haven’t seen anything other than fields, trees, and old gas stations.

  “Where are we?” I ask, kneeling up in the seat to try to see over the gates, but there are too many trees in my way.

  Dad pushes the shifter into park and stares at the gates with a frown on his face. He’s not usually the kind of guy who frowns a lot, so it’s weird to see one on his face.

  “Dad?” I say when he doesn’t seem like he’s going to answer me. “What is this place?”

  He glances at me. “This, Ravenlee, is a stipulation.”

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask, glancing at the gate again. He only calls me Ravenlee when he’s mad at me or stressed out.

  He shakes his head. “No, you’re not in trouble. If anything, I am.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know … It’s …” He offers me a smile. “You don’t need to worry about it. This is grown up stuff. All you need to worry about today is making sure that, if anything bad happens, you swing your fist like your life depends on it, got it?”

  I nod, wanting to make him proud of me. “Got it.”

  He starts to smile, but it fades when the gates start to open.

  Sighing, he drives forward through the entrance and turns onto a paved driveway that leads to the biggest home I’ve ever seen.

  “Whoa, who lives here?” I ask with my nose pressed against the window.

  The house is so huge that it has three floors.

  “A business acquaintance,” my dad replies as he pulls up to the front doors.

  Two guys are standing on the front porch, and just behind them is a kid around my age with dark brown hair. Even with how far away he is, I can tell he looks sad.

  I turn to my dad. “Is that boy your business acquaintance?”

  Shaking his head, he puts the shifter into park, turns off the engine, and then hesitantly reaches for the door. “No.”

  He’s being really weird. It makes me worry, even though he said I don’t need to be. I want to ask him questions, but he opens the door and climbs out.

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him or if I should stay in the car.

  “Come on, Ravenlee,” he says then closes the door.

  He called me Ravenlee again.

  Something’s wrong.

  But I get out anyway, trusting my dad, and hurry around to the front of the car where he’s waiting for me. He takes my hand when I reach him then pulls me with him as he starts up the pathway toward the guys.

  “You made it,” the taller one says to my dad. Then his gaze flits to me. “And you brought her.”

  My dad’s hold on my hand tightens. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

  The man stares at me for a beat with eyes a strange color of grey, like storm clouds, then he looks at my dad. “No, you didn’t.” Again, the man with stormy eyes glances at me.

  He’s starting to make me feel really squirmy, so I look at the boy instead. He has a scar on his jaw. I wonder where he got it from.

  He looks even sadder up close, so I smile at him. But all he does is stare at me like I’m a weirdo, which I guess I sort of am. Then his confusion shifts to worry as the man with stormy grey eyes looks at him.

  “Kid, go inside and get the others,” he tells him.
>
  The kid nods, looking at me for a fleeting moment, before hurrying inside the house.

  The man looks back at my dad and opens his mouth to say something when lightning snaps across the sky and thunder immediately follows, so I miss what he says.

  As the land shadows over with clouds and the wind picks up, the memory swirls away with it—

  My eyelids pop open as I suck in a sharp breath. My skin is damp with sweat, my hair feels gross again, and the wound on my side throbs as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling.

  That dream I just had … or memory … whatever it was … that kid in it … was that Zay? Hunter told me that Zay’s dad calls him Kid, and Zay has a scar on his jawline, just like the kid did. But, why would I suddenly remember that I met Zay a long time ago?

  Maybe it was just a dream. I’ve had vivid dreams before. But I’ve also forgotten memories before.

  “No, it has to be a dream,” I mutter to myself. There’s no way I met Zay once and somehow forgot about it.

  Doubt weighs on my mind, though.

  Since it’s still too early to get up, I close my eyes and shut my mind off, trying desperately to fall back asleep so I don’t feel the pain in my side.

  Last night, I took a shower to try to scrub the wound clean … and wash the river scent out of my hair. Then I put some peroxide on the wound my uncle had given me so it wouldn’t get infected before I closed my eyes, but I didn’t go downstairs to pop some painkillers, not wanting to cross paths with anyone. I’m not sure if my aunt knows what my uncle did to me—if she’s aware of any of the stuff he’s done to me—but my bet is she does. It makes me hate her. It makes me hate my uncle.

  I have a lot of hate in me right now. In fact, it burns almost as badly as the cut on my side.

  Disappointment.

  I roll over, trying to move away from the pain of that word, and focus again on sleeping …

  I’m in a large room with a massive, domed ceiling and a huge light decorated with crystals hanging from it. I feel in awe as I take everything in: the paintings on the walls, the fireplace, the way the air smells like cinnamon.

  “This place is so big,” I tell my dad as I turn in a circle, taking everything in.

  He nods, seemingly distracted as he glances at his phone. “Yeah, I know it is, Ravenlee.”

  He’s called me Ravenlee three times since we arrived at this strange home in the middle of nowhere and hasn’t given me an explanation as to why we’re here. The large guys who greeted us at the entryway led us into this room before wandering off after telling us not to go anywhere.

  I haven’t seen the scarred boy that one of the men called “Kid” since he wandered into the house. Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone besides my dad since the men left us here. I haven’t heard anything either.

  This place is spookily quiet.

  I chew on my thumbnail. “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “I’m not sure.” His frown deepens as he reads something on the screen, worry written all over his face.

  “Daddy?” I ask, starting to get really worried. “What’s wrong?”

  He glances up at me, his face really pale. “Ravenlee, I’m so sorry that this …” He trails off as a tall man with dark hair enters the room. Then he swallows hard.

  Something’s very wrong.

  “I’m glad to see you made it,” the man says to my dad then glances at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

  “Did I really have a choice?” Dad mutters in an annoyed tone.

  “No, but some men in your position might do something stupid, like try to run,” the man replies. “Glad to see you aren’t one of those men. I didn’t particularly feel like chasing anyone down today.” He glances at me again with a curious look on his face.

  Wanting him to stop looking at me, I inch behind my dad.

  A trace of a smile touches the man’s lips, as if my move amuses him. “She’s afraid of me,” he muses. “Smart girl.”

  As a cold chill rolls through my body, I grab my dad’s hand. “Daddy?” I whisper. “Why does he want me to be afraid of him?”

  He grips my hand tightly in a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.” He sounds the complete opposite of his words.

  The air grows quiet as the man sinks into silence, staring at me like I’m a complex puzzle he desperately wants to solve.

  “We should get this done,” he finally says, looking at my dad. “Leave the girl here and come join me in my office for a drink. I’ll have Diane bring Kid in.”

  I have no idea what’s going on, but I grasp my dad’s hand desperately. “Don’t leave me,” I beg.

  He glances down at me with remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ravenlee.” Then he pries my hand out of his. “Stay here,” he orders in a cold tone I’ve never heard him use before.

  Tears burn my eyes as he starts to walk away.

  When he notices I’m about to cry, he sighs, walks back to me, and crouches down so his gaze is level with mine. “Suck it up, Ravenlee,” he says in a quiet but firm tone. “Crying makes us weak. Do you want to be weak, or do you want to be strong like your mom and me?”

  I shake my head and sniffle, trying to suck back the tears. “Strong.”

  He offers me a small but sad smile. “Good girl.” Then he stands up and walks away without a glance back.

  I watch him leave with my fingers curled into fists and my stomach winding into knots, but my eyes are dry.

  Once the man and my dad leave the room, I move to sit down on the sofa, not sure what I’m supposed to do. But before I can sit completely down, the door is opened and a woman with long, red hair walks in. She’s wearing a black dress, a lot of sparkly jewelry, and her hair is done up like she’s going someplace fancy. She’s also not alone. The sad boy with the scar trails in behind her, the boy everyone keeps referring to as Kid. He looks even sadder than before, which doesn’t even seem possible, but it is.

  As the woman with the red hair walks toward me, she assesses me with a curious look on her face, like I’m some weird creature she’s never seen before.

  “So, you’re the little girl everyone’s been fussing over?” She stops in front of me and tilts her head. “Honestly, I don’t see what the big deal is. You don’t even look like her. Makes me wonder if you’re really hers or if he was just bullshitting everyone. He does have a reputation for being a liar.”

  “So do you, Diane,” the boy says with a shake of his head.

  Her lips twitch in annoyance. “You little shit …” She trails off, putting on a sugary sweet smile. “You know what? Say whatever you want about me. At least I’m not a monster.”

  The kid smashes his lips together, his gaze shifting to me, and I swear I see remorse in his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” I speak. “Who are you guys? And where’s my dad?”

  The woman’s attention returns to me, the smile still on her face. “What’s going on is that you’re about to pay your whore of a mother’s debt.”

  Anger burns under my skin as I curl my hand into a fist. “Don’t call my mother that!”

  The woman smirks at the sight of my balled-up fist. “Are you seriously thinking about hitting me? You’re just a kid—”

  I step forward and punch her in the stomach.

  She grunts, her face contorting in pain. “You little brat,” she seethes then starts to storm toward me.

  “Diane,” Kid calls out. “If you touch her, the bosses are gonna be pissed off.”

  She slams to a halt, breathing furiously as she glares at me then at Kid. “Fuck off,” she spats but doesn’t move toward me again.

  Bosses? What does that mean?

  I’m about to ask when the woman suddenly relaxes, the tension leaving her body.

  “You know what? I don’t need to listen to this shit. I was told to bring you here and nothing more.” She turns, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she starts to leave. “You know what to do,” she says as she passes Kid, and he visibly tenses.r />
  Smirking, she strolls out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

  Silence stretches between us as Kid just stands there with his hands balled into fists and his gaze fastened on the floor.

  Finally, I can’t take the silence anymore. “Your name’s Kid, right?” I ask.

  Shaking his head, he looks up at me. “No.”

  “Oh.” I’m so confused. “But everyone keeps calling you that?”

  “I know,” he says flatly.

  “Why do they call you that if it’s not your name?”

  He shrugs, not saying a word, just staring at me.

  The silence is making me uncomfortable, so I try to think of something to say to him.

  “Well, my name’s Ravenlee,” I tell him. “But almost everyone calls me Raven.”

  He studies me for a moment. “I have a pet raven.”

  “Really?” I ask, stepping toward him. “How the heck did you get one of those for a pet?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I caught it.”

  “That’s really cool. Is it here? Maybe you can show it to me.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s at my house.”

  “This isn’t your house?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Whose is it?”

  He frowns. “The boss’s.”

  “Who the heck is that?”

  He seems to grow nervous, scratching the back of his neck. “No one you want to know.”

  “Oh.” I pause. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  He swallows hard, not answering me. It grows quiet again, and that sad look returns to his face.

  Honestly, the only time he didn’t look sad was when he was talking about his pet raven.

  “Um … What’s your raven’s name?” I ask, hoping he’ll relax again and maybe tell me why the heck I’m at this house.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I haven’t named it.”

  “Well, you should,” I say. “Every pet needs a name.”