The Silent Violent Few: Noir
The Silent Violent Few # 3
By- Grayer Vaughan
Genre- Romance, Fiction, 16+
"How will he still want me once he finds out what I've done?"
Alabama Crowne thought she had finally secured her freedom when the life she was destined to live came to a halt. Despite everything she left behind, there was one constant she would never be rid of as death claimed who she was in order to become who she was meant to be all along: Cash Zachary Calloway.
Leaving one life to create another didn't seem so bad until Finn Haines, the man she thought she knew, begins to become unhinged when secrets, lies and betrayal tempt them both into an epic end game of "name that Submissive".
Thinking she chose the right Calloway, Alabama takes a chance to build a life worth living as she is set to give birth to the next Calloway heir until facts about Finn's past lead her down a dangerous path filled with devious deviants of epic proportions.
Unsure of who the father of her unborn child is, Alabama begins to struggle with her sanity, keeping her pregnancy hidden while she soon realizes that the only way out of the mess she created might be to return to the life she left behind as visions of her dead best friend Frankie lead her down a dangerous path of becoming the one thing she never thought she would: Mrs. Calloway.
Will the darkness she created claim the life she must live to be free or will her static inspiration become the dominant Noir she will need to save her from the violent death Goddess has planned?
From The Silent Violent Few: Risen-
The loss of dedicated love lingers long after the addicting flames of a burning candle leaves a warmed wick in disarray. Lost in a wasteland of troubles, the persistent flame vacates willingly with the pursing of pillowing lips like the bellow beneath them hungered to see the taunting dance of stained smoke rise. There is no dark static. No sweetness left to calm the storm within. There’s nothing left but a hollow shell that was once occupied by a soured love affair.
My soul sank deeper into a darkened fog as I glanced around the blackened room before entering. Touches of cream had been sporadically placed around the opulent space as the flowing scent of vanilla cleansed the atmosphere in remembrance of Meryl’s love of vanilla. White gardenias carried in by the thousands had been placed, representing my Alabama’s pureness of life.
Accents of gold laced each of the dark black drapes, reminding us of how Aunt Beatrice held us together in the worst of times. Tears burn my eyes as I think about Nikolaus and I racing up the back forty towards the main house of Calloway Downs.
“Let’s race to the top, Casher. You want to?” I hear his ten-year-old voice ask, shoving me down the hill before sprinting away. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”
Turning my face from the memory of my favorite cousin, I stifled my tears as I nodded towards the red model cars that represented his memory, stationed at each table that lined the elegant room.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how bad I failed him. There was no going back to the way things were. He was gone. No way to bring him back from the death that conquered him. It should have been me that took the bullet. It should be my remains that wait for people to confront them in passing.
I should be joining Alabama in death. Not Nikolaus, Beatrice or my Mother. It would be better if she wasn’t dead at all. I would have taken each bullet for them. I just didn’t get the chance.
“Are you okay, Brother?” Sloan asks, stepping next to me.
Turning my head away from her while I wipe my eyes, I clear my throat as I prepare to speak.
“I’ve been better, Sloan. I’ll survive,” I maintain, correcting my cream colored tie back into place. “You did a very nice job putting this together.”
Straightening her cream colored dress, Sloan nods to acknowledge my comment. Handing her my handkerchief, she accepts it.
“Thank you. I did the best I could while you were away. Is that thing bugging you?” Sloan queries, pointing to my house arrest anklet while she places a boutonniere featuring a white gardenia embellished with memorial trinkets showcasing small framed pictures of Alabama, Nikolaus, and Beatrice on my lapel.
Shaking the cuff of my pants, I try to cover it completely. The bulky box-shaped torture device stood as a constant reminder of my failure.
“Sorry. Didn’t know it was showing. It doesn’t really make a presence until I step out of bounds. Sucks being confined to this mansion. I feel like I’m drowning here,” I admit, checking my watch.
“Have you heard from Senior?” she pushes, stepping out of sight.
Seeing Meryl’s nosey best friends enter the room, I join Sloan to avoid being seen. There was nothing worse than a gaggle of Southern women with broken hearts.
“He’s still upstairs. I don’t think he wants to endure this torture anymore than I do. He feels more exposed knowing that Mother died because of his secret,” I reveal, crossing my arms.
“Yeah, I suppose. For what it’s worth- I’m very sorry things went down as they did. Alabama . . . she shouldn’t have- I’m sorry for your loss,” Sloan whispers before stepping away.
The emotion appeared to be too much for her to take at one time.
I felt like I was dying ten thousand deaths of razor standing in one place while I observed the four elegant mother of pearl high polished brass urns seated on a sleek black pillar. From afar they appeared to be floating in space, but up front, each held the remains of the four people I loved most in this life. The scene of each of them expiring plays on endless loop in my mind.
That is the real torture.
The lights in the room begin to dim as an old film strip begins to play.
“Is that Cash Zachary hiding behind there?” I hear Mother’s voice call out.
My eyes widened as my brows furrowed when I stumbled back a step. Pressing my hand against my throat, I felt my face convey the pain being inflicted when my stomach hardens into a tomb of nausea. My lungs felt like they were constricting what was left of my will to live. My body was physically at war with the eternal surroundings presented in remembrance.
I am completely broken inside.
Taking in a hard breath in, I forced myself to come into view of the film strip.
“No, that’s just my sack of big nickels,” Aunt Beatrice snickers, stretching her arms out wide as she bends down to embrace my ten-year-old frame.
Sloan startles me the second she walks up and takes my arm to escort her down to her seat.
“No, Sloan. I’m fine here,” I manage with a cracked voice, flinching at the thought of confronting Alabama’s ashes.
“No, you are not, Cash Zachary. Come. Now,” she hisses, her eyes
meaning business. “You will not make me do this alone too.”
Looking down at my feet, my steps felt uneven and poorly coordinated as I shamefully nod and escort her to her seat. Sitting down beside her, I focused all my attention to the reflection of my torn face glistening off the surface of Alabama’s glistening urn.
“Hello, Mr. Calloway,” Alabama’s soothing voice sounds, forcing me to
close my eyes. Hearing her remarkable haunting giggle, I turn my attention to the walls that featured her image in an illuminating glow. “I love you so much- it hurts, Cash Zachary.”
Sloan covers my hands with hers when she sees them begin to tremble.
My rigid posture seemed to heighten the watchfulness of the opulent room we sat in. Moving Sloan’s hands off me quickly, I stand and exit the room feeling like I can no longer sustain a breath in my lungs. Pulling on my Windsor knot, I loosen my tie. I was drowning in the unshakable sense of want. Rolling my shoulders, unfiltered impatience builds inside my roaring soul with each passing second, feeling like a noose was tightening with a steady grip.
Leaning on the stone banister, I try to keep it together while my thoughts soared to a new form of guilt.
Why couldn’t I have stopped myself? Why did I have to divulge my secret
to her? All I wanted to do was . . . Did I seriously think she would be able to make it through my life pure and safe called from my darkened world? I didn’t kill those women. Goddess and Senior did. As her Co-Top, I allowed it. I didn’t stop them and for that, I paid the ultimate price-life without her. She died not knowing the truth. I could have changed it all if she listened to the facts.
Why was I so stupid?
“You’ve always loved to self-inflict, hurting yourself instead of others. I will never understand that tactic. Why were you in there, Cash Zachary?” Senior asks, taking a sip of his old fashioned. “Didn’t I order you to stay away?”
I couldn’t help but glare at him and his pride.
“You cannot order me to do anything anymore. I am no longer your Co-Top. I am in this mess because of you. You couldn’t control your sinister urges, and now it is me who must suffer,” I growl, striking the banister.
“She was just a pawn. A simple no-” Senior stops himself as I step towards him.
“Watch yourself. She wasn’t a pawn and she was definitely somebody special. She was my everything. Just as Melody was yours until you allowed her to slip into ruin. You took Alabama from me and as if that wasn’t enough, Mother’s blood is on your hands!” I scream, storming down the stairs to refrain from hitting him.
I didn’t need another murder investigation on my hands.
“Along with countless others. So what? It wasn’t the first time you took the wrap for me. You’ll find another. Just as I did after Melody. You’ll learn to get used to it when you come to your senses,” Senior snorts, raising his glass in my direction. “You always remember your first!”
There was no way to make this better. I didn’t have a choice anymore, just like I didn’t have the decisions I needed to make this all go away. Being on house arrest was ten times better than any prison any day. That was actually the only thing I was grateful for. Being rich enough to buy my way out of murder.
Life without her wasn’t punishment enough. I had a hunger deep inside that no one could quench. I needed her. All that she was entailed everything I needed to be whole, and now all that is left is a disheveled mess of a man.
Walking into my wing, I dead bolted the door as the lights on my ankle monitor blinked from red to green, beeping in a welcoming tone. Securing the door, I rested a minute on it with my back pressed against it while I waited for the Alabama track to begin playing. I had a sound system put in so that I could hear her beautiful voice clearly without static interruption in every room of the wing, including the shower. The track was comprised of the messages by the thousands that she would lovingly leave on my voicemail as a reminder of the thoughtful love I once possessed.
“There you are handsome. I need you. Come here,” her voice cooed, making my heart lapse each time I’d remember it was only a recording.
It truly sounded like she was waiting for me in the next room. I lived by escaping to my memories to stay in one piece. I was delving into contrapolar stimulation with no hopes of ever recovering. That was what it was going to take to survive. The constant need of experiencing pleasure and pain simultaneously was allowing my Alabama addiction to feed the burning affliction within.
“I went to your service. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t bear to stay. We had to wait four months for everyone to be together so that we could properly inter-um . . . I wanted to be present at your first service but, your Father’s Sister wouldn’t allow me. Alabama, I can’t. I just can’t say goodbye. Not yet. I hope you aren’t mad at me,” I announce, removing my jacket. “I miss you too much.”
Knowing what her recording would say, I scripted my home life picturing her here with me. Walking into my bedroom, I sat on my bed, staring at the wall I had embellished in wallpaper featuring a giant picture of her.
“I missed you way too much today. I hope everything was great at your office. I have to work late, but I will be home to you before you know it. I love you, Cash Zachary,” Alabama’s voice echoed, mimicking my empty heart. “Talk to you soon.”
I closed my eyes wishing that was true.
Getting up from the bed, I took my sullen frame to the shower as I waited for the next Alabama lines to come in. My truth no longer featured days filled with power and prestige. I was her mark now. She held my life by her lifeless hands. I was her submissive completely.
Allowing the hot water to hit my tired frame, I continued to hold onto the idea of punishment. It was the sours that were getting me through each day filled with perpetual night. I believed that my demise was my own doing considering I was providing false hope daily to all of Senior and Goddess’s Submissives, acting as their Co-Top. Now it was me who must endure false hope.
I now understood the weight of want, desiring to be touched and deeply loved by someone so bad knowing that this option just isn’t feasible. I would have done anything for her, paid any amount to possess her. I captured the essence of who she was, how she made me feel, but what I failed to do is capture her soul.
Something that pure can never be recreated.
Can it?
Book 1-
Book 2-
About the Author-
Grayer Vaughan is the author of “The Vaughan Chronicles” series: Magnolia Like the Flower, Burning Blossom, Starshine; The Cathedral Saga: The Receiver, and The Silent Violent Few series: The Silent Violent Few, Risen, Noir.
Beginning at 11 years old, Vaughan began training in sport Karate as her parents wanted her to be able to defend herself against bullying in school. She began studying under the late 10th Dan Master Richard Dixon, learning Japanese Goju, which is Taekwondo, Kempo, and Kungfu combined. Over the next 7 years, she earned her blackbelt degree and fought all over the United States defending her regional, and divisional titles as well her right to fight for the State of Texas for her division. She received her first state title at 11 and her first world title at 14, fighting her way up to earn her titles. She is still undefeated and is now a retired World Champion. After making the decision to retire, she continued the family tradition in joining the Armed forces once they became of age. Upon discussing an opportunity to fight in the All-Army karate team, Vaughan decided to join the Army to follow in her father’s footsteps. serving 6 years in service, Vaughan returned home to Texas where she entered college to study as an artist. In an effort to keep a promise she made to her grandfather, Daniel, to write about her extraordinary life, she penned "The Vaughan Chronicles", basing the story off her life experiences.
“There is always an opportunity to continue to grow mentally, spiritually, and physically. They may have tried to push me back, but they will never succeed. I can always get better. Never give up.” ~Grayer Vaughan.
According to Grayer, she never intended to become an author. “It happened by answering a “what if” question, and a promise. I was blessed enough to be with my grandfather, Daniel in his last hour here on Earth. He asked what I would do in the next ten years as he wouldn’t be around to experience it with me. I said, “I have no idea, Grampy…I guess I will sell my art- have a show or write a book? I have no idea!” He replied, “you should do it. I believe in you. Promise me you will do whatever it takes to get it out there.”
With the promise made, he passed away a few seconds later. It took 6 months for Grayer to honor that promise, and with each book produced, she continues to keep her accord intact.
Social Media Links-
Twitter- http://www.twitter.com/grayervaughan
Author Facebook- http://www.facebook.com/vaughanlandseven
Series Facebook- http://www.facebook.com/thesilentviolentfew
Instagram- @Vaughanland
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