If You Wrong Us

Woodbury, Minnesota

Copyright Information

If You Wrong Us
© 2015 by Dawn Klehr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Flux, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover models used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject.

First e-book edition © 2015

E-book ISBN: 9780738746456

Book design by Bob Gaul
Cover design by Lisa Novak

Flux is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Klehr, Dawn, 1970-
If you wrong us / Dawn Klehr. -- First edition.-
1 online resource.-
Summary: "As Becca and Johnny plot revenge against the person responsible for the car accident that killed their loved ones, they discover that nothing is what it seems--either with the crash or with each other"-- Provided by publisher. Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.-
ISBN 978-0-7387-4645-6 () -- ISBN 978-0-7387-4599-2 [1. Revenge--Fiction. 2. Love--Fiction.] I. Title.-
PZ7.K678322-
[Fic]--dc23

2015033059

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Flux

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Manufactured in the United States of America

For my family
Oh, the things I’d do for you …

Acknowledgments

To say that bringing this book into the world was difficult would be like saying Becca Waters is a just a tad bit troubled. Writing dark books is tough, draining, scary. At times I’d think, should I really write such a thing? And maybe, even more importantly, I’d wonder, should people read such a thing? But then I finish, and it’s … cathartic. I feel like I’ve learned something, that I’ve grown. I feel like I better understand the people or places or situations that frighten me. I feel strong. I hope readers feel the same way.

Though I have to say, with the dark you must also have the light. I’m so lucky I do!

First, middle, and last, I’d like to thank my husband, Lance, who watched me sleep on the couch for two months surrounded by books, movies, music, art, and anything else I could use for inspiration as I finished this damn thing! He bravely endures the crazy when I’m preoccupied with my work and, amazingly, never asks me why I do it. He also keeps the candy bowl on my desk full, the kiddo entertained, and the household running, and I simply adore him for it.

To my son: who, on the other hand, constantly begs me to please “just quit writing,” thank you for putting up with it, buddy. And for making me take breaks, giving me plot ideas, and reading with me every single night before bed. It’s the very best part of my day.

I’d also like to thank Brian Farrey-Latz and Jessica Sinsheimer for their enthusiasm for my wicked characters and for getting scared in all the right places. I appreciate all that you do.

Boatloads of gratitude to Sandy Sullivan, who was so patient and kind as we got to the homestretch, and who allowed me to make edits and additions up until the very last minute. She is a dream to work with. Also to the Flux team dedicated to bringing all kinds of books to young readers, particularly the editorial, design, sales, marketing, and publicity departments.

Huge hugs go out to my writer pals who share their talent and support in so many ways. To Sara Biren, who lovingly calls me “sicko” when I share my story ideas and who always comes to the rescue when I send out the S.O.S. To Rhonda Helms, for helping me tighten up my originally scattered opening and for providing the encouragement I needed to keep going. Also to the MNYA writers, who read so many different versions of this story and pretended never to get bored—and especially to Liz and Nikki, who helped come up with the idea for Hush.

As strange as it sounds, this story is about family, especially those who always have your back. Mine always does and I love them to pieces!
And if you wrong us …

To admit wanting revenge is to admit
you have been crushed and need to be rebuilt.

—Laura Blumenfeld,
Revenge: A Story of Hope

In revenge and in love woman is
more barbaric than man is.
—Friedrich Nietzsche,
Beyond Good and Evil

The Elements of a Crime

According to criminal law—a subject I’ve had to become very familiar with as of late—four elements of a crime must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt to convict a defendant. Cue the
Law and Order
, dun dun.

Of course, I have them memorized.

• Element #1:
  Mental state. Was the criminal act voluntary or purposeful?
  
• Element #2:
  Conduct. Did a criminal act or an unlawful omission of an act occur?
  
• Element #3:
  Concurrence. Did the intent and criminal act occur at the same time?
  
• Element #4:
  Causation. Did the intent and conduct of the accused lead to the crime?
  

All of this complex legal speak can really be broken down into just two simple factors—a guilty mind and a guilty act. Without these elements, a case can unravel. A case like mine. And should I ever get caught, it’s something I’m banking on.

After all, it’s a numbers game.

1

N
OVEMBER 2, 2013—
P
RESENT
D
AY
J
OHNNY

L
ast night, as I drifted off to sleep, I pretended I was innocent.

It wasn’t that hard to do there in my bed, under the gritty sheets and stale bedspread—a painful reminder that made this illusion a necessity. When she was alive, I never even noticed clean bedding. I never worried if there was enough food in the cupboard, or shampoo in the shower. I didn’t have to. But now, I no longer take these things for granted.

Burrowing farther into my rank covers, I shut out the blue flicker of light that seeped in from the living-room TV and ignored the dull voices that hummed behind the closed doors. Then I imagined my parents in the next room, spooning each other and giggling their way into a blissful sleep (something I used to find repulsive, but now desperately miss), dreaming of whatever it is happy parents dream of. I fantasized about spending my days playing baseball and planning for college instead of plotting, stalking, and trading in on all my favors to get my hands on a gun. I conjured up a guilt-free mind, a stable home, and a nice girlfriend who was sweet and simple.

Then I woke up and the truth smacked me in the face.

Today’s the day. Not that anyone would know. This morning, I went through the same routine I have since school started: got dressed, brushed my teeth, fixed my hair right, made hardboiled eggs—three for me, one for Cassie—checked in on Dad to see if he wanted any even though the answer was always no. I finished the math homework I was too tired to do the night before and caught a ride to school. Nothing out of the ordinary.

By second period, it’s more of the same, and things are moving just as smooth as a flat-seamed baseball. I’m one of the first to take my seat. Usually, it’s a race to beat the bell. But for Mrs. Skye? I haul ass … because I need to watch.

Sometimes I wonder just how far back in time I’d need to go to make my pathetic fantasy a reality. It’d definitely have to be life before Becca. And before the accident. But would that be far enough? I’m in this impossible situation because I’m self-centered, and needy, and weak. So I’d have to go way back in time, before I became all these things, to prevent the coming attractions. To undo all the things I have in store for the guy sitting behind me.

His breath is warm—almost wet—on the back of my neck as he leans over his desk waiting for class to begin. A prickly sensation shoots down my spine and it takes everything I have not to turn around and backhand him. Dude is completely encroaching on my personal space, but I know I can’t bring any attention to myself.

Revenge, I’ve come to learn, is not impulsive, or reactionary, or blind. It’s calculating, patient, and observant. And if it’s going to work, the timing must be perfect. Just like in baseball. Swing too early, risk a pop-up. Swing too late, risk a strike.

I can’t risk a thing today, so I grit my teeth and suffer through it as he sits behind me, ready to snuggle in for his daily nap. I slide forward in my tiny chair so I can pretend he’s not back there. So I can pretend the asshole doesn’t exist. Within seconds, he drops his head to the desk. His breathing slows and deepens, creating a nasally little tune before he’s out. I envy him that. He dozes off at this time every day like clockwork—most likely because he was up half the night playing some zombie apocalypse bullshit video game. But in fifty minutes, he will somehow wake just as Mrs. Skye wraps up one of her highly sanitized lessons in U.S. History.