ReBoot (MAC Security Series Book 4) Read online

  ReBoot

  Book 4 in the MAC Security Series

  Abigail Davies

  Reboot—Book 4 in the MAC Security Series

  First Edition.

  Copyright © 2017 Abigail Davies. All rights reserved.

  No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Abigail Davies 2017

  Cover Model: Amanda Joan

  Cover Photographer: Jean Maureen Woodfin

  Cover Design: Abigail Davies

  Formatting: Abigail Davies at All the feels formatting

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abigail Davies

  Etching Our Way Sneak Peak

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  I have so many people who helped me bring this story to life and I’ll be eternally grateful for all of it!

  As always I want to thank my family for putting up with all my silly talk, late nights/early mornings and for supporting me in following my dreams to be a writer. You’re all amazing and I love you loads!

  I also want to thank my husband, Mike. He’s been there every step of the way with this ones and has inspired a couple of things in this book ;) Love you loads!

  Thank you to my beta readers, Amanda, Angela, Angela, Colette, Danielle, and Liza! Thank you for helping me see what needed to be changed and for helping me make this story what it is. I love you all loads!

  A special thank you to Danielle, who is not only my sounding board but my best friend and is always there for me to bounce ideas off. This one is for you because you claimed Evan first!

  To my editor Judy, thank you again for proofreading and for explaining all the little things to me!

  Thank you to Jean for the amazing cover image!

  Thank you to Amanda! You’re the perfect Lexi and as soon as I saw this picture I knew it had to be on my cover!

  A huge thank you to ALL the Bloggers, readers, and authors that share all of my stuff! I appreciate it so much and I just love being part of the indie community!

  Last but by no means least; thank you to all my amazing readers, for all of the messages that I receive on a daily basis. It warms my heart so much to know that you enjoy my stories. I hope you love this one as much as I do!

  Thank you for allowing me to do what I love most and tell these stories! <3

  Reboot—Verb

  To restart by loading the operating system; boot again.

  Ninety-nine percent of the time you can right your wrongs.

  Sometimes all it takes is a simple apology.

  But what about that one percent?

  The wrong that you can’t make right.

  The wrong that will haunt you.

  The wrong that seemingly defines the very core of you.

  Starting over and putting the past behind me is all I want to do. But girls like me—with pasts like mine—are fated to live in the shadows of their mistakes.

  So what happens when you’re given that second chance? At life… at love?

  Do you take it?

  Or do you stay in the shadows?

  Good people who do bad things deserve second chances.

  Don’t they?

  This one is for my readers!

  My bare feet slap against the dirty, tiled floor as I run away from her—the woman who is meant to love me above all else, but instead hates me more than anything. My heart beats so hard in my chest that I swear it will explode out of there at any second.

  I can hear her voice getting closer… louder—the raspy tone from smoking two packs of cigarettes a day making me shiver as fear flows through me.

  I run down the hallway, slipping through the gap of her bedroom door when I reach it, careful not to make a sound as the slice of bread drops from my hand and onto the floor. My eyes flit around the messy room, trying to find a spot to hide in as I forget about the hunger pangs that started this. I shouldn’t have come in here, but my only other choice was my room—if you can even call it that.

  My pulse skyrockets as I hear her footsteps near, my breaths becoming gasps as she gets closer and closer.

  I need to hide.

  My eyes land on the space between the bedside table and the wall, and I make a dash for it, knowing it will be a tight squeeze but seeing no other option.

  I fold my arms around myself as I bend down, bringing my knees close to my chest before slamming my eyes shut and hoping that she won’t find me.

  “Where are ya, ya little shit!”

  I cringe at her voice, my eyes opening of their own accord and looking down at my dirty, bare feet.

  I can’t remember the last time I was allowed to wash; the thought of water on my skin, taking away all of the grime and dirt makes me feel at ease, but when I realize it’s a mere fantasy, my mood takes a nosedive.

  “You can’t fucking hide from me, ya dirty, little bastard!”

  Keep calm, Evan. Don’t move an inch.

  I hear something crash against the wall as she searches for me, the air crackling with anger as the secret stash of food she keeps in here splays all over the floor right in front of me.

  My eyes widen at the sight of it, my mouth salivating and my stomach growling with hunger.

  When was the last time I ate? Three days ago? Four?

  I hold my stomach tighter, trying to push away the hunger pangs as my mouth waters.

  “When I find ya, I’m gonna lock ya in the hole for a week!”

  My hands fly over my ears, trying not to hear what she’s saying as my eyes squeeze shut again.

  If I can’t see or hear her then maybe she won’t find me.

  My gasping breaths come faster as I think of the four small walls of the hole—of being in there for so long.

  Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out.

  “Gotcha!”

  Pain rips through my scalp as she grips my hair in her hand, pulling me up and shaking me like a ragdoll.

  “Thought you could fool me? You’re a dirty, little rat bag,” she sneers.

  My throat clogs, tears beginning to break free, but I do my best to hold them back because I know not to let her see them—all it will mean is that I’ll be in the hole longer.

  She drags me out of the room and pulls me
down the hallway, my feet scraping against the old, worn carpet that is littered with cigarette burns and full of so much dirt that it would be impossible to get clean.

  I trip over my own feet as she walks us closer to the lone door at the end of the hallway.

  Please don’t put me in there, I silently plead. If I said it out loud it would fall on deaf ears; it always does.

  She pulls the door open and flings me into the dark, four-foot square space. My eyes land on the vicious dog standing behind her as he snarls at me, warning me not to move.

  “That’ll teach ya to steal my fucking bread! I tell ya when ya can eat!”

  Her face twists into an ugly mask just before she slams the door shut, the vibrations traveling through the small space that I’ll call home for the next seven days.

  My head drops against my boney knees as I try to block the thought out.

  I only wanted a piece of bread.

  “Here.” The prison guard hands me a clear, plastic bag full of things that I haven’t seen for five years. “Your parole officer is waiting for you out there, Deacon.”

  Her no-nonsense tone vibrates off the white walls of the hallway as she walks toward the gate, me following at her heels, itching to get out of this place.

  I keep my head down as we walk past women in the customary beige prison uniform, mopping floors, standing around talking, but more importantly, watching as I leave. I was transferred here when I turned eighteen two years ago—juvie was hard, but this place was a real shock to the system. Juvenile detention was no walk in the park, but it’s dangerous here—really dangerous. I know better than anyone that one wrong look can make an enemy for life and you’ll find yourself in the infirmary for weeks on end.

  I’ve kept my head down for the last two years, not making any friends but at the same time trying to be civil enough so that I don’t look like I think I’m better than anyone else. It’s a fine line: a balance that keeps you teetering over the edge constantly.

  The thought of not having to keep looking over my shoulder has relief flowing through me as we walk through one gate and the guard locks it behind us. I never thought I’d get out of this place before my sentence was up.

  The day I got here I requested parole, but it was turned down, just like it has been every other time—apart from now; only this time I didn’t request it. I had given up hope of getting out of here, and even though I only have eighteen months left of my sentence, I somehow knew I wouldn’t survive that long in here.

  But now they’ve decided that I can escape these confines.

  I don’t know who they are, but I’m almost sure it’s a mistake: surely they wouldn’t have turned me down so many times only to grant it without me even asking? I clutch the bag tighter against my chest as I remember when the warden called me into his office a few days ago.

  “Deacon.” His voice is deep, his dark-brown eyes watching me as I shuffle into his office, keeping my head down.

  “Warden Fisher,” I whisper.

  He holds his arm out, indicating that I sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. I hesitate, bringing my face up, my eyes meeting his. I’ve never been called into his office, not even when I’ve been hurt. But somehow today feels like a turning point. Like my life is going to change after this meeting.

  I bite my bottom lip before shaking my head and stepping forward, sitting down slowly and folding my hands in my lap.

  He shuffles a pile of papers into a folder on his desk, his hands scraping against them before he lays them flat and clears his throat.

  “You’ve requested parole several times.” It isn’t a question but I nod anyway. “And you’ve been turned down every time.” I nod again as he leans back in his big office chair. “If you’re still wanting out of here, a new program has been funded, and I think you’re the perfect candidate.”

  My brows fly up on my forehead as I lean forward, wanting—no, needing—to know more.

  “Program?” I ask, my voice a little louder now.

  A slow smile starts to creep up his face, making the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes more pronounced. He runs a hand through the short, gray hair on his head.

  “It doesn’t take a parole board to get you on this program: it’s at the Warden’s discretion, and I want to offer you a place on it.”

  “Me?” I ask, pointing at my chest. “Why me?”

  He watches me for several seconds, I become uncomfortable so I shift in my seat.

  “Because you deserve to be given a break and to have a life beyond these walls.” He’s silent for a beat. “If you say yes, you’d be released in a couple of days. A parole officer will meet you and explain all of the relevant details to you.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I could be out of here in a few days, breathing in the fresh air and wearing something other than these scratchy uniforms.

  “So, what do you say, Deacon? Am I signing this document to put you on the program?”

  He holds up a piece of paper and I stare at it, my mouth opening and closing as I try to form words.

  “Yes,” I finally manage to say, my heart beating so fast I think it may explode.

  The sound of an alarm on the gate beeping breaks me out of my own head, signaling that it’s been unlocked. The hinges creak with age as it’s opened and I look up just in time to see the prison guard wave her arm at me, shooing me out of there with a look of impatience on her face.

  It’s too good to be true, I just know that any second now the warden will come out of nowhere and tell me it was one big joke: that I’m not really free, that I have to stay inside this prison for the rest of my sentence.

  But as I step forward, no one says a word, and when I’m finally on the other side of that locked gate I see the row of windows that look out into the free world. I finally start to believe that this is real. I’m actually getting out of here. For days I hoped and prayed that it wasn't some kind of mistake, that it was actually going to happen. And now it is.

  I turn my head and take one last look back into the place that I called home for the last two years. I wish I hadn’t because as soon as I do, a pair of dark-brown eyes meet mine, pure evil and the promise of pain shining through them before I quickly turn back around.

  Forget her: forget all about her.

  A gruff voice calls, “Alexis Deacon?” and my head whips to the side before my eyes widen at the tall man that stands in front of me. For the last two years in prison I’ve seen the same ten guards in rotation, so having this man in front of me right now quite frankly scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

  “That’s me,” I croak out, pointing to my chest with my pointer finger.

  He holds his hand out to me but I cringe as I look down at it. I’m just about managing to stand a few feet away from him so there’s no way that I’ll be able to shake his hand.

  His eyes search mine and when he sees what must be shining in their depths, he shrugs it off, swiping his hand through his black hair before saying, “We need to get going, are you ready?”

  I frown as he spins around, my feet stuck to the floor by some invisible force. “Going where?” I ask.

  He turns back around, his dark-brown eyes flicking between each of mine before he blows out a breath. “The Warden didn’t explain?”

  “Erm…” I look around the empty waiting room, not knowing what to say or do. “He told me that my parole officer would tell me the specifics of the program when I got out.”

  He watches me for several seconds. “Here.” He points to one of the blue plastic chairs that sit in rows along the edge of the room. “Sit down.”

  I walk quietly to where he’s pointing and sit down silently, clutching the plastic bag that contains all of my belongings against my chest. My whole life is in this bag.

  “You were a juvenile when you were sentenced?” He phrases it like a question but he already knows the answer so continues before I get a chance to nod in confirmation. “In the eyes of the law you’re an adult now, and
as such, you will be treated as an adult.” He stops talking, letting me take it all in. I want to tell him that the law has seen me as an adult since I was fifteen when they tried me as one. “However, we have a new program for women who have been in the system since they were young. It’s to help reintroduce them into the world so to speak.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “To get on this program, you have to be put forward by the warden, and as you know, you were.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He huffs out another breath, obviously annoyed at having to explain it all. “I’m from a district about two hours from here, that’s where the program in this state is run. You have a real opportunity here, Alexis. You can build yourself a life.” He pauses. “A good life.”

  “What will happen?” I ask, still confused with all this new information. I was so shocked when the warden told me, I didn’t think about what would be happening once I was out of this place.

  “We’ll get on the road and go right to my office, we need to fill in all the necessary paperwork and then I’ll take you to your new home before showing you your new place of work.”

  “Let me get this straight…” I say, shuffling forward on the seat and narrowing my eyes at him as I wait for him to give me his name.

  “Jake... it’s Jake Weathers.”

  “Okay, Jake… so you’re going to take me to this new town and provide me with not only a place to live, but also a job?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles.

  I shake my head and stand up, not believing all this is happening. Things like this don’t happen to me.