Bad Apple: Book One in the Bad Apple Duet (Bad Creed 1)

  BAD

  Apple

  Bad Creed #1

  (Book One of the Bad Apple Duet)

  gemini jensen

  Bad Apple

  Copyright © 2019 by Gemini Jensen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way, including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording or any other means without the explicit permission of the author, except for brief quotations of the book when writing a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands (unless otherwise noted), places, incidents and even facts are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people—alive or dead—is completely coincidental.

  All song titles and lyrics in this book are property of the copyright owners, and are in no way linked to the author.

  This book is for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design:

  Gemini Jensen

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stalk Me

  Other Titles & Upcoming Projects by Gemini Jensen

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  This is a full-length novel that ends on a cliffhanger. Book two will be releasing before the end of the year and will be up for preorder at the release of Book One.

  This series deals with subjects that may be considered taboo and/or uncomfortable for some.

  This duet in particular contains flawed characters that may be hard to swallow. While this story can’t truly be considered dark, I feel the need to warn…if you are a safety reader, or have disliked “Bully” stories with crude anti-heroes in the past, this may not be the book for you.

  Ransom Creed is unlike any character I’ve previously published. I don’t write the characters—they write themselves—and he is not my typical hearts and flowers romance hero. That being said, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed getting inside his head…and book one only scratches the surface ;)

  Dedication

  To whoever needs to hear it…

  “Your dreams are at your fingertips.”

  Remain resilient. Keeping pushing on.

  Bad Apple Playlist

  “It Ends Tonight” All American Rejects

  “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” Fall Out Boy

  “Sex Type Thing” Stone Temple Pilots

  “Move Along” All American Rejects

  “Look What You’ve Done” Jet

  “Closer” Nine Inch Nails

  “Fake it” Seether

  “Scars” Papa Roach

  “Cut the Cord” Shinedown

  “Into the Black” Chromatics

  “Dark Side” Bishop Briggs

  “Mask” Niykee Heaton

  “Bad Guy” Niykee Heaton

  “I’m Ready” Niykee Heaton

  “Letting You Go” Bullet for my Valentine

  “All These Things I Hate (Revolve Around Me)” Bullet for my Valentine

  “One Thing” Finger Eleven

  “Defy You” The Offspring

  “Criminal” ZZ Ward (Ft. Freddie Gibbs)

  Prologue

  True

  Fall Semester, Senior Year

  The Creed kids were bad news. They did bad things and came from bad people. In other words, they were inherently bad. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but in this case, the entire tree was full of bad apples.

  There were three of them in my age group. Two brothers, Maverick and Slade, and a sister, Huxley. They ruled the school in a way the popular kids—myself included—couldn’t.

  See, people didn’t fear us popular kids. When dealing with one of us, the worst a person had to worry about was being humiliated.

  When dealing with the Creed’s, however, those stakes were raised tenfold, catapulting to a completely new tier that started with things like having your ride screwed with, and ended with a thorough amount of great bodily harm. Everyone steered clear. They let them be. Many avoided the three at all cost, yet they were still respected.

  At least by most.

  I could honest to God say they’d never have my respect. From the time I was a little girl, I was raised up right. I was taught they were trash, and I was better. Although I didn’t know the reason, they were my family’s enemy, and my family theirs. It was just the way of the world.

  But summer-break was coming to a close, and school was starting back. For once, I was excited about that fact. My Junior year had been my best year of high-school yet, and I was hoping my final year at Warren High would easily take the cake.

  And I had every reason to be believe it would.

  I was dating the most sought-after guy in school.

  I was captain of the cheerleading squad.

  My peers both admired and envied me.

  Plus, there were less of the enemy this year.

  Three Creed’s were a handful. Way too much to deal with. Completely unmanageable…but Maverick, the eldest, had graduated the year before last.

  Now Warren High was down to two.

  Perhaps it was a little overconfident to say so, but I could deal with two Creed’s. Last year was proof of that. By subtracting one from the equation, the odds of my crossing paths with a Creed had been decreased by a staggering 33.3 percent. Two was an easy-peasy number.

  Plus, there was the fact Slade was a junior, and Huxley just a sophomore, meaning we were even less likely to have any run-ins. The odds were, undoubtedly, in my favor.

  That is, until I walked into my first period class on my first day of school, and realized, they weren’t. Not by a long shot. It was the day everything changed.

  Chapter One

  True

  “Move the fuck out of my way, minnow,” a male voice growls, nearly cutting into my thoughts and causing my words to become jumbled.

  I silently wonder which poor kid he’s talking to but am way too lazy to turn and see for myself, continuing to give my friend, Steph, the lowdown on my summer vacation.

  “So, to answer your question, no. I hardly saw Zack at all this summer, so there weren’t any chances to do it,” I throw in some air quotes, “as you so delicately asked.”

  And if I had it my way, I’d keep ensuring there were no opportunities for us to have sex.

  I don’t want to have sex and I’ve only recently begun to wonder if it has more to do with the guy in question, than my general consensus on the act. Me and Zack have been together for around a year, and while we’ve done a little fooling around, I’ve never allowed him to pressure me into going all the way. If I’m being quite literal, we’ve never come close to going half the way.

  On the outside, we’re the quintessential dream couple. The captain of the cheerleading squad and the captain of both the varsity football, and basketball teams. The friendly and popular, bubbly blonde and her Ken doll counterpart.

  We’re a match made in high-school heaven.

  Unfortunately, it just isn’t a match concocted in my version of heaven.

  Zack is nice and attentive enough, if not a little boring. He sends me flowers and chocolates on the appropriate occasions, and spouts off the obligatory you’re beautiful more frequently than a girl could ask for.

  But therein lies the problem…

  He’s completely uncomplicated, and by that, I mean uncomplex. He’s reliable in a way that is oh-so-painstaking. I always know what to expect with him—the same thing day in, and day out.

  And he sure as hell doesn’t give me that rush of excitement, or unfortunately for his case—which he’s really taken to pushing more frequently lately—he doesn’t have what it takes to make me want to jump his bones.

  “Moving on from the Zack topic and back to the original topic at hand, summer vacation in case you need to be reminded, we basically did the same thing we always do when we hit up the coast. All the boring historical sites, the lighthouses especially. You know how my mom is about history and all that…”

  Forces it on us because of some silly documentary she once saw, stating the brain forgets about eighty percent of what it learns of a topic in the first twenty-four hours. Or something like that…

  “So, did you go any place special over the sum
mer?” I ask Steph, attempting to turn the spotlight back on her since she doesn’t seem to be very invested in the conversation now that mine and Zack’s sex-life, or lack thereof, is off the table. She isn’t even looking at me anymore, staring somewhere at the wall behind me with apt interest.

  So, a wall is suddenly more interesting than I am now?

  Can you say, rude?

  “Earth to Steph.” I lean more into her line of vision and wave my hand in her face, my hot pink nails wiggling.

  Her gaze finally snaps back to mine.

  “Uh…” She cuts her eyes back in the direction she was just staring as if silently willing me to look that way too.

  But before I can even turn around, I nearly hit the floor when someone knocks both my legs—which, up until two seconds ago, were propped up against the desk across from mine—out of their way. My heart leaps forward in my chest as my arms slide outward just in time to keep myself from falling out.

  My head swivels to my right in confusion, and I blink slowly, my body tingling as shock slides into my bloodstream.

  The first thing my eyes land on are tattoo-covered arms, toned and muscular, and connected to a man’s torso. I’m not just talking little ol’ I-decided-to-get-a-lame-barbed-wire-band-around-my-bicep tattoos, but full-blown, real-deal, entire sleeves of tattoos.

  I rear back nervously, halfway convinced there’s an escaped convict in our school because kids don’t have tattoos like that.

  And if there does happen to be an escaped convict, I’m in deep shit. I’m the student they’d choose to come after, being the Sheriff’s daughter and all.

  Maybe Daddy was the one who got him locked up.

  My eyes trail upward in fear, my fight-or-flight instincts teetering on the edge of operating full-blast as I make note of the details…

  Crisp black tee with visible signs of muscular definition beneath the surface—check.

  I gulp; prisoners are known to wear plain tee-shirts and they have nothing but time on their hands for focusing on their physique. Especially repetitive strength-training, like pushups.

  My ass rises an inch out of the desk as I get ready to bolt, my gaze continuing to trace the lines of his body, up and over his corded neck where I notice a vein sticking out from beneath the flesh—throbbing angrily—to a set of full, pale-pink, flattened out lips framed by a chiseled jaw.

  Now that part is the strangest of all.

  When I picture a prisoner on the run, I wouldn’t think of someone with soft, almost kissable lips. I’d think dehydrated, chapped and gross. Not this guy, though. This guy’s lips are practically begging to be kissed.

  I finally gather my courage and push onward the last few inches.

  And I barely contain the gasp that threatens to break free from my chest, schooling a blank expression onto my face as I struggle to adapt to the situation at hand. I don’t even know what the situation is, but that doesn’t mean I’m not currently trying to buy myself some time to figure it out.

  Thick, coal-hued lashes work to border eyes the color of deeply frosted grass—like the first frost of the year just touched down, the pale green barely peeking out from beneath the thick, icy layer as it catches the glint of the early morning sun.

  Befitting, considering his stare is just as frosty. The hate-filled glare of full-on animosity causes a shiver to slide down my spine like a wave rolling over each and every vertebrae from top to bottom.

  It’s almost as if I murdered a close family member of his or something—which I’m one hundred percent positive I did not do.

  He’s so intense, it’s frightening.

  He hates me, I’m sure of it.

  But why?

  I don’t even know this dude—can’t place him at all, but he definitely seems to know me. Either that, or he specifically picked me out from everyone else as his own personal stress-reliever. As in, he intends to mash, and squeeze, and torture me until I crack, and he feels better about whatever rage he’s got caged up deep inside.

  Lucky me.

  “Excuse me.” I give him a soft smile as I attempt to be polite, thinking maybe he didn’t intend to be so—I’m not even sure the word for it—Disruptive? Calloused?

  This isn’t something I’m experienced in dealing with, because never once in my entire sheltered life has anyone deigned to treat me in such a way.

  Surely it wasn’t on purpose. Even if he is eyeing me like he wants to kick my ass.

  “If I could excuse you, I would, but a little birdy tells me you’re here to stay.” He clucks his tongue. “You’ll learn your place soon enough. Now, I told you once to get the fuck out of my way, and I don’t make it a habit of repeating myself.” He narrows his eyes. “Consider this your one and only warning.” His jaw ticks as he stares me directly in the eye, watching my expression to be sure I heard every word he just said—seeking assurance I understood the message.

  My smile slinks down low, my brows also dipping as my cheeks begin to burn. A few snickers erupt throughout the classroom. Miss Popularity just got schooled.

  I wish I could crawl up inside myself and disappear.

  Who is he?

  Why is he here?

  And what part of Hell did he crawl up out of?

  Because he definitely isn’t from around these parts. No—every aspect of him, from his condescending attitude to his bad-boy appearance, screams big city.

  Noticing my slip in demeanor, a look of satisfaction crosses his face. He breezes past me to the back of the row, and then loops back around and slides into the seat directly behind the desk I just had my feet propped on.

  Anyone else would have turned away and made it their mission to avoid even looking in his direction after a meeting like that, but I watch every move he makes, half-expecting him to leap over the row of seats and kidnap me. Maybe even hold a blade to my throat.

  Who is he? My mind asks again.

  Two minutes later, the bell rings, and it doesn’t take me very long to figure it out.

  “Tiffany Black?” Miss Frazier calls out.

  “Here.”

  “Sam Caldwell?” she asks again.

  “Here.”

  “Ransom…Creed?” She pauses this time, her eyes rising from the clipboard to scan the classroom curiously and my entire body stiffens as if rigor mortis just set in. Obviously, I recognize the last name, but Ransom—I swear it’s a name I’ve heard before, although, I can’t exactly recall when. Who names a kid that anyway?

  An outlaw, that’s who.

  When no one responds, some of the tension starts to dissolve from my shoulders. Surprisingly, there’s three new kids at our school this year, and apparently—thank God—we aren’t adding another Creed to that roster.

  But when I notice Miss Frazier’s eyes have begun to narrow in annoyance, I cringe, thinking I might throw up.

  I turn to find she’s set her sights on the bully-asshole. He’s sprawled out lazily in his desk with a devil-may-care look about his face. One palm rests flat against the desk’s surface, his index finger raised up in his careless version of making himself known.

  So cocky, so defiant.

  And now we know why…

  “Mr. Creed, I’d prefer you speak up rather than just lifting your finger off the desk. It’s much more efficient if I don’t have to search you out every time I call roll.”

  His stoic face remains as expressionless as stone when he gives one curt nod of his head, dropping the finger in question back in line with the others.

  Seemingly satisfied, Miss Frazier continues with her current task.

  And I can’t stop staring.

  Little things are beginning to stand out that I overlooked before. Sleek, inky hair like deep onyx. Small black gauges in his ears. A black, metal ring wrapped around his lip. This boy is trouble with a capital T, the entire embodiment of the word-for-word definition.

  So, they call him Creed?

  He’s edgier than the ones I know.

  The infamous Tyson Creed only has three kids; Maverick, Slade, and Huxley. His sister has kids, but the eldest of them isn’t even in high-school yet. I feel like my entire life is a lie, because clearly, there’s one more. There’s one Creed I was previously unaware of.

  What irks me the most is the fact, for some curious reason, Dad didn’t feel I should be privy to this information.