Retribution: The Lost Children World Book 1 Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Krista Street

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-946884-17-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted or distributed in any printed or electronic form, or stored in a database or retrieval system for any commercial or non-commercial use, without the author’s written permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any places, business establishments, events or occurrences, are purely coincidental.

  Cover art by Deranged Doctor Design.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  THE LOST CHILDREN WORLD

  THE MAKANZA SERIES

  ALSO BY KRISTA STREET

  PREFACE

  Retribution kicks off a new series that takes place several years after the original Lost Children Trilogy. Though this series stands alone, for full enjoyment, readers may wish to read the previous trilogy (Forgotten, Remembered, and Reborn) before beginning any books in the Lost Children World.

  All books in the Lost Children Trilogy are available individually or as a complete Kindle Box Set. They can be found by clicking here.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Warm, dry air swirled around the classroom, hinting at summer. I tapped my finger against my desk. My professor’s voice droned around me, like a buzzing fly I couldn’t swat away.

  “Lena! Shh!” My best friend, Grace, sat beside me. Her blue eyes flashed daggers my way.

  I smiled wanly and stopped my incessant fidgeting. “Sorry.”

  Grace straightened and turned primly to listen intently as Professor Dillinger continued his lecture.

  Everything in me wanted to roll my eyes at my teacher’s nasally words.

  Professor Dillinger was my least favorite university professor. Just last week, I’d watched as he made another pass at one of my classmates. She was a freshman, like me, but only eighteen—unlike my ripe old age of twenty-three.

  When our professor, who had to be at least forty years old, called her to his desk, most of my classmates had already left. I was still fighting to get my supplies in my backpack as everything threatened to fall out again.

  From the back of the classroom, I’d watched as he’d approached her.

  I knew Professor Dillinger had no idea I was still there, judging by his brazen moves.

  My classmate had been visibly nervous. She’d run her hands through her long blond hair while shifting her weight from foot to foot. Professor Dillinger had stepped close enough to brush against her while telling her she’d need to improve her grades if she wanted to pass his class. He’d then invited her to his office for one-on-one coaching.

  I’d snorted. Unfortunately, neither of them had heard me.

  I’d seen him pull this stunt on two other women during the semester. The one who hadn’t gone for one-on-one coaching had cried to her friends after he gave her a D on our last term paper. However, the one who had gone received an A, but I couldn’t help noticing that her eyes were now downcast whenever he looked her way. She also sat in the back of the class. Before, she’d sat in the front.

  “What a creep,” I muttered under my breath.

  Grace gave me a sharp look.

  This time, I did roll my eyes.

  By the time the lecture finished, Grace was fuming.

  “Really, Lena!” She collected her binder and placed it neatly in her bag, on top of her textbooks. The rest of our classmates were standing around us, packing their things. The rustle of papers and buzz of conversation increased.

  “You could at least pretend to pay attention!” Grace carefully zippered her backpack closed and flipped her blond hair out of the way before slinging the pack over her shoulder.

  Since she was a few inches taller than me, I had to look up to see her. I muttered a sound of disgust. “It’s hard for me to do that when the guy’s the biggest douchebag in the world.”

  Crossing her arms, Grace frowned. “But you don’t have any proof that he’s done the things you claim. It could all be a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding?” I ran an agitated hand through my long red curls. “Really, Grace. How can you say that? I told you what I’ve seen, and he has a—”

  I cut myself off just in time.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d almost alluded to Grace about my extrasensory ability. Luckily, I’d stopped myself each time, but still, it was hard. Grace was my best friend. I was very comfortable with her and told her everything.

  Well . . . almost everything.

  She had no idea about that side of me. Nobody outside of my family did. Father was so terrified of our secrets being exposed that he’d raised us to never tell a soul. Still . . . keeping that part of my life a secret was proving to be harder than I’d expected.

  I folded my notes in half and stuffed them into the front of my backpack. Looking around for my pen, I frowned when I couldn’t find it.

  Grace bent over and picked my pen up off the floor. “Here. You dropped it ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I stuffed it into the pocket with my notes.

  “You better zipper that.” She pointed at my bag. “Those notes are already falling out.”

  “Oh. Crap.” Sliding my pack off, I grumbled at my escaping papers. With careful attention, I zipped it closed. “There. Done.” I grinned.

  Grace smiled approvingly.

  “We better go.” Grace nodded toward the line between the lecture-hall seats. Our classmates were slowly filtering to the back of the room and out the door. A hum of conversation swirled around us as people chatted with their friends.

  As Grace and I made our way out of the lecture hall, I turned to see if the professor had cornered anyone. A relieved sigh escaped me that he hadn’t.

  Professor Dillinger stood alone near the whiteboard. He’d pulled out a few things from his bag and had sat them on his desk. His cell phone and a pack of Marlborough Lights were visible.

  I switched my vision, activating the part of my brain that was dormant in others, just as Professor Dillinger picked up his phone.

  My teacher’s cloud appeared. The dark-gray aura swirled around his shoulders, dipping and flowing as if caught in a breeze.

  With a flick of my mind, I pulled his cloud off his body and molded it into a tiny energy ball. The cloud crackled. It was an infinitesimal amount of energy, since it was a single cloud, but it would do.

  I carefully manipulated my energy ball toward Professor Dillinger’s pants and with precise movements lowered the zipper on his fly.

  The professor continued swiping something on his smart phone. The phone was only inches from his face. He was none the wiser that his tighty-whities were visible for the world to see.

  With a satisfied smile, I dispersed the energy and turned my attention back to the line before I followed Grace out the door.

  Outside, the springtime Colorado sun shone down on us. Scents of freshly cut grass hung in the air. In the distance, a lawn mower hummed. The campus’s grounds crew was everywhere as they planted flowerbeds and rode lawnmowers.

&
nbsp; Around us, other university students ambled by or power walked to their next lecture. The buzz of so many people made me smile.

  Grace hitched her pack up higher on her shoulder and checked her phone. “Since we have fifteen minutes till our next class, do you want to grab a smoothie? I’m starving.”

  I perked up at the mention of food. “Sure!”

  Heading toward Broadway, I pulled out my phone to check my messages. A smile lifted my lips when I saw one from Flint.

  When are you going to be home, babe?

  I quickly typed in a reply. One more class, so maybe an hour?

  Good. I want you.

  A flush crept up my neck. A tingle in my belly came next. Just the thought of Flint’s large hands running over my body did that. Every time. My body hummed in anticipation.

  Looking forward to it.

  “Is that your dreamy lover boy texting you?” Grace smiled and gave me a side-eye.

  I laughed and put my phone away. “Maybe.”

  She pulled open the door to the smoothie shop. “Let me guess. He’s wondering when you’ll be home?”

  I bit my cheek to stop my smile. “Something like that.”

  We stepped inside. A blast of air from the HVAC system ruffled the wild curls around my face. I pulled out my wallet and stepped up to the counter so we could order.

  When it came to paying, I beat Grace to the register.

  She grumbled beside me and tucked her wallet back into her purse. Her blond hair fell in front of her face, hiding what I knew were pink cheeks. “You don’t have to always pay for me, Lena.”

  “I know. I know.” When the smoothie shop employee handed me back my credit card, I shoved it into my purse without bothering to find my wallet. “But you know how it is. My trust fund can handle it. Besides, I have a better paying part-time job than you.”

  Grace took our smoothies from the employee’s outstretched hands. I grabbed my strawberry mango and sighed in contentment after the first sip.

  “But I’ll never be able to pay you back.” She plopped down at an open table and pushed aside the newspaper that lay on it.

  “You don’t have to.” Dropping my bag at my feet, I took another sip of the cool smoothie.

  Sighing, she elbowed me gently. “Thanks, bestie.”

  I elbowed her back. “No probs, bestie.”

  She giggled.

  It wasn’t the first time Grace had been embarrassed about me paying for her things. I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. But even though she was up to her ears in student loans, she still insisted she could pay her way. I was the one who wouldn’t let her.

  Since Father had awarded me and the other lost children in my family—Flint, Jacinda, Di, Mica, Jet, Jasper, Amber, Susannah, Luke, Edgar, and Raven—with our own trust funds last year, none of us would ever be in need of money. Paying for a smoothie or a concert ticket or a meal out every now and then was the least I could do for my best friend, who struggled to pay her rent each month.

  “Hey, did you see this?” Grace flipped open our local newspaper to another article about an attack on campus. “Someone got assaulted again.”

  My insides stilled as I skimmed the article. Another woman had come forward after being attacked while walking to her dorm late at night. My cheeks heated with anger.

  “That’s the fifth attack this semester.”

  Grace gulped a mouthful of her smoothie, her eyebrows knitting together. “It’s scary. It’s almost like . . . I dunno . . . there’s a serial attacker or something around here.”

  I took a deep breath and switched my vision. Doing so was an automatic habit. Anytime I felt scared or worried about who might be around me, my vision switched of its own accord.

  But all that billowed around us were white and cream-colored clouds. Even people passing on the street had normal-looking clouds, except for the odd few that were grayish.

  None were black. That was the telltale sign of an evil person. A serial attacker’s cloud would no doubt be pitch-black.

  I shuddered.

  “Oh my gosh!” Gracie exclaimed. “We’re going to be late!” She jumped from her seat after checking the time on her phone. Her half-drunk smoothie tipped precariously from her hand.

  I’d completely forgotten that we were supposed to hurry to our next lecture. I grabbed my bag and jogged out the door behind her.

  But as we raced to our next class with our smoothies gripped tightly in our hands, my mind kept returning to the article in the paper. Each day it seemed more and more likely that a serial attacker lived on campus.

  And anyone could be his next target.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The apartment Flint and I lived in was a mile off campus. I generally walked every day to and from class. Even in the winter.

  After growing up in the Forbidden Hills, I didn’t think a walk in the winter was anything out of the ordinary. As kids, my adopted siblings and I would play for hours outside in the freezing cold. That was one of the few forms of entertainment we’d had.

  But today was warm even though it was technically still spring. The sun beat down. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my T-shirt stuck to my lower back, where my backpack pressed against it.

  In a way, it reminded me of my homeless days from two years before. For several months, after waking in an alleyway with no memories of who I was or what had happened to me, I’d walked everywhere then too, with only my backpack for company. That same pack was hanging from my shoulders.

  I smiled as I hopped off the sidewalk to cross the street. A breeze flowed across my skin as I giggled, remembering Jacinda’s horror when I’d refused to buy a new bag for school. One of the zippers on my pack was broken, and I’d had to patch a hole in the bottom of the bag, but it still worked.

  And that backpack had been with me through so much. It held more than just my textbooks. It held memories of who I really was.

  Two blocks later, I was climbing the steps to our apartment building. Even in town, the Rockies loomed all around us, like gigantic pyramids scattered on a precipice. Their familiar snow-capped peaks betokened cool winds and frosty mornings. At the moment, I felt so hot that I would have lain down in a big pile of snow and buried my face in it.

  “You’re home.” Flint’s deep voice greeted me when I stepped into our apartment. He sat on the couch, reading the newspaper. His chestnut hair was tousled as if he hadn’t bothered to brush it.

  I smiled and let my backpack fall to the floor. In the next second, the air rustled around me.

  Flint stood directly in my path.

  Since I was used to his inhuman speed, all I did was fling my arms around him and plop a big kiss on his lips.

  “Mmm . . . sweaty.” He chuckled more as I pulled back.

  Another giggle worked its way up my throat. “I thought hot and sweaty was your favorite way to have me.”

  His eyes darkened. “It is.”

  I squealed when he scooped me up with another lightning-fast move. The next thing I knew, he was tossing me onto our king-sized bed before peeling his shirt off in a blurred move.

  The sight of Flint’s hard, chiseled chest always got my pulse racing. It did so even more today. Perhaps the lingering frustration over my professor’s unethical behaviors, or my fear over the thought of a serial attacker, or the sight of Flint’s breathtaking physique made me feel the emotions coursing through my chest. Whatever it was, pent-up energy was built up inside me, wanting to be unleashed.

  And extracurricular time with my boyfriend in our bedroom seemed like the perfect way to get it out.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thirty minutes later, we lay in a tangle of sheets.

  “I’m not the only sweaty one now.” I ran a finger down his chest, making his muscles jump in response.

  He gripped my finger gently before turning on his side. Propping his elbow on the bed, he cupped his head and gazed down at me. His dark eyes flecked with gold studied me intently. His firm lips, straight nose, and smooth skin made him so
achingly beautiful that my breath stopped.

  I expected a smile to tug up his lips. Instead, he frowned.

  “Have you seen the newspaper today?” His eyebrows knit together.

  “Yeah, I have.”

  Letting go of my finger, he pulled me closer to him. “Then you know there was another assault on campus.”

  Anger again coiled in my belly, like a snake that wanted to strike. “Yeah. I saw it. That’s the fifth one this semester.”

  “Exactly. Maybe I should start picking you up from class. I could skip a few classes to meet you on the days I end after you.”

  “You know I can walk myself home just fine.”

  He frowned. “I think it would be safer if I joined you.”

  I arched an eyebrow and switched my vision. Flint’s pulsing blue, green, and orange cloud came into view. It was larger than normal, having grown from his worry. Pulling his cloud from his shoulders, I disengaged my own cloud and joined it with his.

  Only a few seconds had passed from when I’d switched my vision. Flint was still looking at me expectantly for an answer.

  Using the cloud, I flicked it behind him and, with a slight shove, smacked his ass.

  He jumped.

  I buried my head in the pillow so he wouldn’t see my grin.

  “Lena . . .” he growled. “Are you trying to make a point?”

  I lifted my head to see his annoyed expression.

  “Perhaps.” I let the clouds dissipate. They automatically returned to our shoulders. “I know you worry about me, Flint. I get that. Asking you to not worry would be like asking you to stop breathing, so I won’t. But you do know that I can take care of myself. I think I’ve proved that time and time again, so while I’m worried about this guy too, it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s all of the other women on campus that he could catch unawares.”

  His scowl didn’t lessen.

  I cupped his cheek. “You’d be better off escorting Mica to and from class every day, although I doubt she’d let you.”

  Flint grimaced. “She’d probably slug me in the shoulder and tell me to stop following her.”