The Rules for Breaking Read online




  Copyright © 2014 by Ashley Elston

  Designed by Marci Senders

  Cover images: Tim Robberts/Getty Images; Viorika/iStockphoto

  Cover design: TEN

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York, 10023-6387.

  ISBN: 978-1-4231-9035-6

  Visit www.hyperionteens.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my boys—Miller, Ross, and Archer

  you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

  I’ve been putting off asking Ethan this question for a week. It’s now or never. We’re in his truck, headed to the farm, and there is a practice range there that Ethan and his dad use to sight in their guns before hunting season. If he agrees, I won’t have time to back out before the turnoff.

  Surprise flashes across his face. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m ready,” I answer, hoping it’s the truth.

  I can tell he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready,” he says in a teasing voice.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I blacked out when I saw him shoot a hog that was attacking his dog. That shot brought back memories so horrible that I had repressed them for months. But I remembered everything now, and I was determined not to cower behind a couch the next time I came face-to-face with a killer. Not if there was anything I could do about it.

  “What brought this on?” he asks.

  I shrug, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t like being scared of anything.” And that much is true. I’m terrified of guns, but I’m more scared of returning to the life I led just a few short weeks ago. “I’m ready and we’re here. Perfect timing.”

  My family has only been out of the Witness Protection Program a month and I’ll do anything to avoid going back. Our short time in the program nearly destroyed my family.

  He reaches for something near my feet and I automatically snatch my purse from the truck floor. The last thing I want is for him to see what I’m hiding inside. He grabs the remote control that works the gate to the farm, which must have fallen out of its usual spot in the cup holder, and gives me a strange look.

  Probably because I’m acting like he’s a mugger.

  “You’re jumpy. You hiding another boyfriend in that bag?”

  I return his smile with a weak one of my own. Have I been glancing over my shoulder way more than what’s normal? Yes. Have I nearly jumped right out of my skin at every little noise? Yes. Do I want to tell him why? No.

  Ethan turns serious. “Anna, you’ve been different ever since the Mardi Gras dance. You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, don’t you?”

  “No! I mean yes, I know. Nothing is wrong. It’s all good. Sorry for being weird.”

  I hate thinking about the Mardi Gras dance.

  Hate it.

  It was supposed to be the perfect night. I was back to using my real name—no more fake identities—and I had convinced myself it was all over. I no longer dreaded the suits showing up and pulling me away from everyone I’d grown to love, like they’d done so many times before. I no longer worried every time I said good-bye to Ethan that it might be the last time I saw him.

  And it was perfect—at first. I felt like the belle of the ball dancing in Ethan’s arms, and the night was getting even better when the party moved to Will’s house.

  But that’s when everything fell apart. That’s when the man I thought of as Agent Thomas re-entered my life.

  “I’ve just been a little stressed lately,” I add nervously. And that’s the truth.

  “And you think now is a good time to shoot a gun?”

  “Yes, I do.” I drop my purse back down on the floorboard.

  “Okay, then. If you really think you’re ready, we can try,” Ethan says.

  I may be good at hiding things from my dad and my little sister, Teeny, but I can’t hide anything from Ethan. He knows something isn’t right. Gripping my bag, feeling for the hard corners of the journal tucked inside, I think about how much to tell him.

  I’m not mentioning the bizarre return of my missing journal…or the single daisy that was left in the pages. I’m not telling him about the note that Thomas, fake agent and would-be assassin, left in the pocket of my coat—the note that I tore to pieces, then taped back together hours later. I’ve re-read that note a hundred times looking for some clue or hidden meaning, but there’s…nothing. It still freaks me out that Thomas managed to get within a few feet of me and I never knew it. I’m not telling Ethan there may still be someone out there watching me.

  Ethan clicks the button on the remote and the electric gate starts to open. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “For a while.”

  Ethan glances from me to the farm road, back and forth, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Given that the majority of the time we’ve known each other I was lying to him about who I was, I don’t blame him for being skeptical.

  “I’m not buying that. I’ll teach you, but you have to tell me what brought this on. Are you sure nothing’s happened?”

  I give him a big smile and scoot across the front bench of the truck to get closer to him. I can’t tell him. He’ll make me tell Dad and Dad will call the suits and I don’t ever want to see them again. I fought too hard to get this wonderfully normal life and I’m not ready to give it up.

  “Everything’s fine. Stop overthinking this. I know I freaked last time but I’m prepared now. I want to learn. I don’t want to be scared.”

  I hope I didn’t oversell it.

  He moves a hand from the steering wheel to mine, squeezing it tightly. “Just as long as you’re sure. I don’t know if I can handle it if you pass out. That damn near killed me, seeing you on the ground like that.”

  And I don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of hearing him talk in that slow, smooth Louisiana drawl or seeing that dimple dig deep into his cheek. This moment, in the truck with him, reinforces why I will not go back to the way things were. I want this life. I deserve this life.
But I need to learn how to protect myself. I don’t ever want to be a victim again.

  “Does your dad know you want to do this?”

  “No. But it’s not like I’m hiding it from him. He wouldn’t understand and I don’t want to try to explain it. He won’t get it.”

  The first twenty-four hours after Thomas returned my journal and left the creepy note, I was terrified. I stuck to Dad and Teeny like glue, not willing to let them out of my sight. And Ethan, he knew something was wrong, but I dodged his questions like the seasoned evader I am. There were a million times in that first day that I teetered on the brink of telling Dad everything, but I couldn’t say the words that would surely bring the suits back into our lives. And what would they do, anyway? All they know about Thomas is that he’s some sort of assassin, or killer for hire, or something horrible like that. But that’s it. They would have no idea how to catch him—so they’d probably just toss us back into the program.

  After that first day, when nothing else happened, I decided that maybe Thomas did mean exactly what he said in the note: He just wanted me to have my journal back. I know enough about Thomas to know that if he wanted me dead, I would be dead.

  Ethan pulls through the front gate of the farm and I rub my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans.

  I can do this.

  I have to do this.

  There are several tractors working in the distance and I spot Ethan’s dad’s truck parked at the barn. I was hoping we would be alone—I don’t need any witnesses if I am, in fact, not ready to do this.

  Ethan turns off the truck and pulls me in closer, kissing me gently on the lips.

  “We’ll start slow. You can hold the gun, load it, get a feel for it. If that seems all right, then maybe we’ll try to fire a few rounds. If you start feeling bad, tell me and we’ll stop. Don’t push yourself on this. You’re safe with me. You just have to put all of the other bad stuff out of your mind.”

  I drag him toward me, away from the steering wheel, and crawl in his lap, kissing him deeply. He knows and understands me like no one else ever has and that is a serious turn-on.

  It’s not long before we’re totally making out in the front of his truck.

  We hear a four-wheeler approach and I jump off Ethan’s lap and move back to my side of the truck just before his dad stops on Ethan’s side. I’m sure the slightly fogged windows give a little clue as to what was happening inside.

  Ethan chuckles as he rolls down his window. “Hey, Dad.”

  He nods, sneaking a peek at us when he says, “Hey, son. Anna.” He looks as embarrassed as I feel.

  “Hi, Mr. Landry.” My face is on fire.

  “Dad, I’m going to teach Anna how to shoot this morning.”

  Mr. Landry jerks his head to me quickly. He also witnessed my meltdown the last time I was around a gun. “Are you sure?”

  I nod and Ethan says, “We’re going to ease into it. No rush.”

  No rush. I hope he’s right and I won’t need this skill anytime soon.

  Rules for disappearing

  by Witness Protection prisoner #18A7R04M:

  Live on the fringe of society….

  New rule by Anna Boyd:

  Screw that.

  try not to hyperventilate. Ethan’s got everything lined up: the gun, the bullets, safety glasses, and even a pair of earmuffs to deaden the sound.

  We’re on the back part of the farm where they do target practice. There’s a wooden structure that’s used as a gun rest at different heights so you can either stand or sit while shooting. In front of us are targets at varying distances.

  “First thing I want you to understand is this is a completely safe situation. We’re far enough away that there is no chance you will hit anyone or anything other than the target or the hay bale behind the targets. It’s just me and you, Anna. No one else.”

  I nod and stare at the gun. As much as I try to keep the memories away, my mind instantly fills with the images of dead bodies and pools of blood.

  Taking a step back, Ethan sees I’m having trouble and wraps his arms around me. “Anna, we don’t have to do this today. Or ever. It’s okay.”

  I shake my head and answer, “No, I don’t want to be scared anymore.” He thinks I’m talking just about the gun, but it’s so much more than that.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Ethan knows all about my family’s time in the Witness Protection Program, but he’s only heard the cold, hard facts that Agent Williams laid out. I witnessed two murders—not only was my dad’s boss killed in front of me, but so was his son, Brandon, the boy I’d had a crush on for years.

  It was so traumatizing I blocked that night out completely, and had no memory of it for months. But that memory returned right here on this very farm when I rode along on a hog hunt with Ethan. His dog, Bandit, was hurt and he was forced to shoot the feral hog attacking him. The sight of the gun, the crack of the blast, and the smell of the smoke flooded me with memories of that night.

  Until that night on the farm, I thought the reason we were in the program was because my dad had done something horrible.

  But it was me all along. I was the one the suits were protecting. I was the reason we were forced to leave our home in Scottsdale, our friends, everything we’d ever known.

  I was the reason my mom turned to drinking. She couldn’t handle staying in the program indefinitely while everyone waited for my missing memories to return, the suits showing up in the middle of the night because our location had been compromised. I was the reason she nearly drank herself to death and is now recovering in a treatment facility in Baton Rouge.

  I drop down on the small stool next to the gun rest and bury my head in my hands. Ethan crouches down beside me, running his hand over my head in slow, calming strokes.

  “Talk to me,” he whispers.

  “I can still see Brandon on the floor in that room. When I shut my eyes, he’s there. One leg was at an odd angle and his shoe was untied. And the blood. It was everywhere. The room smelled like gun smoke and blood…. His body was just so…still.”

  Ethan pulls me in closer.

  “And then the man who shot them, Sanchez, found me behind the couch where I was hiding and I knew I was next. He put that gun in my face and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. I thought I was dead.”

  A broken sob escapes my mouth and Ethan brings my face to his.

  “But you survived because you are strong and smart. Don’t forget that part. You are strong and smart.”

  “The only reason he didn’t kill me was because of those ledgers. What if I hadn’t seen Brandon’s dad put them in that wall safe? What if Sanchez hadn’t wanted them back badly enough and he shot me on the spot? If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did, I would have told him the location and then he would have killed me.”

  Those ledgers are what kept my family and me alive for months. The suits wanted me to get my memory back so I could testify against Sanchez. But the drug cartel that Sanchez worked for had heard from him that I knew the ledgers’ location. Ledgers that showed all of the ways Brandon’s dad, who was the head of the accounting firm where my dad worked, had laundered their drug money. It would have completely shut down their operation.

  And that’s how “Agent Thomas” came into my life. He wanted the ledgers and knew I could get them for him. He drew me in, making me trust him. I thought he was the only suit who really wanted to help me.

  “You’re safe now. Sanchez is dead, remember? He can’t hurt you.”

  He’s dead because Thomas slit his throat from one ear to the other. Once the cartel got the ledgers back, they cut Sanchez loose. Apparently there are no second chances in the drug cartel business.

  Except for Ethan and me. Thomas could have killed us in Scottsdale, but he didn’t and no one knows why.


  “Anna, please tell me why you want to do this.”

  “I want to be able to protect myself.” And this is the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth.

  I stand up and give myself a good shake. “Please help me, Ethan.”

  His expression is guarded but I know him well enough to see that he is struggling with this. He wants to help me, but he doesn’t think this is a good idea. At all.

  “First, pick up the gun. It’s not loaded. Feel it in your hand. See how you do with that.”

  I run a finger over the handle. It’s cold even though it’s been sitting in the sun, and shivers race up my arm.

  Taking a deep breath, I wrap my hand around it, lifting it from the gun rest. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. My fingers fit perfectly in the grooves on the handle.

  “This is a Glock. It’s small and there’s hardly any recoil, so I thought it would be an easy gun to start with. Let’s practice holding it the right way and aiming before putting any bullets in.”

  Ethan moves behind me. His hands move on top of mine and he brings them up, pointing the gun at the targets in front of us. He repositions my hands until the right one is holding the gun, my pointer finger on the trigger.

  “You fire a gun with the same hand you write with, so for you that’s your right hand. Your left hand will help support the gun like this,” he says, and positions my left hand around the underside of the gun.

  Ethan’s body surrounds me completely. His arms line up with mine, his chest and legs mold against me. As nauseating as it feels to have this gun in my hand, I can’t help but feel safe. It is a strange sensation.

  “How do you feel?” Ethan asks.

  “Scared but not scared. I know nothing bad will happen while you’re here with me.”

  “Do you want me to step away? Let you hold it on your own?”

  I’m terrified for him to let go of me. I’m not sure my body will support itself once his moves. But then I think of the journal—and Thomas. He took it from me—I assume for the secrets he thought might be written in it—and then inexplicably gave it back. What reason would he have to bother me once he had the ledgers? I have no idea, and that scares me more than this gun.