The Con Read online

  The Con

  Justine Elvira

  Edited by: Eileen Proksch

  Cover by: Robin Harper

  Wickedbydesigncovers.com

  Published by Justine Elvira

  Smashwords Edition

  ©2015 Justine Elvira

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved. This book contains material under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any Unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Cover image used under license from shutterstock.com

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Note to my Readers

  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

  Epilogue

  Justine's Books

  Noah

  Changing His Game

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  The Con could not have been released without the wonderful people in my life who help make it all possible. This was my first book on pre-order and it was so stressful at times, but I have a great team of people around me who help keep me sane.

  Mayas–Thank you for being such a supportive friend. I can always come to you and I know you'll tell me the truth, exactly how I need to hear it. You're an amazing event organizer and I would not be able to do all that you do. Thanks for lightening my workload.

  Sam, Mayas, and Barbara–Thanks for reading The Con last minute to give me helpful last minute tips. You're amazing!!!

  Robin–Thanks for another fantastic cover. You always blow me away with your creativity.

  Eileen–I know I say this all the time but thank you for dealing with my crazy schedule and always telling me things are possible. You're an amazing editor and help me more than you know. Thanks for fixing all my errors :)

  To my street team, bloggers, authors and readers–Thank you for always helping and supporting me. Your loyalty is what keeps me going and I'm so grateful for all of you.

  My kids–Thanks for being absolutely nuts and keeping me feeling young. You help give me confidence every day to do what I do. I love you!

  Note to my Readers

  I've made a playlist to go alongside the book. If you are interested in hearing any of the songs mentioned in this book you can click on the link below and it will bring you to the music.

  I hope you enjoy The Con.

  The Con's Playlist

  Most women want a man that's already established. A strong woman will be a part of his struggle, survive it, succeed together, and build an empire.

  ~ Unknown

  Prologue

  I never pictured meeting the only man I would ever love while crouched over a puddle and crying hysterically, but fate is a funny thing. It can finally give your life meaning or tear it apart. I was convinced it gave my life meaning. Falling in love with Jagger was kismet. We were destined to be together from the start and here's our story...

  Chapter One

  Ronnie

  I wave goodbye to Ms. Louis as she drives away, her tires crunching against the white gravel on the side of the road as she pulls back out onto the main street to head home. It's just starting to get dark as I turn from where I stand and walk through the entrance of the trailer park I've lived in all my life, tapping the wooden sign staked into the grass at the entrance that reads:

  The Evergreen Subdivision

  The paint on half of the letters is gone, but the rise in the wood where each letter is carved makes the sign legible.

  Some people refer to the type of community I live in as a mobile home or manufactured home subdivision, but those are the people who have never been to The Evergreen Subdivision. They've only seen the nicer mobile home communities scattered across the United States. I live in a worn-down community that was built in the fifties, and the average household income is under poverty level. Our trailers are falling apart and the rest of our town isn't much better.

  I definitely live in a trailer park.

  Most of the kids in the neighborhood come from broken homes and we're lucky if we get to live with even one of our parents. The people we do live with usually have their own issues so we're all forced to be on our own and raise ourselves. It's a recipe for trouble, one that I've been lucky to stay away from so far. I'm not sure how though.

  I live with my sister, Pearl. She's technically my half-sister. My mother had Pearl at seventeen and me ten years later when she was twenty-seven. While Pearl is strikingly beautiful with her exotic looks, I'm a ginger–fire red hair, a few freckles and eyes that can't decide if they're green or blue. Pearl is average height with curves that make men drool. At nine years old I'm tall and awkwardly skinny. I look up to my sister and I used to envy her.

  I don't envy her anymore.

  Our mother who worked two full-time jobs just so we had a roof over our heads raised us both. Both men who knocked her up left her high and dry, meaning she was a single mother and Pearl and I never got to meet our fathers.

  Two years ago our mom got sick–Ovarian Cancer. We didn't have health insurance so by the time my mom started showing symptoms and went to the doctor to have the pain checked out, it was too late. She was already stage four and the cancer had spread to a few other organs and her lungs. She had a slim chance of survival.

  She died nine months later, leaving my teenage sister who just graduated from high school my sole guardian. I was only eight years old with no parental guidance and a sister that wanted anything other than to be a caregiver. She was forced to put college on hold and started working as a waitress at the local diner. After a while Pearl started working the breakfast and lunch shift because six months ago she started attending night classes at the local community college. She wants to be a doctor one day.

  Pearl's schedule makes our time together scarce. I only really see her on Sundays, so I'm forced to take care of myself. I cook, I clean, I do the shopping, and I’m responsible for going to bed on time, getting up for school, and doing my own homework.

  Walking down the paved main street in my trailer park, I stare at the potholes, now filled with water, that cover the road. It's been raining on and off today, which is welcome here in the desert, but the water has nowhere to go but sit stagnant, waiting to be absorbed or evaporate.

  As I walk past the large patch of grass near the entrance that's lined with several wooden picnic benches where teenagers like to hang out, I'm whistling in joy, remembering how well I did in ballet class today. I finally learned how to do a three-rotation fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. I stop mid-step and start with my supporting leg in a plié. Going through the motions while wearing my tennis shoes, I successfully do a fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, just like I did in class. I'm still in my tights, leotard and skirt, so the sheer material twirls with my motion. Landing with perfect form, I squeal with delight because I'm catching
on to ballet so easily. That's when I accidently let go of my ballet slippers, throwing them across the pavement before they drop into a puddle of dark muddy water. The same ballet slippers I love and had been holding so tightly in my hands.

  I run over to the puddle in the street that's caused by a gaping pothole. Kneeling down next to the water and getting my tights dirty, I pull my ballet slippers out of the water, but it's no use. They're ruined. The pale pink material is soaked and covered with splotches of mud. I place them on the ground as my hands cover my face and I start to cry. This was my only pair of ballet shoes. Ms. Louis bought me these and I can't afford a new pair

  A few months after my mother died, my second grade teacher, Ms. Louis, was worried about me. She was aware of my home life and knew I was forced to grow up a lot earlier than my peers. During school one day she asked me if I ever wanted to learn how to dance. My eyes lit up with excitement as I told her I had always wanted to learn to dance. A few weeks later she kept me after school and handed me a duffle bag, telling me to go to the bathroom and change.

  I entered the girl's bathroom and walked to the last stall at the end of the narrow room. Confused, but knowing Ms. Louis was a trusted adult and I was to listen to her, I zipped opened the canvas bag and pulled out pink tights, a black leotard and a sheer pink skirt. There were ballet slippers and tap shoes in the bag as well.

  Excited, I locked the gray stall door and stripped off my clothing before putting on the tights, leotard and skirt. I didn't know which pair of dance shoes I was supposed to wear, so I put my white tennis shoes back on and left the bathroom, re-entering Ms. Louis's classroom looking like a ballerina.

  I would find out later that day that Ms. Louis was able to get me a scholarship to take free dance lessons at her friend's dance studio in Phoenix. After coming to an agreement with my sister, Ms. Louis would drive me an hour into the city for dance lessons three times a week, before driving back an hour home. I may be only nine, but I know the type of sacrifice and dedication that takes. Ms. Louis really cares for her students, for me, and wants me to succeed in life. She believes being involved in group activities helps kids like me stay out of trouble.

  That's why I'm so upset right now. The tears are pouring down my cheeks as my breath hitches with each sob. I run my hand through my hair, making a mess of the tight bun on top of my head. Loose strands of red hair fall down my face.

  How am I supposed to tell Ms. Louis I ruined my dance shoes? I can't ask her to get me another pair because she's already done so much. My sister, Pearl, is already spread so thin working as many hours as she can and going to school. She can't even spare the small amount of money it will take to get a new pair.

  "Don't be sad, sweetheart," a voice whispers from beside me as I feel a hand settle against my back. Dropping my palms from my damp face, I look over and meet a pair of the most bizarre and beautiful eyes I have ever seen–one eye blue with a ring of burnt orange around the pupil and the other eye is light brown with a rim of dark gray around the pupil. I've never seen two eyes so different on the same face. They're detailed and fascinating.

  The boy's brown hair is long and tucked behind his ears. My eyes shift down and over his frame. His slim body is covered in a greasy white t-shirt, dirty jeans, and worn black boots. He can't be much older than me.

  With his free hand he reaches up and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "What's the matter?"

  I stare into his eyes as my breathing slowly settles and I realize I've stopped crying. Bringing my hands to my face, I wipe the tears from under my eyes before answering. "I dropped my ballet slippers and now they're ruined."

  My eyes move to where I've placed the shoes. The mud is starting to dry on the soft pink leather.

  "Can't say I understand why you'd want to wear those things, but if they're ruined I suggest you go buy a new pair. Problem solved." He smirks at me before dropping his hand from my back and standing up beside me. I grip my ballet slippers in my left hand and stand up as well.

  "It's not that easy. They were a gift. I can't afford a new pair."

  The strange boy watches me intensely, squinting his eyebrows together and I notice the fresh scab above his left eyebrow. He also has a faint bruise on his chin. Was he in a fight?

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash.

  Wow. My eyes grow huge as I look at the bundle of cash. I've never seen so much money before. What's he doing with all that money?

  He unrolls the cash and pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of the middle of the stack before rolling the remaining cash back up and stuffing it down the front pocket of his jeans.

  "Here," he says, handing me the twenty-dollar bill. I grab it with my free hand and look it over. "Go to Kenny's Shoes in the strip mall on Pine. Tell him Jagger sent you and let him know you need ballet shoes. He'll take care of you."

  "I can't take your money." He's being very sweet and I like him already, but my sister and mother taught me never to take anything from a man for free. Pearl says boys have hidden agendas, but I'm not sure what that means.

  "Sure you can, twinkle toes." He reaches over and places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. His touch makes my tummy feel funny, like one hundred butterflies were released in my stomach and are flying around, looking to escape. "Twenty dollars is a small price to pay to put a smile on your face. Now go home and tomorrow stop by Kenny's Shoes. I promise he'll get you what you need."

  He doesn't wait for my response as he turns around and I watch his back as he jogs over to a group of boys who are sitting on top of one of the picnic benches. They were watching us. I recognize a few of them from my school, but I don't recognize Jagger. I've never seen him at school before, but I know I'll be looking around for him from now on. Most boys tease me and make fun of my red hair and freckles. Jagger didn't tease me at all. He's the nicest boy I've ever met.

  The biggest smile spreads across my face as I start walking home before they can notice me staring. I clasp the twenty tightly in my hand. I've never held this much money before. It scares me a little. What scares me even more is that Jagger gave it to me like it was nothing. He must be rich.

  After closing the screen door of our singlewide trailer behind me, I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before walking down the narrow hallway of the trailer and into my small bedroom to go to bed, looking forward to getting my new pair of ballet slippers tomorrow. Jagger promised me Kenny would take care of me and I believe him.

  I couldn't know it now, but this would be the first of many promises Jagger would make me.

  Chapter Two

  Two years later

  Walking out the automatic doors of our small town's convenience store, I'm dreading my mile walk home in this desert heat. It's the middle of July in Arizona, which means everyone is looking for a place to cool off, including me. The air conditioning pumping through the store felt cool against my skin and I wish I could feel it all the time, but our small trailer doesn't have AC because Pearl says we can't afford it.

  The heat is dreadful. That's why I look forward to my long drive to dance every day in Ms. Louis's car. She has working air conditioning.

  After dance class last night I came home to a hot trailer and an empty fridge and cabinets, finding only a can of tuna and stale crackers to satiate my empty stomach. This morning was no better but I was too tired from dance, and too hot from the heat to even think about walking all the way to the store. By mid-afternoon I changed my mind.

  I was growing weak from hunger.

  So I took the thirty bucks Pearl left for me to shop with and hiked the fifteen minute walk to the convenience store. The walk felt more like an hour in this heat. With trailers on my left and the open desert on my right, I walked on the gravel of the single lane road that brings me from my house to the store, and hummed the music to my new ballet solo in my head. My solo is to Round Here by The Counting Crows. My dance instructor likes dancing to contemporary music, just as much as she likes c
lassical music.

  I've been dancing for a few years now and I've been able to keep my scholarship. The studio owner says I've been given a natural God-given gift. I dance there almost every day and I'm even a part of their dance company–the cost of which I would never be able to pay but the owner, Felicity, covers it all. I dance with three other girls, one of them being Felicity's daughter, Monique. Monique has quickly become one of my best friends, but we never get to see each other outside of dance class because of the distance. She lives far away in Paradise Valley, which is a gated community in Arizona. It totally sucks that she lives so far away because the kids in the trailer park give me such a hard time, so I don't have any friends here.

  They call me RBI, which stands for Rich Bitch in Training.

  I'd correct them and let them know that technically that's RBT, but that would give them another reason to tease me so I leave it alone. They obviously know nothing about me because there's no way in hell I'll ever be rich. I was destined for the trailer park life; I just get to live a fantasy life every night from five to eight. Those three hours of dance I can pretend I'm like all the other girls at the studio whose parents can actually afford to pay the tuition.

  I hold both of the paper bags filled with groceries tightly to my chest and walk across the mostly deserted parking lot of the convenience store so I can begin my trek home. I'm struggling with both bags, but I was so hungry in the store that I made sure to spend every bit of the thirty dollars Pearl left me.