Adrenaline (In Secret We Sin #1) Read online

  To second chances.

  Adrenaline

  Copyright © 2022 by A.L. Woods

  All rights reserved.

  Photography: Lightfield Studios, Michaklootwijk, Yuandong, Cameron Casey

  Chapter Illustrations: Marina Baskakova

  Front Cover Design: Ana Beatriz Cabús Rangel

  Wrap Design, Alternative Cover and Alternative Interior Formatting: Books and Moods

  Editor: Maggie Kern, Ms. K Edits

  Proofread by: Nisha Ladlee, Nisha’s Books and Coffee

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This e-book is available exclusively in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program. If found elsewhere, it has been stolen and the copyright infringed upon.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7782585-0-3

  ALSO BY A.L. WOODS

  Mirrors

  Shattered

  Awake

  Standalones

  Rain

  Veritas

  Lies

  Toxic

  Adrenaline

  PLAYLIST

  “Welcome To Horrorwood” – Ice Nine Kills

  “Debonaire” – Dope

  “Black Honey” – Thrice

  “Not My Type: Dead as Fuck 2” – Motionless In White

  “They Don’t Want What We Want” – Asking Alexandria

  “The Ladder” – Motionless In White

  “Sex & Candy” – Marcy Playground

  “Frozen” – Madonna

  “I’m so Sick” – The Veer Union

  “Fade to Blue” – Roniit

  “I Hate Everything About You” – Three Days Grace

  “Adrenaline” – Zero 9:36, Ice Nine Kills

  “Undead Ahead 2: The Tale of the Midnight Ride” – Motionless In White

  “Garamond” – Arm’s Length

  “1121” – Halsey

  “Seven Devils” – Florence + The Machine

  “Lalala” – Y2K, bbno$

  “Thank You” – Dido

  “Paint It, Black” – Ciara

  “When a Demon Defiles a Witch” – Whitechapel

  “E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE!” – CORPSE, Savage Ga$p

  “Push” – Matchbox Twenty

  “9 Crimes” – Damien Rice

  “Devil’s Island” – Architects

  “Blessed Be” – Spiritbox

  “Last Man Stranded” – In Fear And Faith

  “Johnny’s Revenge” – Crown The Empire

  “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” – Chelsea Grin

  “Wicked Game” –Chris Isaak

  “Cold Like War” – We Came As Romans

  “Circle The Drain” – Wage War

  “Always” – Saliva

  “MakeDamnSure” – Taking Back Sunday

  “Cute Without The ‘E’” –Taking Back Sunday

  “Holding Me Down” – Picturesque

  “Noise and Kisses” –The Used

  “Wishmaster” – The Word Alive

  “Weeping Wastelands” – Make Them Suffer

  “Astral Plane” – The Word Alive

  “If It’s Dead, We’ll Kill It” – Motionless In White, Brandon Schieppati

  “Milk” – Garbage

  “Roads” – Portishead

  “Mannequin Religion” – Woe, Is Me

  “Dispossession” – Northlane

  “Something In The Way” – Nirvana

  “A Stroke Of Luck” – Garbage

  “The Attendant” – Make Them Suffer

  “THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND” – Bad Omens

  Scan this code to access the playlist on Spotify

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  EPILOGUE

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  FOREWORD

  Adrenaline is a second chance, enemies-to-lovers standalone and the first book in the In Secret We Sin series—a dark romance series set within the Reflections universe.

  It contains situations and themes that may be disturbing, including graphic on-page violence, kidnapping, stalking, dub-con, off-page animal cruelty, blood and knife play, murder, and death.

  While this is not a reverse harem/why choose romance, there are M/F, M/F/M, M/M, and M/F/M/M scenes. The book concludes with one couple. Other characters will have their HEA in future releases.

  Reader discretion is advised.

  PROLOGUE

  Seventeen years ago…

  The peals of laughter pierced the air, blending with the sharp dings of bells announcing the conclusion of a game in the distance. In the warm summer night breeze, the buttery scent of popcorn and sweet fried foods tickled my nose, while flashes of bright lights twinkled in the dusk of night.

  I didn’t think a better place existed than this.

  And neither did my dad.

  His happy and lined features pinched with concentration, his mouth pulling to the right in an asymmetrical smile the same way mine did. We didn’t speak, but I could sense the hammering of his heart beating in sync with mine.

  We both loved this part.

  With our heads cranked back, my lips parted as I watched, completely mesmerized by the roller coaster train moving along the track, the familiar clicking of the wheels making contact on the chain lift as it climbed through the inky darkness. Laminated wood vibrated with power under it, sending currents of buzzing energy through my feet and the tips of my
fingers.

  Most people preferred the newer coasters found at other parks—the inversion of loops, the speed, and the smooth transitions. But not me, and not Dad.

  We liked things in their original glory—how they were meant to be.

  “Here it goes,” Dad murmured, his breath hitching.

  I felt the welcomed buzzing of adrenaline pumping through me, my mouth splitting into a grin as the train dove down the track, the wood rattling with the whoosh of power and the excited screams puncturing the sky from sixty feet above us. That sound made my toes curl in my shoes, my big toe sneaking out of the hole in my sock, digging into the sole of my shoe.

  I lived for the thrill of watching almost as much as I enjoyed living it.

  “You should ride next,” Dad suggested, glancing at me knowingly. He had read my mind. “I’ll let you get in the first car.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, glee rolling through me.

  He nodded, his eyes flickering. “We’re almost done here, anyway.”

  And just like that, the excitement left me. My stomach sank while my gaze skirted toward the queue. There were only four people in line—and the park employees considered this a good day. Despite the way the voices carried in the park, there had to be less than a hundred people here tonight.

  No one really visited Elara Park anymore, at least, no one who didn’t live in our tiny town. Rockchapel, Massachusetts, bordered the edge of Rhode Island, with one of our streams even feeding into the Runnins River that divided us. It was tiny and forgettable, with little to offer newcomers. There were under ten thousand inhabitants here, made up of people whose families had lived here so long, they’d inherited property and land that wasn’t worth much anymore.

  No one moved to Rockchapel—not because they wanted to, anyway.

  But that hadn’t always been the case. Once upon a time, it had been a booming place for leaf peeping tourists and adrenaline junkies to explore, according to Dad. When I was younger, he’d described the golden era of the park’s history when it was owned by Mr. Wright, a Rockchapel native who’d opened the park in the seventies. Mr. Wright hired my dad when Dad had moved here from Ireland in the late seventies, and he took good care of him and the others who worked for him. When I was born a couple of years later, Dad used to tell me bedtime stories about Elara Park.

  He’d climb into my twin bed next to me, propping his faintly stubbled chin on his palm, still wearing his black-and-white striped buttoned dress shirt with the park’s logo etched over the breast pocket—a galaxy with a rollercoaster running through it. The lines near his eyes would wrinkle with happiness, a glint twinkling in his gaze as he spoke. I could see the bright flashes of red and blue behind my lids. I could feel the hot metal of the safety bars under my hands and hear the drumming echo of footfalls on hot pavement as guests raced to be the first in line and smell the sunscreen and service oil from the rides perfuming the air.

  Under Mr. Wright’s ownership, the land near the park was valuable, real estate was hot, and it looked like everyone who lived here stood to make a little money.

  But things changed when he sold it to the wrong man two years ago.

  Roger Szell, the new owner, didn’t care. Not the way Mr. Wright had.

  He was a sleazebag.

  Sometimes, I heard Dad whispering to Ma that Szell was a money-hungry demon. He made heavy cuts, and a lot of good people lost their jobs. But the worst part was rides stopped working the way they used to, and interest in the park shrunk until attendance was at an all-time low and people in neighboring towns mocked us.

  Now Rockchapel was Rotchapel.

  That’s what the local kids called it, anyway. Not just ’cause of the park, though. Rockchapel was kinda eerie with its blend of Gothic revival brick houses and carpenter Gothic style that made everything look like it belonged in a storybook with all that gingerbread trim and steep gables accompanied by bargeboards on the edges. Wrought iron fences lined yards, tall ornamental trees were a dime a dozen, and redbrick paver paths were the standard here.

  No one could change the exterior of their houses without the town’s approval first. A majority of the structures were historic, and like most things, where douchebags in skinny ties and too-small suits were involved, getting approval to do anything took forever.

  So the town, much like the people, was looking worse for wear.

  But I liked living here, and I loved the park. And when I was old enough, I wanted to buy it from Sleazy Szell. I didn’t know how much money I’d need, but I didn’t care if I had to get one of those credit card things that my ma and dad always stressed about when the bill came.

  I’d restore this place back to its former glory ’cause I had passion. Dad always said that passion made magic. I’d make it so everyone wanted to come back here, and I’d do it all with my dad. He was the best person I knew. He had the coolest job, too.

  Even if Szell treated him and everyone else like crap.

  Dad was a ride operator, but had learned to do some mechanical work, too. He had been one of the lucky ones to avoid losing his job when the park started making slashes, but he’d had to be cross-trained—jack-of-all-trades, he’d said. When the park wasn’t in operation, he was restoring the rides, preparing them for the following season. But when it was in season? He lived for the magic only a place like this could create. On a coaster, you were completely out of control. You had to surrender to gravity and allow it to swallow you whole.

  That was freedom.

  Leaving his side by the ride operator station, excitement rushed in my veins, my heart pumping as I took long strides toward the queue. As soon as I was tall enough, I’d ridden Comet as many times as I could, but the thrill was the same every time. For those two minutes and two seconds, I was as light as air and nothing else mattered.

  At the top of the summit, I’d forget that Ma was sick again, that I’d caught Dad folding up past due notices into tiny squares and hiding them under a fruit bowl, and that Saoirse, my kid sister, was struggling to fit her feet in her too-small shoes.

  Up there, nothing else mattered.

  “Adam,” Dad called. I stopped, turning my head over my shoulder. He smiled at me, his muddy hazel eyes wrinkling in the corner. “Your hat, son.”

  Crap, right. Lifting it from my head, I raced toward him, handing it over. He shook his head, then thrust his fingers through my shock of mahogany hair, ruffling the messy waves. “If you lost it, your mam would be cross with you.”

  He was right. If I lost it, it would be weeks before we could replace it. My family was what the average person would call poor. Although, my parents didn’t see it that way.

  We had plenty. Food stamps, a house on the verge of collapse, and too-small shoes included.

  “When is she not?” I joked. My ma was a sweet-looking little thing, and despite being sick, she was as tough as nails—a real hard-ass. Or at least that’s what my best friend Vince said.

  Then again, he might have just been mad she still pinched his cheeks when she saw him and cooed. Ma always said V needed extra love because he didn’t have a woman raising him. Vince lived with his uncle Alek in a big, eerie house that doubled as a funeral parlor. His uncle was a funeral director, and he was a real mean son of a bitch—Dad’s words, not mine.

  His ma used to live with them, but she ran off one day and never came back.

  That was the story V told everyone… but sometimes, I didn’t believe him. Vince was a convincing liar, a true con artist in the making. He’d fooled the kids in our fourth-grade class into believing he was a descendant of Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia just ’cause his ma had the same name, too. The other kids ate that shit up, and Vince was smug about it for a full year. Vince’s lies were so fluid, sometimes I thought he believed them, too. But I guessed it was better to believe it than have to accept that your ma wasn’t coming back.

  No one wanted to be abandoned by their own mother, not even someone like Vince.

  I hopped the metal barrier of th
e queue, settling in the section designed for the front row, my impatient palms bouncing against the gate of the queue. At any of the other bigger amusement parks, scoring the front row was something everyone craved. At Elara Park, not so much. Shaking my clammy hands out, I squared my shoulders just as the train entered the station again, the brake mechanism engaging with a hiss, the row of cars shuddering to a halt. The lap bars released, the handful of riders pouring out and heading toward the exit.

  Only six riders that time. My gaze flickered to Dad, his profile at ease, but it didn’t mirror the worry in his gaze. It was the middle of July. This place should have been bustling with kids at a minimum, and somehow, it seemed deader this year than it had the last. Still, when he lifted his head and met my eyes, any traces of his apprehension vanished, and he offered me an encouraging head nod.

  Dad didn’t like Saoirse and me worrying. He and Ma just wanted us to be kids. It didn’t change that I could smell the stress coming out of their skin some days.