Pretty Wicked
by Kelly
Charron
Publication
date: September 30th 2016
Genres:
Thriller, Young Adult
BLURB
The daughter of a local police
detective, fifteen-year-old Ryann has spent most of her life studying how to
pull off the most gruesome murders her small Colorado town has ever seen.
But killing is only part of it.
Ryann enjoys being the reason the cops are frenzied. The one who makes the neighbors
lock their doors and windows on a hot summer’s day. The one everyone fears but
no one suspects.
Carving out her own murderous
legacy proves harder than she predicted. Mistakes start adding up. And with the
police getting closer, and her own father becoming suspicious, Ryann has to
prove once and for all that she’s smarter than anyone else—or she’ll pay the
ultimate price.
Written in a mature YA voice.
Some graphic content.
Buy Link: Amazon
READ
CHAPTER 1:
Some
people are called to certain things in their life. That’s what hunting is for
me. An urge. A desire. The closest thing I have to a calling.
My name is Ryann Wilkanson. I’m fifteen years old.
And I’m a killer.
It was hard to pick my first. Call me sentimental, but it had to
be just right.
I knew what I wanted. What I needed. Someone worth the risk, the
challenge. Somebody who deserved it. Now, I’m not talking about the horrible,
abusive assholes you see on TV. I wanted someone who I thought deserved it…
And to be honest, that could’ve been just about anybody.
Some people might think it’s odd to contemplate killing someone,
but it was the most natural thing in the world to me. I didn’t dare talk about
it—I somehow knew that much—but my thoughts raced with vivid, red-tinted
images.
While my fantasies were fun, I had to wait. I still lacked the
skill and organization to actually go through with it.
And, as I matured, I realized part of me was still hesitant. A
piece of the puzzle was missing. It was as though I was waiting for permission.
Something to give me the final push into action.
Funnily enough, I got that that clarity six years ago, when I was
nine. My dad thought he was simply giving me a ride to school, but he initiated
the defining moment of my life.
I remember it like it was yesterday. He’d just come off nights and
wasn’t in the best of moods when my mom asked him to drive me and Bri. I’d
raced to the car first, winning shotgun, leaving Brianna to storm behind me.
She was a sore loser, and it only made my grin bigger.
We were just a few blocks from the house when Dad started with one
of his commentaries on all that was wrong with society.
“Jesus. People like that make me sick.”
We had stopped at a red light, and I spotted a guy standing on the
corner with a sign that read Please Help.
At first I felt kind of bad for him, and I didn’t understand why
Dad was upset. “At least he’s not dealing drugs,” I suggested.
“Brilliant observation. Maybe we could put that on a T-shirt for
him,” Bri said. My father laughed and my stomach dropped. She never wasted an
opportunity to make me look stupid.
Dad grunted. “Don’t be naïve, Ry. He’s probably scraping enough
together to get his fix. People like that are after one thing—and it’s not a
job.” He rolled his eyes, disgusted. Not a minute later, while we were still
waiting at the light, a kid in a fancy sports car passed us. “See, look at
that. Punk probably had it handed to him from Mommy and Daddy. He’s
what—seventeen? Probably hasn’t worked a day in his whole goddamn life.
Entitled brat. This is the problem with the world. You got two lazy bums on
opposite ends of the spectrum, and neither are worth their salt.”
My father didn’t have a whole lot of empathy for anybody, and he
certainly didn’t entertain excuses. I had to be the best if I wanted him to
love me. “People need to either lead, follow—”
“Or get out of the way,” I finished. He patted me on the head. I
knew this rant well and kind of understood my father’s reasoning. The homeless
guy couldn’t even be bothered to walk up and down the rows of stopped cars to
beg. He just stood there with an empty cup. He really was a waste.
I fought the urge to point out to my dad that I was nothing like
those people—and never would be—but I knew he wouldn’t care. He loved me, but
nothing I did seemed to impress him, especially since my older sister Brianna,
the golden child, had perfected every- thing before I even had a chance to try.
I had to do something really big to make an impression.
I had to be a leader.
In the car, all those years ago, I realized that my desires could
turn into something much more. Those entitled, useless people my dad despised
were taking our hard-earned money, space, and air. And I was someone with
deadly urges who wasn’t afraid to do something about it. Not everyone could say
that.
But unfortunately, I would have to wait. I was much too young to
execute my plans in the way I wanted.
My thoughts, however, were uninhibited, and I became enamored with
the power and control that selecting the right kill could bring. The foreplay
was intoxicating. I daydreamed about the countless ways I could do it. About
all the places I could sneak up and strike. About the legacy I would leave
behind.
For years I researched and studied serial killers— or as I liked
to call them, The Greats. Most of The
Greats hadn’t started until well into their adulthood. Call me an overachiever,
but I wanted more kills in less time. I had all the qualities required:
above-average intelligence, inside information (Dad was a cop), and a sweet
cherub face.
But I also had something more. Tenacity. I knew what I wanted, and
come hell or high water, I was going to get it. By fifteen, the thirst inside
me could finally be quenched.
Cue my first planned victim—a snotty little brat who lived
only a few streets away from me. Olivia McMann. Ugh.
She was exhausting. Spoiled. Whiny. Brianna used to babysit her. I’d be dragged
along because my parents usually worked overtime at their respective jobs. I
was twelve and old enough to stay home alone, but they insisted. Like I had
nothing better to do.
Brianna would be online with her friends or texting her boyfriend,
and she’d stick Livy with me. Olivia wouldn’t leave me alone. One night she
pestered me for hours on end until I lost it on her. Then she got the quivering
lip and teary eyes and went crying to Bri.
Bri’s voice ripped across the room. “Ryann, what did you do now?”
“Nothing! Why do you always assume it was me? Maybe Livy is being a little crybaby over
absolutely nothing,” I said, arms crossed tightly across my chest.
The brat came running up behind me. “You’re mean, Ryann. I hate
you!”
I swept my hair into a ponytail and turned my back to her.
Death glare in full force, Brianna dug into me. “Why are you being
such a pest? Leave Olivia alone already. Go find something to do, and don’t
think for one second I’m giving you any of the money.”
She proceeded to get Olivia some licorice. A reward for her
evilness. Maybe they were in on it together and shared private laughs while
discussing different ways to torture me.
Brianna was seventeen at the time, and she hated me. No matter how
hard I tried, she always dismissed me like I was an annoying pain in her ass.
“Not everything is my fault, you know,” I said, determined to
stand my ground.
“Well, she’s not the one in my face right now. Go play with her
for an hour until her bedtime, and maybe I won’t tell Mom.” Smiling smugly, Bri
tilted her head. I wanted to punch her. As soon as we were out of her sight,
Olivia stuck her tongue out at me and danced around, joyous in her victory.
“See, I told you I’d get you in trouble. I always get my way. You
have to do what I say.” She laughed.
I promised myself I’d never forget.
Back then, I’d imagined choking her or holding one of her mom’s
embroidered pillows over her face until her squirming stopped. I knew her
parents were well-off. Only the best for their princess. Olivia was the type of
kid who tantrumed, tattled, and fake-cried to get what she wanted, no matter
the cost to anyone who got in her way.
Olivia was going to turn into the same kind of spoiled,
manipulative bitch I’d seen time and again at school.
I knew how to deal with someone like her. After all, I had killed. Once.
Buy Link: Amazon
Author Info
Kelly Charron is the author of YA
and adult horror, psychological thrillers and urban fantasy novels. All with
gritty, murderous inclinations and some moderate amounts of humor. She spends
far too much time consuming true crime television (and chocolate) while trying
to decide if yes, it was the husband, with the wrench, in the library. She
lives with her husband and cat, Moo Moo, in Vancouver, British Columbia.
Author Links:
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