Karma III. Sabrina Eubanks

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      Karma III

      Sabrina A. Eubanks

      Karma

      III

      By Sabrina A. Eubanks

      This is a work of fiction. The author has invented the characters.

      Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      If you have purchased this book with a ‘dull’ or missing cover —

      you have possibly purchased an unauthorized or stolen book. Please immediately contact the publisher advising where, when and how you purchased this book.

      Compilation and Introduction copyright — 2011 by Triple Crown Publications

      PO Box

      Columbus, OH

      www.TripleCrownPublications.com

      Library of Congress Control Number:

      ISBN: 978-0-9825888-4-

      Author: Sabrina Eubanks

      Photography and Design: Treagen Kier

      Editor-in-Chief: Vickie Stringer

      Editorial Team: Marian Nealy, Christopher Means Editorial Assistant: Caitlin McLellan

      Copyright — 2011 by Sabrina Eubanks. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

      First Trade Paperback Edition Printing

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

      Printed in the United States of America

      To my brother Julius James Eubanks Jr. My first best friend.

      We’re still here. Much love.

      Acknowledgements

      Dear Heavenly Father:

      It goes without saying that my deepest thanks go to God.

      Through Him all things are possible. My faith in Him is endless and sincere. I’m nothing without Him.

      My parents Mary and Julius Sr. Thank you for providing the framework. I miss you guys so much. You are both gone too soon. I love you still.

      Thanks to my brother, Julius Jr. for always holding me down.

      You’ve been my biggest supporter and my harshest critic. Thanks for the love, Bro. Thanks to my wonderful little son, Derrick Jr. You are the light of my life and the joy in my world. You’ll never know how much I love you. Love to my niece and nephew, Jayson and Joli.

      To my family. Aunt Kadie you are priceless. Aunt Elias, who loves so hard behind the scenes. Uncle June, I don’t have to tell you, you already know. All the rest of my uncles and aunts and cousins, you all know who you are and what you mean to me. Love you all.

      Shout outs to very special friends. Vera, thanks for everything. I love you very much and you know why. Brenda, keep smiling and laughing. It will carry you through the roughest times. Mad love.

      Desiree, remember … when you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way. To my oldest friends, Vickie, Barbara, and all the rest of y’all, love you my forever friends. Shout out to Dr. B. Lewin. Thanks for always being there- I told you before you’re one of my favorite people. Craig, you’re my homie for life. Thanks Mrs. Davis for being so cool.

      To all my TA people, y’all know who you are, thanks for holding me down! Mad love crazy respect!

      Thanks, Brian, for some zingy one-liners.

      Thanks to NYPD officers Ian Knight and Christopher Dent for helping me with the technical stuff.

      Rest in peace to those who were lost. Bernice and Felicia. We’ll cherish the memories and love you always. A special shout to one of my biggest fans and sweetest friends, whom I lost tragically. My friend Mohammed. I love you Mo. Rest in peace.

      To everyone on my fan page. Love y’all for real. Thank you so much for your faith and support.

      To my editors, Caitlin McLellan and Marian Nealy. Thanks for the valuable insight, and thanks for making my editing such an easy process. You both are a joy.

      Finally, to Ms. Vickie Stringer for seeing something special in me and giving me a chance. Thanks for the faith, Vickie. God bless you.

      If I didn’t mention you by name, know that you’re in my heart.

      Time for the huge shout out to the Readers. GOD BLESS THE

      READERS!!!

      Did you hear me?

      Chapter One

       Night Terrors

      L ucas Cain was stuck in a nightmare that made no sense. He was caught in a funhouse that was full of twists and turns, but no discernable exits. There were dogs chasing him. He could hear their low growls and their pattering feet. Worst of all, he could smell them. Lucas hated dogs. No … that really wasn’t true. He was terrified of them. He had been since he was a little kid.

      He was winding his way through a contorted hallway, holding a TEC-9, with his detective’s badge hanging from his neck. A door popped open on his left — a door that hadn’t been there a second earlier — and Simone Bainbridge stepped out. She was naked, sultry and beautiful. Simone smiled at him and beckoned to him with her finger.

      “C’mon, Lucas. You know you want it,” she said, enticingly licking her lips.

      Lucas frowned at her and pulled the trigger. Lucas probably hated the memory of Simone more than he hated dogs. She disappeared with a puff of smoke instead of a splash of blood and gore.

      Lucas wasn’t surprised. He was a rational man, and he was dreaming, after all.

      Oscar Tirado, one of the dirtiest cops in NYPD history — and the bastard who’d blown their cover — staggered across Lucas’s field of vision, holding his own head in his hands. The Trinidad brothers, Tate and Troy, had decapitated him when he gave them up to the feds. Oscar was a ghastly apparition, with his bloody stump of a neck glowing eerily in the strange light of this bad dream.

      Lucas raised his gun to send him on his way. The head in Oscar’s hands looked at him with dead and doleful eyes.

      “I didn’t mean for things to go this far,” the lifeless mouth said, and then smiled a gruesome smile. “Guess I lost my head.”

      “Blast him, Luke,” Noah said from somewhere behind him. Lucas pulled the trigger of his gun and sent Oscar to meet Simone in the hell they shared.

      “Nice shot. Keep movin’, Luke. Hurry up and get us outta this place. I can’t stay here,” Noah said, from just over his shoulder — like he was right behind him. Lucas turned quickly to check for him … but Noah wasn’t there. There was nothing behind him but pitch blackness.

      Lucas turned a buckling corner and was faced with two sets of short, weird stairs. One way went up, the other went down. He hesitated for a moment.

      “Up, Luke. We gotta go up. Down’s no good,” Noah’s disembod-ied voice said, urgently. “Hurry up, bro. You’re wastin’ time. Move, Luke.”

      Lucas trotted up the stairs. There was an open doorway at the top, just as dark as the blackness behind him. Troy Trinidad popped out of it, unexpectedly, like he was spring-loaded, wielding that fucking machete he used to scalp people. The same machete he’d tried to attack Noah with after he’d shot him three times.

      Lucas blew his ass away without a second thought. Again, he wasn’t surprised when whatever Troy’s ghost was made of dissipated in a funky curl of green vapor. He was what he was, Lucas guessed.

      Lucas kept moving. He walked up a rickety, spiraling staircase.

      The