Hard Candy Saga Read Free

computer, a small file cabinet, a safe, and a printer that doubled as a fax and scanner. Although she didn’t need to really work or go to school in the traditional sense, she had set up her bedroom like a college dormitory.
    Before she sat down to check her e-mails, she looked up at the cork bulletin board that hung above the computer desk. Smirking, Candice examined all of the grainy pictures she had thumbtacked to the gauzy cushion. She looked each man in the eye and studied his features, as she had done so many times before.
    Her heart thundered with excitement. “One by one, day by day, I’m coming for y’all. Y’all motherfuckers ain’t never met candy harder than this piece. Hope y’all niggas got a serious sweet tooth.”

Chapter 2
    Candice jiggled her key in the familiar old rusted door lock. “Why the hell doesn’t he get this shit fixed already?” She grunted in frustration. “Unless he got this shit booby-trapped again.” Finally the lock clicked. “Damn! About time.” Candice sighed and rushed through the door. She was glad she had kept her keys to Uncle Rock’s apartment after she turned eighteen and moved out.
    Everything was in its usual place. The sun streaming through Uncle Rock’s old-fashioned metal blinds accentuated the dust particles on his dilapidated furniture. She shook her head. “He must really miss my ass,” she whispered. When she lived there, she dusted and kept the place clean.
    â€œUncle Rock!” Candice called out. She didn’t get an answer. “Uncle Rock, you here?” she called again. There was no sign of her uncle, except for the herbal tea packet on the table, which indicated he’d had his liquid breakfast.
    She heard a noise coming from the small bathroom to her left. Placing her face up against the raggedy wooden door, she shouted, “Uncle Rock, you all right?”
    No answer.
    Candice knew something was wrong. She rattled the doorknob, but the door was locked. Candice’s uncle was a master locksmith and booby trapper, so getting inside could prove very difficult.
    Candice was worried sick about her uncle Rock. She knew he wasn’t well but wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong with him. Lately he had changed. He didn’t exercise anymore. She remembered a time when Uncle Rock would ask her to load his back down with the heaviest books in his library so he could do push-ups with them on his back. An impossible feat it seemed, but he would execute it effortlessly. Not anymore.
    Uncle Rock was a very private man, who didn’t complain when he was in pain; in fact, he rarely complained about anything.
    Candice decided to wait for him to come out of the bathroom on his own time, so she resigned herself to the threadbare sofa that sat in the middle of the nearly empty living room. She placed her fist up against her cheek in sheer boredom because there wasn’t even a television in the apartment. Now that she thought back, she didn’t know how she had ever survived as a teenager living there with no electronic entertainment. Maybe that was why as soon as she got her own place, she purchased every gadget imaginable, including flat-screen TVs, Blu-ray DVD players, and iPods. You name it, she had it.
    The one thing Uncle Rock did own was shelves and shelves of books. When Candice first began living with him, she was so bored, she read every book in his library, including The Art of War and The Anarchist Cookbook . Looking around the room, she remembered her first night at Uncle Rock’s house, four years ago today.
    * * *
    Faced with the massacred bodies of her family members, Candice bent over and retched up the contents of her stomach onto the floor. A fine sheen of sweat covered her entire body, and her legs and hands shook fiercely. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hands and stumbled toward the front door and down the outside steps.
    Terrified, Candice fled her