Don’t mess with Nadia Willis.
Nadia Willis was just 13 years old, going on 14, on that fateful early morning of June 23, 2030. Just before three, her estranged biological grandfather, Percy Barnett, just out of prison after sentence that started the day before she was born, broke into her home. He was hellbent on vengeance against her mother, musician (and more recently, music producer) Clia Foster, blaming her for his incarceration.
For the second time in its nearly 70-year history, the small beach community of Luna Vista, California, found itself the site of a terrifying home invasion ending in homicide. Nadia found herself faced with an unfair decision, and mere seconds to make it. Either kill Percy with her dad’s antique pistol, or allow him to brutally kill her mother…and perhaps her as well.
She chose to save her mother and live.
Excerpt from Prologue of Nobody’s Property: Generations (Book 2 of the Nobody’s Property novel series):
June 23, 2030
2:23 AM. Nadia Willis, thirteen years old going on fourteen, stretched out of her bed, with a little book light around her neck as she looked through half-moon reading glasses at a page from the latest Greta Rogers novel in her hands.
I should have been asleep an hour ago or more…but I just can’t put it down. She’s just brilliant with her words and scenarios, they’re always so magnificently written…unlike that dumbass fictional character in some of my work…no way a person like him could actually live for very long…one of these days I have to try to make him more realistic…
As her reading glasses slipped down her nose, Nadia reached up with her index finger, touching it to the bridge of their frames, pushing them up.
I bet I know how Greta Rogers would describe me, too…pint size with her mother’s eyes, from the same color to the same difficulty with small print, and a little bit of her hair.
She allowed herself a smile, closing her eyes for a moment.
Perhaps one day I could be half as good a writer as she is…don’t kid yourself, Nadia…you’re no Greta Rogers. You’re barely better than whoever writes that televangelist’s speeches who used to dog Mom…
A shattering sound of breaking glass.
Nadia looked up from her book, putting a book mark in, and the book down beside her.
Are those footsteps?
Nadia cautiously made her way to the door, looking outside.
You’re imagining it, Nadia. That’s what you get for watching crime shows all the time, and reading Greta Rogers before bed.
More rustling around.
You are just imagining it, right?
Nadia sat up in her bed to listen for more sounds.
At first, nothing, but then angry meow from downstairs.
Oh, it’s just Guinevere…what did she get into this time?
Then a loud hiss.
She never hisses!