Page 1 of Vita Mia

Ryder’s Story

Chapter One

August 22, 2016

Jekyll Island, Georgia

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“DON’T FUCK WITH MEman. I better get inside,” Ryder said after popping a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.

Harris cut his gaze from the road to his companion and then back to the road. It was the only response Ryder would receive that didn’t bristle with hostility. Ryder didn’t care. He’d accomplished the impossible. Who said a ‘little blackmail’ didn’t get you far in life? Whoever did have never met a thirsty YouTube vlogger struggling to make his big break in the celebrity gossip industry.

“Once I get you in, I want the pictures, the videos, everything you have on me destroyed. And I want evidence that you did it. Or I’ll kick your fucking ass kid.” Harris huffed as he shifted gears. “There’s just so much of this bullshit I’m going to put up with—fucking kid—who the fuck do you think you are?”

Ryder’s brain broadcasted loud static over the empty threat. It was his defense mechanism against the absurdity, and there was nothing more absurd than the fake bravado of the idiot next to him. Ryder was born Giulio Santini and he grew up hardened by bad decisions. Why should this play be any different? At thirteen he was kicked out of his house after he stole his mother’s car and ran over a neighborhood cat. He went to stay with a cousin who sold meth and marijuana out of a trailer park. A real low-life who used to fantasize about abducting the four-year-old girl who lived in the same community. He started hustling drugs for his cousin to pay his way and graduated to breaking into people homes before his fourteenth birthday. He joined a gang soon after. They said they had never met a white boy so young that could hit a lick and take a hit without blinking. Soon he earned the name “Rider”. A badge of honor for some of the late-night rides he’d do in the trunk of their car with a shotgun to surprise low-ranking dealers they’d rob. He tagged that name with spray paint on any building or train as: ‘Ryder’. Lucky for him he never had to kill anybody. But he could see death in his future. Ironically the one time he wasn’t breaking the law he got arrested in a neighborhood sweep by a vice cop known for shooting gang members in the back. Ryder didn’t break the code of his gang, but saw it as an opportunity to gain more ‘clout’. In his world clout was more valuable than an 800 credit score, so he confessed to crimes he didn’t commit. His logic was that if he had been present during the crime he’d have pulled the hammer anyway. That’s how stupid he was. The judge sentenced him to a juvenile detention center and left him there to rot. He spent 4 long years away from his friends and his mother, getting his ass tested and kicked by rivals every day. He stayed there until he reached 18. It was then the judge made a promise that stripped away Ryder’s gangster dreams.

“You’re a pretend thug, a waste,” Judge Mason said from behind the bench. He glared down at Ryder from over the top of his glasses. “I give you six months before you graduate to the big- time kid. I give you a year before you’re dead. You’ve done nothing, not even your GED while in the center. If I could send you there now I would and save the taxpayers the money.” Judge Mason slammed down his gavel. The threat pissed Ryder off, because the smug bastard was right. He was pretending at this shit—trying to find a way to fit in. And his weeping mother and aunt cosigned the judges’ prophecy. He’d return to the system for an extended stay if he didn’t clean up his act, they said, so he agreed. He left the hard streets of Atlanta and went to the hard streets of New York to live with his aunt and work for her in her restaurant. He spent his time as a live-streaming video gamer making side money competing against the best gamers across the world. Everyone respected his “gangsta” online. If he pulled the hammer online no cops came running. It was clout of a different kind. It was a different kind of hustle. His graffiti and art turned a profit for him as well. He designed merchandise like hats and shirts for street gangs and it sold like crazy on his websites. His Instagram followers reached over a hundred thousand in just a year. Then he got into YouTube, and his life changed.

The car bumped a little along the unpaved road but maintained speed. He’d never ridden in something so slick and expensive. He was on a natural high. And why not? He’d done the ultimate hustle.

“Fucking bullshit,” Harris muttered, with a fine mist of spittle splashing from his lips to spray the inside of the windshield. He shifted gears and his diamond encrusted Rolex blinked in the darkness of the car. It kept capturing Ryder’s attention. Ryder resisted going for the man’s throat and taking the car and watch off him. But he was different, now.

“Can’t believe I’m even dealing with this shit!” Harris shouted.

“Chill man. I get inside and you off the hook. Our business is done.”

“It better be. It fucking better be or else,” Harris mumbled.

He nodded his agreement to Harris’ empty threat but he didn’t mean it. Jason Harris was the latest “hot boy” British actor in Hollywood. His starring debut as a comic book hero in a movie that grossed over eight hundred million made him the most desired man in the nation. The crime Harris committed was his business. He was just unfortunate to have done so in Ryder’s aunt’s restaurant after closing with a video vlogger inside to capture every sordid detail.

“I could sue you,” Harris mumbled.

“But you won’t,” Ryder replied.

“I could pull this car over and get out and kick your ass, kid.”

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