******SummerTime here. My other account isn't working and hasn't been for a while now. IDK why it's malfunctioning, but it is. So that's why I haven't been updating my books.*****

Visit my profile if you're interested in my social connections and if you want to know more info on my updates on my other books and how I'm going to do that. Also, as always, feel free to PM me on this account until I get the other one working again.

A/N: VERY IMPOPRTANT

THIS BOOK IS DIFFERENT TO OTHERS SO DON'T GET CONFUSED IF SOMETHING DOESN"T MAKE SENSE.

You

*Warning: Swearing.
**Warning: This book is written in a guys POV
***Warning: Unedited.
****Warning: You better not copy this unless you know your blood type. I work really hard on my writing and having someone else taking as their own is not only annoying and irritating, it's plagiarism which is against the law and i will report you.
You have been warned.

**********Warning********- Use of strong language

Disclaimer: Ally owns Blackthorne (Black Thorne), Cameron Morgan, and other characters. Location, plot, OCs, and cover belong to me.

Once again_ Unedited

look on my profile for updating schedule

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PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME IF I SHOULD CONTINUE!

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FUll

Summary

Fuck life and all it has to offer. Nothing good can ever come from it.

At least, that's Zachary Goode's mind set.

His motto. Go to phrase. The one thing that keeps him stuck in his version of reality. Because ever since he was a child, that's all life was. Something that fucks you over and stabs you in the back.

So it's not a big shock when he finds himself in a school for troubled youth. In fact, it's no a surprise to him when he finds out the jury pleaded him guilty for many accounts of vandalism, sending more than a few class mates to the hospital (and not all guys either). And let's not forget about his possession of drugs and open cans of alcohol while driving at midnight with not even so much as a learners permit.

He's been in this hell hole for almost five damn years.

Black Thorne; Joe Solomon's Institute For Troubled Young Men.

He knows it's all his fault. If he had just obeyed his nutcase of a mother, maybe he would only be serving a few months or even weeks in juvy for vandalizing his school back in tenth grade.

Besides, it was just a few drawings of important male body parts here and there. Well, along with weed symbols, scattered profanities, and posters of the principal's face slapped on a naked woman's body and the wonderful phrase " likes it rough. What a naughty, naughty boy" with BASTARD written under them.

Zach would expect getting jail time for that.

But no. That damn judge sentenced him to five years at some school for 'bad kids'.

What he didn't expect though, was for his last year there to involve a short blonde girl that could barely even hurt a fly.

Mr. Solomon's niece.

Hot niece. And she was living at that very Institute while her parents went to Europe for a very important job.

He didn't expect to fall for the blushing quirky girl that happens to be obsessed with sundresses and all things mint green either. He didn't even expect her to be the freedom he never knew he wanted.

He didn't expect a lot of things when it came to Cameron Morgan.

And get this.

The quiet girl has secrets. Secrets that could very well end up with her in a coffin.

So with the help of Jonas- a very exceptional hacker, Grant- an extremely strong yet extremely dumb blonde, and Nick- a very smart, very attractive, and very... curious human, Zachary Goode is going to help the only girl who has ever made him weak at the knees into hiding. Hiding in plain sight that is. He'll teach her how to defend herself. He'll teacher her how to shoot a gun with perfection. And he'll help her free herself from the cage Cameron trapped herself in so many years back.

Because after all. She's his freedom. It's only fair that he returns the gesture.

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~5 Years ago. My sentence to... fuck, what's this place called again?~

(Prologue)

•~|~•

I was in tattered dark jeans and green T. Not dressed in khakis like the lawyer sitting next to me. Mom insisted I have one. When I told her I was man enough to take whatever the judge could give me, she had a mental breakdown. I felt bad for her. The woman was ditched by her no good ex-boyfriend (also the man half my chromosomes came from) and now her son is leaving her too. So I held her hand while she cried and did everything my 13 year old self could do.

Nothing.

Seeing your Mother cry when your thirteen is possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to ones tween self. You're already going through an awkward stage. Why the hell would you need a grown crying woman on top of that?

So here I am, sitting behind a table and in front of a jury and judge, waiting with some random dude I didn't even knew existed just to make my Mother stop crying.

He sweats a lot. That's all I could think of as I stared boredly at the glossy wooden table with my right hand working as a resting spot for my chin. The judge began to speak, so I turned my mental hearing aid up just a tad. Enough for me to barely hear what the guy had to say.

"For the accounts of aggravated assault against Meredith and Micael Rounds, Elliot Fisk, Flynn and Finn Newman, Morgan Hammer, and Elliot Muse as well as two accounts of vandalism on school property and five accounts of trespassing on school property and private owned property, the court finds Zach Edward Goode guilty and is sentenced to five years at Black Thorne: Joe Solomon's Institute For Troubled Young Men. Case dismissed."

At the sound of his gavel slamming on the desk, I stood up from my seat, mock saluted the old man sitting in a big chair with a black robe, and walked out of the room with my usual 'I honestly don't give a fuck' attitude.

Because I honestly didn't.

Mom, on the other hand, went ballistic like always.

"Oh baby. My baby!" she cried, "Please behave yourself. I can't loose you too. Be a good boy for me." She was screaming and crying, and I'm sure the people that were gig us strange looks (everyone) were wondering if she escaped some mental hospital or were contemplating on calling one. "I'm so sorry, baby." She kept saying. People looked, I'd nod my head and kept quiet, she'd wail and cry, I'd look around and give people awkward smiles, she'd hug me, I'd wait for her to calm down enough so I could kindly ask her to take me home.

A week later, I find myself in Morgenstern, Maine in front of a huge, ginormous, humongous (and any other synonyms for 'big' you can think of) gray building. It reminded me of something you'd find in a very dramatic 1944 detective/spy movie. I could picture black-and-white men with ugly mustaches and weird glasses cutting a whole in the 30 foot fence so they didn't have to climb it and get cut my the barbed wire coiled around at the top.

I reached out to touch it. The fence wrapped around the whole school, another one connected to two parallel corners and stretched across the whole (extremely big) property. That includes the huge forest of big and small, tall and short, trees that stretched on for years.

It looked pretty damn awesome. Of course I was going to touch it.

My outstretched fingers were not even a foot away when this really crackly, high between low, Southern voice shot out of no where.

"I'm wornin' ya right now, man, that ain't a fence to mess with." I quickly withdrew my hand and spun in my heel, trying with all my 13 year old puberty brimful self to not scream and show how much the squeaky kid scared me.

"Why?" Was all I could ask as I forced my heart rate to calm down before it overheated.

The squeaky boy, I'll call him mouse, was skinny. Skinny, had freckles, red-ish blond hair, and bruises. Many, many bruises. And was skinny. Like a toothpick.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Ouch. You kiss your Mama with that mouth?" He was teasing. I could tell by the smirk that crept up on his mouth.

"Of sorts." And we began laughing. I didn't even care that his was between some high bird-like screech and a manly roar. I liked the kid.

"You ain't too bad, dude. What's your name?" I told him Zach. We shook hands, and walked through the 1944 gate that revealed a cold stone path up to the front entrance.

My mom didn't bring me here. I told her to stay home. That way, I could avoid her having a breakdown in front of people I didn't even know.

"I'm Porter. My Ma and little brother call me Port. You can too."

Thus a wondrous friendship full of pranks, the framing of freaks, food fights, sneak outs, and hacking began.

All because of my sentence to-

"Fuck, what's this place called again?"

"A juvenile detention center, Moron. You've been here for a full four years and you still don't know that? Mr. Overweight is right. You are hopeless."

Yeah. That. (The detention part, not me being a moron... which is far from the truth.)

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A/N: This book is also on Wattpad (Hope_Faith_Grace) but is NOT Gallagher related so there will be a few changes here and there to make the story all mine. The plot is slightly different as well. So Vote on that book as well!

PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME IF I SHOULD CONTINUE!