Mei-Ling

By Latrice Simpkins

The Hidden Flowers series continues with the origin story of Mei-Ling, a member of an undercover unit that assist the U.S. Special Projects division in rescuing missing and exploited teens.

After being sent to away to a private boarding school for unruly girls, Mei-Ling discovers a hidden trove of scandal and exploitation dating back to the start of the school. When she is seamlessly indoctrinated into the folds of the secret society, she soon discovers the deadly consequences within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Latrice Simpkins
• Release date: Nov 25, 2017

Latrice Simpkins

Latrice Simpkins has been passionately writing for over sixteen years. She holds a Bachelor’s in Business from California State University, San Marcos, and a Master’s degree in Management from Florida Institute of Technology. After severing in the U.S. Marine Corps for four years she began a career in civil service for the Department of the Navy as a Contracts and Grants Officer. Latrice is most notably known for providing grant assistance throughout Africa supporting the President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) program. She received a Letter of Commendation from the Commanding officer of Naval Health Research Center in 2012 for her outstanding work.+ Latrice Simpkins currently lives in San Diego with her two beautiful young daughters. Her hobbies include working out, biking, collecting African art, and playing “zombie” Barbie with her girls.

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MEI-LING

A Hidden Flowers Novel

Latrice Simpkins

Copyright © 2017 by Latrice N. Simpkins

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

I wish to thank many people for helping me along my writing journey. To my daughters, Jordan and Lindsey, who always help their mother to exercise her imagination daily. You are the most wonderful blessing a mother could have. To my dear little sister Ericka. Thank you for keeping me on track and meeting deadlines. And thank you to my friends and colleagues whose faith in my work is invaluable and encourages me to stay the course.

And finally, special thanks to my friend Manny who helped capture the beautiful culture and dialog of the Philippines. Your invaluable input has provided an authentic experience for readers to enjoy.

Also by Latrice Simpkins

Matika and the River Lion

Hidden Flowers

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

Author Note

Prologue

I sat huddled in the living room with my grandparents as the typhoon tore through our town. Crash! Another uprooted tree fell on top of an unsuspecting house.

Why couldn’t we go to the evacuation center at the school? I asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

It doesn’t look good, but we’re safe inside our home, Grandfather said, repeating the same response to my question. I built this house with my bare hands. It has seen many storms, and this one is no different. He came away from the window and sat next to Grandma on the old couch. Pulling her closer to him for reassurance, he smiled down at her proudly.

Our area was going to get the worst of the 140-kilometer-per-hour winds, according to the news. The rain was sure to cause massive flooding. I was fixated on the newsman’s every word, unable to pull my eyes from the television.

But the news said we should evacuate, I complained, fidgeting nervously. I felt so cold even though it was warm and humid in the house.

You should never listen to that rubbish on the TV. It’s all for theatrics. I’m seventy-five years old. I’ve seen it all. This storm is nothing compared to some of the other I’ve been through.

Grandma nodded her head in concurrence. I don’t want to be stuffed in a gymnasium with a bunch of loud teenagers.

Grandma, there are families there, including some of our neighbors.

Just then the television went off, along with the electricity. Startled, I lay my head in my grandmother’s lap, praying that we would all make it through the storm. We waited in fear and darkness as our home was assaulted by wind and rain, their cries like that of an angry spirit wailing to God. The house felt like it was being chewed up, spit out, and chewed up again.

Another loud crash sounded, leaving me with a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Water dripped onto my forehead. Our roof had large missing fragments. I was terrified and trembled from head to toe, too scared to move as I waited for our home to be leveled.

My grandmother started singing as she stroked my head. I relaxed, the tension slowly leaving my body. I let my mind drift away from the scary place to the pleasant times Grandma’s songs brought me to, a time filled with love and laughter. This was going to be a long night, and there was nothing any of us could do but wait it out.

After a loud and turbulent night, by some miracle, we survived. Sometime that morning, my grandfather opened the door to our home. Disoriented from fear and fatigue, I followed him out. While many homes and buildings were destroyed, ours remained intact with only a few areas in the ceiling that needed to be fixed along with the broken windows. Still, the devastation was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Mounds of debris littered the street. Bodies covered in white sheets were in a row by the side of the road. Hundreds of people were dead and thousands were left homeless. We were among the lucky ones but there was a cost. At that moment, I knew that my life was headed toward a significant change that I wasn’t prepared for.

Chapter 1

You’re the first person I’ve ever seen read an airplane safety pamphlet. Is it interesting? the gentleman sitting next to me asked with a crooked smile on his face, making his slanted eyes squinty.

Really? I asked, swallowing the dry lump in my throat, tearing my eyes away from the colored images. It’s interesting enough, and the flight attendant did say to read over it.

Do you always follow the rules?

I smiled up at him — a nervous gesture I’d had since I was child — eyeing his expensive black suit and dark blue tie. Either he had an important meeting to go to as soon as the plane landed in the U.S., or he’d just left one and rushed to catch the plane. Either way, we had a long flight ahead of us, and I imagined that he would be uncomfortable after the first few hours.

Is this your first flight? he asked before turning his attention to the flight attendant gliding her hands across the overhead bins.

It was actually my second flight because of the four-hour flight into Tokyo, but I nodded briskly, still smiling, not wanting to engage in conversation although he continued speaking anyway about the fact that he was a frequent flyer. This was not only my first adventure out of the country, but I was on my way to be reunited with my mother and younger brother, whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years. I was on pins and needles and within moments the man’s low voice was drowned under the hum of the engine as we glided down the runway.

After the death of my father, who passed away suddenly when I was twelve, our lives had been turned upside down. Forced to vacate our spacious home, we moved in with my aging grandparents and disabled aunt. It was a difficult time for mother, who’d never worked a day in her life, and was now in a new role as caretaker to her sister with Down syndrome.

My mother’s beauty and quick wit was her best asset. At eighteen, she had caught the eye of my father, a wealthy businessman from Hong Kong on a three-month development project in the Philippines. Though they were subsequently married in the Philippines, after he paid a hefty dowry, he maintained his Chinese citizenship, which allowed him to continue to proposer. However, it frequently kept him away from home.

I’m lucky to have met your lovely mother, Father had once said to me in Mandarin one day after the birth of my baby brother. He was proud to have two children, because the one child law in China was taken very seriously. That was the reason he never took us to China to visit his family. After learning about the law, I lost my desire to go.

And Mama is lucky to have met you, Papa, I said in broken English to show him how I was progressing in school. I was sent to the best Catholic school in our city of Olongapo.

You will have plenty of time to learn English. You must master Chinese because China is the future. The West’s reign and influence over the world is coming to an end. Always remember that, Li, he reminded me kindly.

Li was his special nickname for me while everyone else called by my birth name, Mei-Ling. Yes, Papa, I’d responded kissing his hand.

What would you like to drink? the flight attendant inquired, bringing me back to the present. Coffee, tea, soda, or juice.

Soda, I replied with confidence. I could count of one hand how many times I’d tried soda because my grandmother would never buy the sugary drink.

Coke, Sprite, ginger ale, Orange Mist...

There were simply too many choices, so I asked for the Coke because it had the most commercials on television. The lady across the aisle had gotten a tea that she quietly sipped while reading a newspaper. She was not a chatty character like the gentleman, which I appreciated, but smiled at me in approval whenever I looked in her direction.

You could have ordered a cocktail, you know, the man said as he sipped a dark liquid with floating