Contents
Note From The Author
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Books By Kimberly Knight
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 Kimberly Knight
All rights reserved.
* * *
No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, places, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity, explicit sexual situations, and alcohol consumption.
Cover design and formatting © Black Widow Designs
Note From The Author
Hey, Knight Readers!
Please keep in mind that this dark retelling isn't based on any of the cartoon versions, but the original story of Rapunzel by the Brothers Grimm.
I hope you enjoy, and happy reading!
* * *
XOXO,
Kimberly
Chapter One
White flakes of frozen rain fell from the sky in flurries, but that didn't stop Jackie from wanting the best banana pudding in New York City—and for dinner, no less.
"You can't have banana pudding for dinner, Jackie." Russell chuckled, knowing his wife was going to get banana pudding for dinner no matter what.
"The baby wants it," Jackie whined.
Russell and Jacqueline Hughes were expecting their first baby, a daughter who would turn out to be the light of their lives. In just a few weeks, Baby Rae would become her parents’ pride and joy, and Jackie knew that Russell would do anything to make the girls in his life happy, even taking his eight-month pregnant wife out in the snow to get a dessert that she was craving.
"I'll get it. Why don't you stay here where it's warm?" he suggested.
"You know I need to walk daily for the baby. It will be fine," she retorted, already grabbing her coat, and without another word, the couple dressed in their winter coats, gloves, and hats, bundling up to stay warm. They didn't have a car because it was much easier to get around the city on the subway, even taking it from where they lived in East Harlem to Lexington and 59th where the bakery was located.
By the time they arrived at their stop near the bakery, the snow had let up slightly but not the chill of the winter air. Jackie shivered, and her husband wrapped his arm around her, bringing her against his side to warm her up. At just twenty years old, Jackie had found her soulmate. Russell was older but only by five years. They met at a Fourth of July party two years ago, married six months later, and now they were expecting their first child. Life was good for the couple.
Until a black limo pulled up to the curb.
The back door opened, and they heard, "Get in."
Jackie looked up at her husband, and he briefly closed his blue eyes and breathed, "Fuck."
"Who is that?" she questioned.
"My boss."
"Your boss?" Russell worked as a delivery driver for a food supply company, so she didn't understand why his boss would pull up to the curb and order him to get into the car.
"Fuck," Russell groaned again under his breath before stepping up to the car and leaning in. "Can I walk my wife back to the subway first?"
"No," Frank Russo said sternly. "Both of you get in."
"But she doesn't—"
"Now!" Mr. Russo barked.
Russell grabbed Jackie's hand and led her into the warm car. The scent of leather and sweet tobacco filled their noses, and Jackie tried to hold her breath in fear the smoke would hurt her unborn child.
"What's going on?" she questioned, looking at her husband for answers and then at the man across from them. He didn't look much older than Russell, maybe thirty at the most, with black hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin.
"Your husband's a thief," Mr. Russo answered.
"A thief?" Her blue gaze moved back to her husband, who was looking down at the floorboard as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Are you going to tell your wife, or should I?" Mr. Russo asked.
Russell swallowed and looked up at his boss, not wanting to meet his wife's stare. "I'd prefer it if this stayed between us, and we leave my wife out of it."
"You should have thought about that before you tried to make me look like a fool."
"I didn't try to make you look like a fool."
"No?" Mr. Russo smirked. "Then tell me what you think I look like when one of my men tells me you're selling for more than the going rate and pocketing the rest?"
Jackie's gaze was still on her husband, wondering what was going on. What Jackie didn't know was that Russell hadn't thought Mr. Russo would find out that he was selling an 8-ball of coke for a hundred dollars instead of the eighty he was told to sell them for.
"It was one time. I needed the extra money," Russell argued.
Mr. Russo gave a sinister laugh and then took a puff of his cigar. "Don't bullshit me. I know it's an ongoing thing."
Jackie pulled her coat up to cover her face, and Mr. Russo looked at her, his head tilting slightly as though questioning what she was doing. "I'm pregnant. The smoke is bad for the baby," she said, answering his silent question.
Mr. Russo cracked the window. "My apologies."
Jackie noticed that he didn't care enough to put the cigar out. Asshole.
"So, Russ." Mr. Russo blew out another puff of smoke, this time toward the tiny crack. "What are we going to do with you?"
"I needed the money, Mr. Russo. Just like my wife said, we're having our first child," Russell answered, hoping his explanation would be enough. "It won't happen again."
"That doesn't give you the right to steal from me."
"I wasn't—"
"You were!" Mr. Russo yelled. "My father built this business from the ground up before he died, and everyone knows that the Russo name is king. I can't have people thinking they can cheat me."
"I'm sorry," Russell apologized, "but starting a family is expensive."
"Not my problem," Mr. Russo stated. "I'm done." He pulled a gun with a silencer on it from behind his back and shot Russell square in the forehead without skipping a beat.
Jackie's breath caught as she looked over at her husband, her eyes wide as she saw a trickle of crimson blood roll down his forehead. It seemed to happen in slow motion as she watched Russell slump to the side against the door, having died instantly. As soon as the realization registered, Jackie screamed and then tried to open the door of the moving limo.
Mr. Russo tsked. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"You killed my husband!" Jackie shrieked.
"I killed a thief."
Tears started to roll down her cheeks, and she didn't know what to do. "Are you going to kill me too?"
Mr. Russo bit his bottom lip. "No, I have other plans for you and your unbo
rn child."
Twelve Years Later - Twelve Years Old
The sunlight washed over me, waking me for the day. I didn't have curtains or anything to cover the one small window in my bedroom up in the sky. My mom—or "Madam," as she liked to be referred to—said that when the sun shined in my eyes, it was time to get up for the day, no matter what day of the week that was.
I rolled out of my twin-sized bed, ready to have breakfast with the girls before Erin taught me my lesson for the day. She and the other girls who lived at the house were my best friends. They lived with us because they worked in the house and did sex, though I didn't know exactly what that meant other than they moaned a lot. Erin hadn't taught me what sex was yet, and I was always scared I would get caught spying when Madam held one of her parties.
Once a month, men and women came and had drinks before going to one of the six bedrooms on the main floor. I wasn't allowed to be around during the parties. I had to stay in my room. I had to stay in my room a lot.
Once a week, Erin would take me across the street to Central Park to feed the ducks. We weren't allowed to go alone because Madam told me the city was dangerous, so one of Madam's bodyguards went with us. I didn't care. I loved when I got to go outside. Usually, I had to stay inside the house on the second floor of the penthouse, where my room was.
When Erin wasn't teaching me, I got to play with my dolls—though I didn't really like those anymore—color in coloring books, paint with the paint Leanne had given me, or listen to music some of the girls would give me. Blues music was my favorite. Carla, one of the girls, told me that it reminded her of New Orleans because they played a lot of saxophones in New Orleans, where blues music was popular. I put New Orleans on my list of places to visit one day.
I had a long list of places I wanted to visit. Hawaii, California, Florida, Alaska, and Greece were among those places, but first, I wanted to see all of New York City. I hadn't been anywhere in my twelve years except across the street to the park, but from what I could see from thirty-four stories in the sky, New York City was a big place. At night was my favorite because all the lights would twinkle and light up the sky, and it was so pretty, almost like a painting. I tried to paint the view from my tiny window. My efforts hadn’t turned out as pretty, but I kept trying.
A knock sounded on my door as I was making my bed, and it opened a crack. "Just making sure you're awake," Erin stated.
"I am." I smiled, fluffing my pillow.
"I'll meet you down in the kitchen."
"I just need to go to the bathroom first."
"Okay, sweetie."
I quickly threw my long blonde hair into a ponytail. It was past my butt and got in the way when I sat or went to the bathroom—it basically always got in the way. Madam wouldn't let me get a haircut because she said my hair was too beautiful to cut, but sometimes Tifarah, another one of the girls, would trim it. If Madam knew about it, she never said anything.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I walked to the end of the hall to the bathroom I shared with all of the girls. There were six of them; Erin, Carla, Leanne, Clarissa, Bev, and Tifarah. Madam had her own floor and bathroom, but I wasn't allowed to go up there.
The entire house was four stories in the thirty-five story skyscraper. The bottom floor of the house was where the laundry room, the kitchen, and a cleaning storage room was. The chef had a room down there, too. The floor one story up from that was what we referred to as the main floor. The floors were a light gray wood, almost white. Floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living room, and there was a glass staircase that went all the way up to the roof, stopping at each floor first. There were six bedrooms as well, but I'd never seen inside them. The third floor, where the girls and I had our rooms, wasn't as nice as the main floor. Our floor had fewer windows than the main floor, and a long hallway that had bedroom doors on both sides until you made it to my room at the end of the hall. There was no artwork on our floor either unlike the main floor. It was just white walls and white doors. That was why I tried to paint New York City at night. I wanted something pretty for my room. The girls got to have pictures and TVs and books, but I didn't get to because Madam said I was too young.
I locked the bathroom door behind me and went to use the toilet. When I pulled down my pajama bottoms, I saw blood, and I started to panic. Why was I bleeding from down there? Was I hurt in some way?
"Erin!" I screamed, but then I remembered she was on the bottom level waiting for me. "Carla!" I called out. I didn't know who was awake, but I needed help, and I wasn't moving from the toilet. "Leanne! Bev! Anybody!"
The doorknob rattled, and Carla knocked. "Zell, what's wrong? Open the door."
"I'm bleeding!" I cried.
"Open the door." She tried the doorknob again.
I hurried and stood, moving to the door with my pants down and unlocked it before going back to the toilet. "Hurry!"
The door opened, and my friend walked in. "What's wrong?"
"I'm bleeding," I cried again, nudging my head toward the red stain on my pajamas and panties.
"Oh, honey." Her face softened. "You just got your period, that's all."
"My what?"
She reached for something under the sink. "Erin hasn't told you about your monthly visitor?"
I furrowed my brow. "What visitor?"
Carla stood and set a pink, square, pillow-looking thing on the counter. "Aunt Flo."
I shrugged. "I don't know who that is."
She smiled warmly. "She makes you a woman, but don't worry, I'm going to go get you a clean pair of panties and pajamas from your room. Hop in the shower and clean off. Then I'll show you how to put this pad on, and we'll tell Erin today's lesson needs to be about your menstrual cycle."
"Okay." I showered quickly, and then Carla returned and showed me what to do with the pad that was in the pink wrapper. It felt weird between my legs when I pulled up my panties, and I hated it. "This is so uncomfortable."
Carla giggled. "Yeah, they are. We'll work you up to tampons, though."
I didn't know what that was either. How did they know about all of this? I knew that the girls didn't grow up in the house like I did, but they all seemed so smart.
Carla walked with me down to the kitchen using the back stairwell. She wrapped her arm across my shoulders and hugged me against her body. "Our girl is growing up, Erin."
Erin's brown eyes widened. "You got your period?"
"She did," Carla answered. "I took care of it for now. You'll just need to explain why and how often and how it hurts sometimes and"—she shrugged—"whatever else you can think of."
"This isn't good," Erin stated.
"It was bound—"
Erin cut Carla off. "Madam told me that as soon as she was a woman, she was going to be put to work."
"What?" Carla questioned. "You don't mean—"
Erin shook her head of brunette hair. "I don't think she means at this age, but yeah, eventually."
"So, there's nothing to worry about." Carla squeezed me once more before letting me go and walking to the fridge. Chef Martin was at the stove, making Madam's breakfast.
"Unless she has other plans for her?"
"Like what?" Carla grabbed the orange juice. I felt like a fly on the wall, watching the conversation about me happen in front of my eyes.
Erin shrugged. "I don't know."
"We don't have to tell her anything. She won't find out," Carla suggested.
"She'll find out." Erin looked up at one of the cameras in the kitchen. Every room had cameras, including my bedroom. I didn't know why.
"I think it will be fine." Carla poured each of us a glass of the juice. "She's too young to do what we do. What else is there?"
"I don't know," Erin whispered, "but I'm afraid to find out."
If Erin was afraid, then so was I.
We didn't tell Madam that I got my period.
I tried to hide it for the next several days. Erin told me everything about what to expect monthl
y and how I was able to have a baby now. I didn't want a baby. I knew nothing about babies.
"Erin," I called as she sat at the small kitchen table the girls and I used. We were taking a lunch break from my studies.
"Yeah, honey?" She coughed a little as if she was coming down with a cold.
"What is New York City like?" I sat in the chair next to her.
"What do you mean?"
"From what I can see from my room, there has to be a lot to do, but I'm only allowed across the street."
"Yes, there's a lot to do and see in the city."
"Can we do that?"
"Do what?"
"See the city."
Erin closed her brown eyes briefly. "No, honey. We can't."
"Why not?"
She coughed again before speaking. "You know Madam won't let you."
"Why not?"
"Because she doesn't want you getting lost."
I furrowed my brow. "How would I get lost if I'm with you?"
Erin leaned in and lowered her voice. "There's a lot you don't know, Zell. Madam—"
The clicking of heels started down the stairs, and Erin and I both straightened in our seats. She went back to eating her sandwich, and I took a sip of my water. When Madam was around, we had to be on our best behavior.
"Madam," Erin greeted as my mother walked into the room. Erin coughed again.
Madam's dark gaze met mine. She had brown eyes and dark black hair, whereas I had blue eyes and blonde hair. "Are you getting sick?"
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