by S. M. Shade
Dare
In Safe Hands: Book Two
By
S.M. Shade
Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Ally Hastings at Starcrossed Covers.
Prologue
Dare
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My little sister, Leah, sits across from me, tears trickling down her cheeks. She’s eighteen years old now, but I’ll always see her as the little girl who followed me around. Since the day she was born—two days after my fifth birthday—I’ve looked out for her, protected her. I tried to keep anything bad from happening to her. I failed.
“When, Leah? When did he hurt you?”
Her hands fidget in her lap and she stares at the floor. “Every time I went to visit. You know, when he and aunt Gena would babysit for me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, or Mom, or someone?”
“He said if I told, everyone would be mad at me, that I’d break up the family. I thought Dad would never forgive me. I tried to tell Mom, but…she didn’t believe me.”
It suddenly makes sense why she’s telling me now. Dad died two years ago, and Mom moved us away. We haven’t seen his brother, my uncle Howard, since the funeral. “Mom invited them to come and visit. They’re supposed to stay a week! I can’t avoid him that long. Please, can I stay with you until they leave?”
My little sister has just told me our uncle sexually abused her for years, and my mother knew. All I can see is red. How the hell did I miss this? I spend my days and half the nights tracking sexual predators and I didn’t see what was happening right in front of my face. “Is he at Mom’s house now?”
“Yes.” She sniffs and sits back on the couch. “He smiled at me. This creepy fucking smile like we have some special secret. Please, Dare, I can’t stand to be around him.”
“Of course you can stay here.” She’ll probably be staying permanently now. No way do I want her going back home with Mom. I wrap her in a hug. “I don’t want you going back there. Stay here and I’ll go get you some clothes and anything else you need for the week.”
“Thank you.”
Dark circles ring her eyes. “Go lie down in the guest room and take a nap. You look exhausted.”
Nodding, she heads for the bedroom, and I grab my keys. I should call Landon, or any of the guys and get a plan together for how to deal with this. I know I should, but all I can see is my golden haired baby sister being abused by that monster. I’ve never had a problem with my temper before, but the rage now pulsing through me is uncontrollable. I don’t want to control it. I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.
The drive to my mom’s house is a blur. I don’t know if I stopped at the lights and stop signs or blew right through them. All my focus is on finding him and making him pay. As soon as I hop out of the car, I see him sitting on the front porch swing, Leah’s favorite place to read. He smiles at me, and my blood heats to boiling.
“Derek! I haven’t seen you in forever. You sure grew up.” One look at his pocked face and oily gray hair is all it takes for me to lose the last of my control. My fist connects with his face over and over again, until I can barely discern his features from the blood. I feel his jaw crack beneath my fist, but it isn’t enough, not nearly enough.
Dragging him into the yard, I can vaguely hear Mom yelling, but it doesn’t register. I don’t talk to him. There’s no cursing or demanding answers. Anything he says will be a lie. I let my foot do the talking, kicking him in the ribs, and when he curls up, trying to protect himself, I land a few good ones on his back.
It takes two cops to pull me off of him, but by then, he’s an unrecognizable bloody pile in the yard. From the back of the cop car, I watch the paramedics strap him to a gurney and put him in the back of an ambulance. They don’t cover his face, so I assume he’s still alive.
I’m taken to the police station and booked, locked in a cell with a few other guys who look like they’ve had an equally shitty day. I’m a big guy, and add to that the fact I’m covered in blood, and I can understand the wary glances I get from the other prisoners. They’re afraid.
I stay in that cell for two days until a judge sets my bail and explains the charges against me. Attempted murder. I guess the asshole survived.
My best friend, Landon, shows up that evening to post my bail. He’s waiting by his car when I emerge from the jail, a grim look on his face. “You okay?” he asks.
“I’ll be better after a cheeseburger and a shower,” I reply, climbing into the passenger seat.
“You want to tell me what the hell happened?”
“He was abusing Leah. She told me it’s been going on since she was eight.”
Landon curses under his breath. “I contacted Mason. He has the best lawyers, but…attempted murder, I don’t see you escaping this without doing some time, Dare.”
“I know. I just need to get a few things arranged before I do.”
Leah can’t go back home to a mother who let this happen. Thanks to my hacking skills, I have plenty of money, some from legitimate work, but more stolen from credit card thieves online. I have no problem stealing from thieves, especially thieves with bank accounts totaling in the millions. I’ll pay up my rent for the next year and Leah can live in my house while I’m locked up.
The state wastes no time taking me to trial and though the jury wouldn’t come back with a guilty verdict on attempted murder, they find me guilty of aggravated assault. The judge sentences me to five years, which means I could be out in three with good behavior. It’s worth it.
Leah is safe living in my house and going to a nearby community college. Landon will keep an eye on her while I’m locked up. Her abuser is permanently confined to a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.
I knew that last kick to the spine was a winner.
Chapter One
Ayda
You know it’s going to be a good day when you start it by falling out of bed. In my defense, some jerk startled me from a vicious dream by pounding on the door like the cops. Before I was really awake, I tried to leap from the bed, which isn’t recommended when the sheet is wrapped around your feet.
So, here I am, a grown twenty-four year old woman lying on the floor amid a puff of dust bunnies. I really should clean under my bed. The pounding resumes, and I make my way through my apartment to answer the door where a disgruntled delivery driver thrusts a clipboard at me. “Sign here.”
My eyes struggle to focus since I didn’t grab my glasses, but I manage something akin to my signature. A box is shoved into my hands and the nominee for friendliest delivery man is off without so much as a “have a nice day.”
“Fuck you very much,” I grumble, tossing the box into my office. All this for printer ink. A glance in the bathroom mirror makes me laugh. No wonder the guy couldn’t wait to escape. In addition to the usual ugly I carry, my face bears a large pink imprint of my wrinkled pillowcase. Wild, dark curls spray in every direction and my stretched out T-shirt makes me look like an overgrown child.
Well, that’s what he gets for waking me at the crack of noon. I retrieve my glasses and grab a yogur
t for breakfast, flopping in front of the T.V. while I eat. A few minutes of the so called news is all I can take. Besides, it’s sunny out and there won’t be many more days like this. Indianapolis seems to go from ninety degrees to snow overnight.
My apartment overlooks the pool and since it’s the middle of a weekday, there are only two people swimming. It’s a good time to work on my tan. I throw on my bikini, grab a large towel, my phone and a bottle of water, and head downstairs.
The pool is a typical apartment complex pool. Rectangular, with a set of stone steps disappearing into the shallow end, it’s surrounded by deck chairs with a few umbrellas thrown in for those who don’t worship the sun like I do. In a few hours, the pool will be brimming with swimmers and sunbathers, and you couldn’t pay me to come then. The stares and murmurs ruin the experience. People are ridiculous.
It’s all clear now except for a young mother—I think her name is Sunny—and her toddler. We’ve spoken a few words in the past and unlike most people, she doesn’t question me. I give her a smile as she coaxes her son to jump in the water, and she waves.
I settle on a lounger, put in my earbuds, and push play on the new Hozier album. I’m totally in love with this man’s voice. I lie there, eyes closed, and lose myself in the music. This is one of my favorite ways to spend my time, especially on days like today.
The sun warms my body and a light breeze dries the sweat on my skin. I could stay here forever. Summer is over, but Mother Nature doesn’t seem to notice, and the temperature climbs into the mid-eighties, so a dip in the pool is definitely called for. The water is warm, almost too warm, but I know the breeze will cool me once I’m wet. After a few laps, I sit on the steps, letting my legs dangle in the water.
Sunny’s little boy dog paddles over to me. “I swim!” he exclaims with a grin before climbing the stone steps to stand beside me. His grin widens and he puts two fingers in his mouth. I know the second his gaze lands on my scars. “You have boo boo?”
Sunny catches up with him and instantly apologizes. “Ayda, I’m so sorry. Brody, don’t bother the nice lady.”
“She has boo boo,” he announces, his face pinched with concern. “Owie? I kiss?”
“It’s okay. They’re old boo boos,” I reassure him. He’s so sweet. “They don’t hurt. No owies.”
He squirms and protests when he’s scooped up in his horrified mother’s arms. “Brody, hush.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “It’s sweet of him to want to help. He’s really learning to swim isn’t he?”
Her smile betrays the pride she feels. “Like a little fish. I’d better get him in for a nap or he’ll be a beast. It was nice to see you.”
“You too.”
“No nap!” Brody cries, and Sunny rolls her eyes, carrying him out of the pool. I have the place to myself, so I spend another thirty minutes basking in the sun before heading back to my apartment.
A cool shower feels even better than the pool and I revel in the sensation of the chilly water washing over my scalp, taking the heat of the day down the drain. My growling stomach reminds me all I’ve had to eat is a container of yogurt. A package of sliced turkey makes my mouth water when I look in the fridge and I decide it’s a good day for sandwiches.
I quickly throw together two turkey, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, placing one in a baggie. After finally locating a storage container to match the lid—how the hell do I end up with too many lids?—I spoon in a double helping of potato salad and seal it up. The sandwich, potato salad, and a bottle of water go into a plastic bag, along with a spoon. My plate finds a temporary spot in the fridge while I run the bag downstairs to the parking lot.
“Tucker? You here?” The stench from the dumpsters is sickening in the afternoon heat. I’m glad to see Tucker isn’t hidden behind them. His sleeping bag and blankets are folded up between the dumpster and the wooden enclosure surrounding them, so he isn’t far.
I met Tucker a few months ago when I was taking out the trash. We started chatting and though he won’t let me take him to the mission or a homeless shelter, he will accept food. Once a week or so, he uses my shower, and I wash his clothes and blankets. I keep hoping he’ll let me get an agency involved and get him off the street, but he doesn’t want that.
“Hey there, Ms. Ayda,” Tucker calls, and I see he’s seeking shelter from the sun under a tree.
“Hey, I brought you some lunch. You staying cool? It’s brutal today.”
“Got nothing on Afghanistan. I’m fine.” He accepts the bag of food. “Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself.” I always feel guilty leaving him out here, but he’s a grown man, so there’s little I can do.
I’m waiting on my photo editing software to load when Sadie calls. Filled with indecision, I hesitate over the accept button before I finally tap it. “About time. What are you doing?” she asks.
“Just finished lunch and thinking about getting some work done. What are you up to?”
“Just leaving my last whiner of the day. Lunch at four-thirty? Are you ever going to keep a healthy schedule?”
Sadie is a physical therapist and all around health nut. I met her five years ago and hated her with a passion. To be fair, she was twisting and pulling my body to keep the skin pliable around my scars. It’s hard to like someone who’s torturing you. We grew close throughout my rehab though, and became friends.
“I keep a schedule. Bed by three a.m., up by noon, eat when hungry. Seems to keep me alive.”
“Whatever. Let’s go out for a drink tonight.”
This is the reason I hesitated to answer my phone. Sadie is always trying to pry me out of the house to do things I’m not comfortable with. I know she means well, but parading around in public while people talk shit just isn’t my idea of a good time.
“Not tonight. I have two ads to design and a ton of emails to answer.”
“Said the liar,” she scoffs. “Fine, meet me at the studio tomorrow night after closing?”
“I’ll be there. I’ve been working on some new choreography.”
“All right, woman. I’ll let you work, but if you don’t show tomorrow, I’m hunting you down.” I hear the squeal of brakes and a string of swear words.
“Sadie? You okay?”
“Some shit for brains just cut me off! Hey! Yeah, suck a bag of dicks, buddy!”
“Sadie!” I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, chick.”
The girl is crazy, but I love her. What I’d do to be that fearless. After the slight interruption, I get back to work. Over the past few years I’ve managed to build a successful little online business offering graphic design and marketing help to small businesses.
I enjoy the artistic aspects more than the marketing, but I’ve learned that an eye catching ad is a powerful tool. Creating images that draw the eye and captivate an audience just comes natural to me. Best of all, I never have to leave the house.
It’s after midnight when I close my laptop and crawl into bed. Hmm…Kindle or Netflix tonight? I’ve been binge watching a show with a cute British detective, so T.V. wins. No sooner than the episode starts, the moaning begins. Great. New neighbors moved in last year, and for a luxury apartment, our walls are really thin. Based on the things I’ve heard, my bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen share a razor thin wall with Mr. Fucks Everything next door.
We’ve never met, but I’ve caught glimpses of him coming and going, and I see why he has no shortage of women. At least six foot four with broad shoulders and a full sleeve of tattoos, he’s got that dangerous look too many women fall for. Me included.
Turning up my T.V. is futile, so I play around on the internet for a few minutes. Hopefully, they’ll make it a quickie. The fake high pitched cries grow until I have tears in my eyes from laughing. I’ve seen amateur porn with better acting. A woman’s voice cries, “Yes! Oh, yes!” Just before a shrill screech nearly pierces my eardrums.
“For fuck’s sake!” I exclaim
, maybe a bit louder than I intended. Especially because the room falls dead silent as soon as I open my mouth.
A rumbling laugh cuts through the plaster and a deep voice responds, “Sorry sweetheart. Didn’t mean to disturb you. You can go back to your show.”
His smug voice pisses me off. He must be able to hear my daily life as well as I do his. Boring as it may be. I’m not deigning to answer him, choosing instead to crank up my music to a level that drowns out any further noises.
After half an hour, I turn off the music and go back to my show. “Are you finished getting revenge on me?” the asshole asks. I’m sitting in bed, leaning against the wall, and judging by how clearly I can hear him, he’s right on the other side of it.
“Nothing I do is any of your business and certainly doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Maybe you just don’t like hearing me fuck because you aren’t getting any.”
My cheeks heat with anger. “Maybe you’re just a cocky asshole who thinks far too highly of himself.”
“I’m definitely cocky. What’s your name?”
I massage my temples with my fingertips. “Can’t you just shut up and pretend we can’t hear each other?”
“If you tell me your name.”
“It’s Ayda,” I sigh, frustrated.
After a few seconds of silence, he asks, “Don’t you want to know mine?”
“Not really.”
“It’s Dare.”
“Of course it is. Gang name or general alias?”
His laugh rumbles through the wall. “Short for Derek.”
“Great. Nice to meet you. Going back to my show now that the porn sounds have stopped.”
“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.”
Ugh! This man is so frustrating! “Go fuck yourself.”
“That’s your department, sweetheart. Your vibrator isn’t as quiet as you think it is.” Damn it. I never even thought about that. What kind of jerk points that out? “No reply to that one?” he asks, and I refuse to answer.