NEARLY Trilogy

by Ashley, Devon

  And that was a forever I could hold onto.

  NEARLY MENDED

  (Nearly #2)

  Megan Whitaker desperately wants to forget what the Malone brothers have done to her over the past two years – the haunting images and sensations still plaguing her thoughts and dreams – but she can’t. Charles may be dead, but Zander isn’t. I’ll find you and bring you back to me. She wants to believe she’s safe with Nick in their secluded new home, but it doesn’t keep her from looking over her shoulder, jumping over unexpected sounds, carrying a concealed weapon or even preparing for the worst. Because she fears the time is near.

  Nick Ellis has seen a change in his long, lost love. Battered emotionally and physically, Megan spends her days at self-defense classes and researching things that’ll never allow her to let go of the past. And he feels guilty even asking her to, because he knows that heathen will return, it’s only a matter of time. And when he does, Nick will do anything to save her, even the unthinkable, risking everything he’s fought so hard to get back

  But there is no escaping the world of sex trafficking, nor the band of men who continually aid one another to keep it thriving. And as her nightmarish world seeps into reality, Megan soon realizes there are far worse evils to fear than the sadistic man who haunts her dreams.

  I can be changed by what happens to me.

  But I refuse to be reduced by it.

  Maya Angelou

  The pad of my finger traced the pink ridge that traveled across the burn on my forearm. Two painful laser treatments later, the physical reminder of my original nightmare was beginning to fade away. A few of the smaller spots along my chest and upper arm were almost gone, but the worst of the burns, the one on my right forearm, still held a strong shade of pink.

  A tremor erupted in my gut and goosebumps sprouted up along my skin. Almost two years later and I could still feel the intensity of the fire as if it were just yesterday, the fire billowing up above me, suffocating me within that dark fortress. One year, ten months, thirteen days since I fought my way free, literally scarring myself of that basement prison.

  “Megan?” Annalise asked, drawing my gaze. “It’s your turn.”

  She glanced down to the arm I was analyzing, offering her condolences with a sad smile, her arm extending toward the dummy, beckoning me to try the latest self-defense move she was teaching. I didn’t care that she might be pitying me in her mind, because she was once a victim, too. In fact, most of the women in this class were some type of victim at one point, which was why they were all here. The few who were lucky enough to avoid that emotional scar directly were scared shitless by what happened to someone else. Had the rest of us only taken this class before, there’d be a handful fewer victims in the world. I couldn’t say I would’ve been one of those lucky few, because I still hadn’t unearthed the memories of how I was taken in the first place, but I knew it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference the second time around. Zander held a gun over Nick’s head. Nothing was going to save me in that moment.

  I wasn’t an idiot. I would never compare physically to the man who stole me, who hunts me even now. I’ll bring you back to me. Those words once instilled my insides with fear, but now they drove me. Part of me knew I’d never win in a physical battle, and the day he showed up he’d probably be pointing another gun at me, but I couldn’t just lie back and wait. Couldn’t just let him take me without a fight. So if there was an opportune moment in which I could get in a shot, I was going to take it. Repercussions be damned.

  Thirty minutes later I had one more kick-punch-kick combo in my repertoire and Annalise dismissed the class. I headed for my bag and slipped my hoodie on, zipping it up over my tank. Maggie did the same beside me. She was a petite brunette with brown eyes as boring as mine, but she was still a beauty with her hair tied back and a hint of sweat sticking to her hairline. She too had been assaulted at one point. She didn’t confess a rape, but on that first day where they asked us to say why we were each taking this self-defense class, she admitted to being robbed and beaten. In fact, no one admitted to rape. Not even me. But I wasn’t the only one here with damaged skin, and this was the only place I never felt self-conscience about showing it. Because here, nobody shied away or looked disgusted. Here, there was a chance I wasn’t the most damaged girl in the room.

  “So do you want to grab a coffee?” Maggie asked, slipping her bag over her shoulder.

  “Sorry, I can’t today. I promised Nick I’d get the groceries and I’ve only got another two hours before he gets home from work.” This class was almost an hour from home without the shopping. I was going to beat him home just barely as it was. Too bad really, because I actually liked Maggie a lot. We’d gone to get coffee a few times now and I liked being able to sit down with a girl my age and talk about random things. It was so…normal.

  “Okay. Maybe next time?”

  “Definitely,” I replied, gripping my keys and throwing my bag over my shoulder. I smiled and waved as I made my way to the exit as she detoured to the bathroom.

  The grocery store was uneventful. To this day I still didn’t like to make eye contact with anyone, not even women or the person checking me out. Despite my therapist’s insistency, I still seemed to embrace the same mentality I had before my last abduction: Head down. Stay off the radar.

  Most people in this world mean you no harm, Dr. Vitriz kept reminding me. Humph. Tell that to the millions of people who were abducted in the world on a yearly basis. Even one was too many if you asked me.

  By the time I got home, put away the groceries and finished my shower, I heard pans jingling around in the pot rack. Stepping into the bedroom, I saw his work clothes draped over the armchair. Three months after the fact and he still didn’t want to walk into the bathroom while I was showering, even to step inside the closet to put away his clothes.

  And three months after the fact, I was still kind of glad that he didn’t. So like always, I put them away for him. Nick saw me coming as I made my way through the living room. With a tired gaze, he forced a half smile.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  “Hey,” he replied back, slipping one arm around me for a light hug, kissing me on the temple. The heat from his lips felt heavenly, and I closed my eyes, exhaling a soothing breath. “How was your day?”

  His warmth left my body, snapping me back into cold, lonely reality. “It was okay. You?”

  “Same shit, different day,” he muttered as he continued fileting the fish he asked for. He did it so effortlessly and with such proficiency that it was almost beautiful to watch.

  I knew he hated his job even though he never came out and said it. I suppose he did it to keep me from feeling guilty, but it didn’t. I begged him to stick with cooking even though we were trying to hide, but it wasn’t something he was willing to risk. It would hardly take Zander any effort to figure out Nick’s job skills, making it that much easier to home in on us when he found another restaurant worthy of his cooking skills. The job he had now was an eight-to-four, suit and tie gig that was given to him as a favor by a friend of a friend. Lackluster. Boring.

  I wanted to tell him screw safety and just take a job that he’d love. Screw hiding. Let ourselves be free to see our families whenever we wanted. I hated that my family completely uprooted their lives and took on new jobs just so they couldn’t be easily tracked and used against me. My parents sold the house I grew up in for practically nothing just so they could end up in an RV park outside Tacoma. My sister dropped the lease to her apartment and found a new job in Chicago.

  The only one who didn’t change her life was Nick’s mom, and I prayed every day that she’d be okay. And I hated that Nick couldn’t risk talking to her over the phone for more than a few minutes even though we all had the disposable, nontraceable kind now.

  But that fucking Zander guy had friends in high places. Who knew if all the things we had done was worth it. Sadly, I had serious doubts any of it would do any good in the long run. He was going to
find me. He was going to try to take me. It was just a matter of time. And I hated that Nick was suffering because of it.

  Because of me.

  We ate dinner practically in silence, a sitcom on the TV in the living room softly filling the uncomfortable void with induced audience laughter. When we were done, I cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen as Nick showered.

  Routine. Most people found comfort in it, but not me. This routine was suffocating me.

  I shot up gasping, my heart erratically banging against my chest so hard the muscles and veins tethering it in place felt strained. My hair was matted down with sweat, my skin sickenly moist and clinging to the sheets. It didn’t help that Nick’s body pressed into mine from behind, intensifying the heat I felt rippling beneath the skin. I whipped the covers off and slid out softly, the cool air attacking the fire so drastically I shivered. Disgusted, I headed to the bathroom and ran the shower, designating the rainforest spout as my source.

  Waiting for the hot water to reach this part of the house, I opened the medicine cabinet and popped one of the pills in the container my doctor gave me. No more sleep tonight. I peeled the cotton tank and shorts from my dampened skin and spun beneath the water to cleanse my body. Then I kneeled my way to the ground, the rain still trickling down over me. I rubbed my eyes roughly with the base of my palms, letting out a heavy exhalation. The steam momentarily collected down there before lifting north in a marble-like pattern, and it filled my lungs with a soothing breath of warmth.

  Damn my dreams. I chose not to sleep much anymore just to avoid nights like tonight. Because my mind betrayed me every time I shut my eyes. Never was I lucky enough to dream of me and Nick, or of the memories I’d unearthed involving my family. No. They were always of him. Always a reminder of the things he did to me in such a short period of time.

  One fucking week. Seven little days. That was all it took for him to manipulate me, to break my resolve. Once he realized my heart was my weakness, he used it against me. I didn’t even know Veronica, the girl he already had prisoner, but I couldn’t let him hurt her. Lot of good it did her in the end. Sure, she got rescued, but not before going to auction and forced to please every buyer in the room. It made me sick to think of what she became. So broken she lacked a personality, lacked a sense of basically anything. Like she shut herself down and mentally went into hiding.

  I often found myself wondering what became of her. If there was a way to figure out her true identity. If her real name was even Veronica. If she was returned to her friends and family. If she ever became unbroken. If she remembered every horrible thing that happened to her.

  I shivered, despite the steam-filled stall, goosebumps prickling alongst my heat-infused skin.

  Three months, two days since I beat the odds twice. I wasn’t a fool. The third time being captured wouldn’t be the charm. At least not for me… It would probably be the death of me.

  I sat beneath the soothing droplets until I couldn’t take the heat anymore. Nick was sleeping soundly, as he always did. The only times he ever awoke were for the dreams that literally had me screaming. I was grateful he was such a hard sleeper. He’d want to comfort me, to hold me, and to keep me locked within his embrace in bed, but that was the last place I wanted to be. Sleeping was the last thing I wanted to do any more.

  I quietly made my way to the living room and turned on the reading lamp by the sofa. I reached deep beneath the sofa and pulled out the book I kept hidden: Circuit Building Do-It-Yourself for Dummies. Yeah, I knew it was silly. I certainly felt silly buying it. But I was tired of being confined to homes because of those damn electronic security systems. I didn’t know if I could ever learn enough to disable one, or have anything tool-like within reach to do so, but hell if I wasn’t going to try, and this book seemed the simplest way in determining whether or not I could even grasp the concept.

  I read until my eyes began weighing heavy with sleep, then popped my usual energy drink to beat back the daze. From there on out I watched TV. When six o’clock came, I quietly snuck back into bed and waited for Nick’s alarm to go off fifteen minutes later, so I could get up and pretend my day was just beginning.

  One hundred square feet. Ten by ten. That was the size of my scuffed, light gray cubicle. And the way the desk extended three feet out and wrapped around in a U-shape, gave me a grand total of seven by four feet to move around in. I felt like a damn sardine in a tin can, and because of the stained, outdated industrial carpet beneath my feet, sometimes I almost smelled like one, too.

  I leaned back in my non-ergonomically designed chair and rolled my head backwards, trying to stretch out my aching neck. I closed my eyes and sighed. I’d been staring at an excel sheet all morning confirming data amounts and I was literally seeing rectangles. If I bounced my head back and forth I’d have my own obnoxious little built-in kaleidoscope. Sad thing was, I’d keep reading the spreadsheets and forever keep the messed up vision if it got me out of my afternoon routine – calling clients about past due bills and requesting payment.

  Yeah, this job sucked something else.

  My head lolled sideways. Across the small aisle between our cubicles sat Pamela in her tiny square footage. The only difference between her cubby and mine? Everything. Hers was littered shelf to floor with potted plants, picture frames and other knick-knacks that probably resulted from those stupid white elephant gifts that happened annually in places like this. My cubicle was stark and bare, not even a photograph of me and Megan on the table. All that sat on my desk that didn’t involve the stationary variety was a coffee mug that was company donated my first day on the job. And it was something I’d dump in the trash the moment I got to quit this place.

  Pamela had her back to me, and by the sound of it, was getting the runaround from a client. We both worked the same department. Billing. And it was oh-so-fuckingtastic. She was an outspoken thirty-something who wasn’t shy about the volume of her voice, nor did she mind being firm with the people she had to deal with, so long as it meant she could scratch their late payments off her list. She had dark brown hair, green eyes, pale skin and freckles, and was a few pounds overweight, but she carried them well. I suspected the jar of M&M’s she seemed addicted to every afternoon was probably to blame. That and being stuck in a sardine can nine hours a day like me. I knew I needed to hit the gym more often, but something about this place sucked the life out of me, and I was never too keen on going by day’s end. A round of sit-ups and push-ups in the morning were all I really did anymore.

  My phone rang three times before I bothered acknowledging it. Pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand, I leaned over the counter and answered it with my other. It was coming from an outside line, so I greeted with, “Billing. Nick speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Well, you can begin by coming down here and grabbing a lunch with me.”

  I opened my eyes, but they remained partially closed due to confusion. I knew that voice.

  “Thea?” I asked.

  “Yup. Come on. I know you don’t want stay up there for lunch. And I want to talk to you.”

  She hung up before I could ask her what the hell she was doing here, or have the chance to turn her down. She was lucky I had the kind of job that didn’t require a lot of conference room meetings and offered flexible hours so long as I got my work done. But she knew that already, which was why she wouldn’t give me a chance to say no for the hell of it. Given my lousy mood, she’d probably regret my company before we even got to wherever we were eating.

  I groaned. …wherever we were eating.

  Guess that meant I’d already decided to go. I scribbled a quick note, leaving the jacket I wore this morning behind. Passing Pamela’s area on my way out, I handed her the note explaining I was eating out today. She smiled and waved, all the while speaking firmly with whoever was on the phone, not skipping a single beat.

  I stepped outside my building into balmy seventy degree weather. Out of habit, I scanned the pedestrians on the walkway and the
cars that lingered on the side of the road, seeking anything unfamiliar. It was the city, so none of it ever looked familiar, but I always did it anyway. It was just a way of life now, always on the lookout for anything suspicious. My second scan caught Thea’s wave as she headed over, arm covered with a washed-out brown denim jacket that complimented her tiny frame and soft brown waves.

  She reminded me so much of the way Megan used to be. When she was Claire. When she would dress in finer clothing, curl her long, brown hair and lightly paint her face with make-up. She and Thea used to share everything in high school, so I recognized the pair of hoop earrings she was wearing now.

  “What are you doing here?” I tried not to sound accusatory, but that was just my crappy mood rearing its ugly head.

  “I know, I know, okay? But I wanted to see you. I promise I backtracked several times and watched everything around me. I even went in one side of a mall and out the other and took a bus here.”

  “Damn it, Thea,” I muttered anyway, roughly stroking my jaw, my eyes still set on our surroundings. She was careful about coming, but still, she shouldn’t be here. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into motion with me, getting lost in the hustle and bustle of lunchtime in Seattle.

  She was the same height as her sister, my arm too comfortable with the position. My hand dragged down and planted itself between her shoulder blades before abandoning the contact altogether, finally drifting back to my side. I could see the similarities of the two sisters, both of them favoring their mother’s pale skin but getting brown eyes instead of her hazel. Both had the same chestnut colored hair, but Thea’s skin was slightly paler and her brown eyes more tan than dark brown. She followed me into a Vietnamese restaurant and we quickly ordered our drinks and Pho soups.