Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Other Books by Tracie Podger
About the Author
Harlot
Tracie Podger
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Other Books by Tracie Podger
About the Author
Copyright 2017 © Tracie Podger
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents, either, are products of the author’s imagination or they are used factiously. Any reference to actual locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, to include, by not exclusive to audio or visual recordings of any description without permission from the copyright owner.
Cover designed by Margreet Asslebergs
Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting by Irish Ink – Formatting & Graphics
My heartfelt thanks to the best beta readers a girl could want, Karen Shenton. Alison Parkins, and Joanne Thompson - your input is invaluable.
Thank you to Margreet Asslebergs from Rebel Edit & Design for yet another wonderful cover. I’ve lost count how many covers we’ve done together.
I’d also like to give a huge thank you to my editor, Karen Hrdlicka, and proofreader, Joanne Thompson.
A big hug goes to the ladies in my team. These ladies give up their time to support and promote my books. Alison ‘Awesome’ Parkins, Karen Shenton, Karen Atkinson-Lingham, Marina Marinova, Ann Batty, Fran Brisland, Elaine Turner, Kerry-Ann Bell and Louise White – otherwise known as the Twisted Angels.
To all the wonderful bloggers that have been involved in promoting my books and joining tours, thank you and I appreciate your support. There are too many to name individually – you know who you are.
If you wish to keep up to date with information on this series and future releases - and have the chance to enter monthly competitions, feel free to sign up for my newsletter. You can find the details on my web site:
www.TraciePodger.com
I couldn’t breathe. I knew my mouth was open, I felt my heart beating, but for some reason, I couldn’t get my lungs to function and take in the breath of air I needed. Maybe it was a good thing. Had I taken in that lungful of air, I’m sure it would have been exhaled as a scream.
I looked around the bedroom. Blood splattered up the wall in an arc, in another world it could have been mistaken for a piece of abstract art. I didn’t want to look at him sitting naked. A hole, a bloody, dark red hole, had appeared in the center of his forehead.
I pulled the towel tight around my body. Only a half-hour ago he’d been alive, sleeping. The shower water that dripped down my body chilled me to the core. I grabbed my clothes, which had been strewn around the room, and pulled them on as quickly as possible. I stumbled as one foot tangled in the leg of my jeans. I screeched as I reached out to stabilize myself and touched his leg.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered, over and over.
Panic started to well up inside me. My hands shook as I buttoned up my shirt and looked around the room for my shoes. I spotted one but not the other. I grabbed my purse, the one shoe, and headed for the door. Then I froze.
I rushed back into the room and grabbed the plastic bag from the wastebasket; it contained evidence of our recent encounter. I picked up the towel I’d left lying on the floor and used it to cover my hand before I opened the bedroom door.
Moonlight streamed in through a small window in the hallway, illuminating the stairs and giving me enough light to navigate them. I crept down, pausing on treads that creaked under my weight and listened. I could hear my blood rushing past my ears to feed a brain that was firing off electrical impulses at a rate I wasn’t sure my body could keep up with. Muscles jerked as if preparing themselves for the flight option my body was desperate to take.
I should have called the police. I should have checked for signs of life. I should have done a lot of things, other than the one I did—I opened the front door and ran.
I slumped into my broken and grubby sofa, wincing at the soreness of my bare feet. I didn’t have the energy to clean them. Instead, I poured myself a glass of cheap wine and gulped it down. My hand shook so much it was hard to hold the glass to my lips. The wine burned its way down my throat, mixing with the bile that was churning in my stomach. I pulled my dirty feet up onto the sofa and curled up. Finally, the tears fell.
I hugged myself, trying to get some warmth into my bones. The trailer I lived in was freezing with just a small gas heater that gave off enough of a smell for me not to want to use it. I pulled a quilt around my shoulders and then cried harder. My grandmother had made that quilt; it was the only item I had that reminded me of her.
I missed her bitterly. I had since she’d died but more so then. She would have hugged me; she would have known what to do. I would never have found myself in the situation I was had she been around. I cried out her name, praying she could hear and guide me. Not that I thought I could sleep, but I closed my eyes, hoping that dawn would arrive quickly and I’d have a clearer mind.
A sweep of car headlights across the room disturbed me. I sat up, pulling the quilt tight around me and held my breath. The lights came to a stop outside my trailer. I quietly slipped from the sofa, and in a crouch, I crept to the window. I sat on the floor, my back to the door, knowing if someone looked in, they wouldn’t see me.
My blood froze in my veins when I heard my name being called, more so, when I recognized the voice. If he wanted to get in, one kick would have the front door fly off its hinges. I covered my mouth to stifle the sob when the door rattled.
“I know where you’ve been, whore,” he slurred, before laughing. “You won’t be going back there.”
“Please, go away,” I whispered, hoping for divine intervention. That came in the form of a dog.
Barking echoed around outside, becoming more frantic. I heard his heavy footsteps clomp down the wooden steps, away from the door, and then the headlights swept across the room again. I sat, straining my ears to listen for the engine of his car and breathed a sigh of relief when that sound became faint.
I knew at that point I couldn’t stay there. I had to leave. I scrambled to my feet and rushed into my bedroom. I gathered what few belongings I had, and crammed them into a battered backpack. The last thing I picked up was the quilt. I pulled on some socks and my sneakers, still aware of how dirty my feet were, and headed for the kitchenette. Hidden in a cupboard, in a small tin, were my meager earnings, well, the portion of earnings I was allowed to keep. In addition, there was my ‘gift’ of a hundred dollars. At the thought of that ‘gift’ and the person who gave it, tears welled in my eyes again. I would call the police, but I would have to do it anonymously. There was no way I cou
ld go forward and publicly report what I’d seen.
I was scared, I was trailer park trash, and I was a prostitute. No one was going to believe I hadn’t killed Philip myself.
The night air was crisp as I locked the trailer door behind me, not that I needed to bother. There was absolutely nothing worth stealing left inside. It should have been a temporary place to stay; I’d ended up living there for a year. The dog, which I saw tied to a piece of rope in a neighboring yard, started barking again. A light went on and the front door, of what could only be described as a shack, opened. A man stood, illuminated by the light behind him, and shouted obscenities to his dog. It quieted.
I slipped into the shadow created by my trailer, followed the length and rounded the corner. Behind was a wooded area. I knew my way through that blind so had no hesitation in hoisting the backpack high on my shoulder and making my way forward. Rustling leaves, branches that creaked as they swayed in the gentle breeze had my heart racing fast. I knew I had about an hour before the sun rose and he would be back.
I wondered why he’d arrived in the middle of the night; normally he’d visit in the morning after I’d been at ‘work.’ He would grill me for details; jerking off like the sick fuck he was, then taking my money, giving me back a small allowance for food and to make sure his bottle of home distilled moonshine was always full.
He, my cousin, and the person who was supposed to be my guardian after our grandmother died, was also my pimp—not by choice, though. I’d been forced to earn my keep, when he’d taken everything our grandmother had left me, gambled away the house she’d owned, and left us destitute. Well, me destitute. Somehow he always had money for drugs or beer.
As I walked, I reminisced. The first time I’d been forced to have sex, I’d been a virgin and Damien had sat and watched his friend force my legs apart and rape me. I’d screamed, cried, pleaded even. All I received was a punch to my mouth to silence it and a kick to my ribs to remind me to keep still. Damien had never touched me himself; I thought he was incapable of sex. All he could manage was to jerk off to what he saw, or what he heard. Most of what I told him was lies. He’d want to know every detail of every hour I spent with his clients. It wasn’t as exciting as I’d tell him, but I wanted to make each minute I spoke as raunchy as possible, so he’d come quickly and then fuck off. Bile rose to coat my mouth with acid at the thought of him. I wished, as hard as it was possible to do so, that it had been Damien lying on that bed, and not the gentle Philip.
I was so distracted that I didn’t see the thin branch as it whipped into my face. My skin was cold enough for the sting I felt to have me cry out. I picked up the pace, hoping to make it through the wooded area and to the only road in and out of the shithole town I called home, before sun up. I was Damien’s cash cow; I needed to be as far away as possible when he realized I’d finally run.
I had my suspicion that Damien might be responsible for what happened to Philip. I’d been so careful to keep Philip a secret, to only meet up on the couple of nights off I got in a month. I’d use my monthlies as an excuse to not service his friends. I’d seen Damien slit the throat of a dog once, he’d done it to scare me enough to never attempt to leave, and I hadn’t. He was more than capable of killing.
I kept to the tree line instead of openly walking along the road. I didn’t want to be seen, not that I would expect a truck to pass. The occupants of the trailer park were all either drugged or drunk most nights, and days. There’d be no activity until at least midday when greasy haired and dirty-bodied men would surface, followed by bleached blonde women with smeared makeup and chipped nail polish. Clothes would be optional. They would congregate around the cookout area, hoping someone would prepare some food, usually that was me.
My feet were sore from running barefoot and then squashed into sneakers a size too small. I trudged on, switching the backpack from one shoulder to the other. I’d thought about running away many times, I’d tried it, not getting too far, obviously. This time I was determined. I’d saved some money and sweet Philip had given me some. My heart ached at the thought of his name.
He was an older man, lonely after the death of his wife. He’d wanted a companion at first, someone to sit and chat to. I’d met him in a bar, I was sure that he was there to pick up a woman, and of course, I wasn’t supposed to be there myself, I was underage. I was just delivering a package on behalf of Damien. We chatted outside and he seemed so genuine. I hadn’t told him my age; I guessed he assumed I was old enough when he invited me to join him at his house. I accepted, needing the warmth of a real house and the company of someone other than the trailer park trash. He’d said that all he wanted to do was to talk.
That was all we did for the first few months that we met. We talked about anything and everything. He’d traveled the world, it seemed. He told me tales of foreign countries I’d never heard of. He described animals I’d only ever seen on the small black and white TV that barely worked, and sat in the corner of the trailer.
He was a lovely old man, and now he was dead. In my gut I knew his death had something to do with me.
I guessed it to be midday by the position of the sun. Although late fall, it was warm. Sweat rolled down my back, my t-shirt was wet, and my shoulder sore under the strap of the backpack. A couple of cars had passed and I’d ducked into the scrub that lined the roadside. I wasn’t sure how many miles I’d covered but I was still too close to not get caught. By then, Damien would know I wasn’t home. I’d never stayed out all night before, not even when I’d been taken to a ‘party’ and passed around by his friends like a fucking blow up doll.
I lost count how many men had fucked me, how many women had laughed, watched, joined in, and how many times Damien had pulled on his dick. They sickened me to the point I was able to shut down. I didn’t feel anymore, I didn’t cry, or hurt, or laugh. I didn’t talk much, even. Other than to Philip.
Philip had been my saving grace and it had cost him his life.
I wasn’t sure where I was; I’d never ventured that far from town before. In front of me was a long stretch of road, woodland to one side and bare farmland to the other. I didn’t own a watch so had no idea of the time. My stomach grumbled and I struggled to remember when I’d last eaten. I gathered my hair from my sweaty neck, cursing myself that I hadn’t thought to tie it up. Maybe, when I got to wherever I was heading, I’d cut it short. I’d need to transform myself somehow, but I had no real idea what I would do.
I decided I needed to take a break and headed into the woodland slightly. I found a fallen tree and settled on the ground, resting against it. I had to make a decision to head inland or stick to the road. At some point, the woodland would run out and I’d be exposed. I rifled around in the backpack for the small packet of chips I’d grabbed when I’d packed. I ate slowly; hoping to trick my brain into thinking my stomach was getting a larger meal than the chips. I wasn’t sure when my next meal was going to be. Feeling alone was something I was used to, but feeling alone and on the run caused a wave of anxiety to flow over me. Again, I prayed to my grandmother to keep me safe.
I curled up, I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the previous evening and my limbs were beginning to ache. I thought of my grandmother. She’d brought me up from birth. I knew the bare facts about my mother, her daughter, even less about my father. She’d been a godly Southern woman, kind and loving. My life would have been very different if cancer hadn’t taken her earlier than she should have left me.
The court had appointed Damien as my guardian, despite me never having met him before. He’d crawled from the woodwork, knowing there was a house that I’d been left, I imagined. We’d been evicted, if that was even the right word. I remembered two guys coming for him in the middle of the night, dragging me out by my hair, and throwing me to the ground in the front yard. It was a neighbor who had loaned me the use of the rat-infested trailer, and although dilapidated, I was grateful. I managed to get some clothes from the charity box at the church, and the quilt from a pile o
f rubbish in the yard after the new ‘owners’ started to decorate the house. I didn’t see Damien for a month, initially. He’d turned up, however, beaten and drunk, and put me to work.
I closed my eyes and let the small rays of sun that filtered through the branches of a nearby tree warm my face. It was only when I slept, or dozed, that I lived a wonderful life, that I had dreams and hopes. There were times I wished I could keep my eyes closed forever and escape into my make-believe world. In that world I was at school, I had friends that didn’t mock me, and clothes that fit. My body and my hair were always clean and smelled of fresh meadows. I was loved, and I felt secure.
I guessed I must have dozed off. I woke to raindrops and a darkening sky, a sense of foreboding washed over me. I didn’t have a jacket, just a couple of thin t-shirts and one woolen sweater. I could layer, but then I wouldn’t have any dry clothes. I sat and pulled my knees to my chest, deciding whether to sit where I was, partly sheltered, or continue on. I doubted Damien would be out in the rain to look for me, but I didn’t want to take the risk. The last time I had tried to run from him, I’d ended up with broken ribs and a split lip.
I shuffled closer to the tree, hoping its leafy branches would give me some protection. I rested my head back on the trunk and looked up. The dark clouds rolled across the sky, obliterating the sun. I decided the semi-darkness would give me good cover so I rose, grabbed the backpack, and started out toward the road again. My feet slipped on the mud and the rain came down heavier. A river of water ran down the road, I sloshed through it. I was immediately soaked through and hugged the backpack close to my chest, hoping to give it some protection and keep the contents watertight.
The rumble of a vehicle engine caused me to dart back under the cover of the trees. I held still, waiting for it to pass. There was a part of me desperate to call out for help, a ride to the next town, even. I peered around the tree when the vehicle got closer and spotted a black truck. I couldn’t see through the rain clear enough to identify the driver. The truck slowed as it got close and I held my breath. I scanned the woodland in front of me, hoping for a way to dart through the trees undetected.
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