She was honest and carefree, not having a single, horrible, or mean bone in her body. My sister would give someone the shirt off her back. There’s no way she would get involved with a man like Onyx Blake unless it was something huge. Something that she couldn’t find another way, but what that was, I had no idea. She’d never told me a need or want for anything before.
Malcom moved to stand beside Onyx, a small droplet of sweat falling down his worry-lined temple. “We haven’t messed up yet. Look, my wife and I have lost enough, we just wanted a little more reassurance. That’s all we asked Cole for.”
Onyx Blake gave a smirk. A cocky, powerful, he really didn’t give a single fuck about anything my brother-in-law had to say, smirk. “Yes, but your agreement is with me and not Mr. Cole. He is no longer your contact, everything goes through me. And I’m not asking for her—I’m demanding it.”
The way he said the word demanding sent shivers through my body, but confusion had set in hard and fast, making it all difficult to process. Demanding? Me?
“She’s not part of the deal, Blake,” Malcom tried to explain.
The man looked at my brother-in-law and laughed. His words were confident, arrogant. “She is now. My world, my rules. You knew it going in, and she leaves with me.”
“Wait!” I cried out, pulling my arm out of my sister’s grasp. “What do you mean leaves with me? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He cut his gaze to me, sharp and concise. “Yeah, you are.”
Hands on my hips, I searched my sister’s eyes, looking for something, anything to tell me what was going on here. She gave me nothing but sadness. The despair in her eyes had me more on edge wanting to do anything to help her, but terrified of what that might be.
I turned to her. “Kennedy, what’s going on here?” Tears streamed steadily down her face, taking with it the black mascara she had painstakingly put on each lash.
“Tor, I …”
“Enough!” Onyx ordered, making me jump an inch off the floor. I turned around to glare at him. “She knows nothing you say? So leave it at that.” His eyes searched mine, looking for a sign that I knew something, anything, which wouldn’t be a hard task.
“And what makes you think that I’ll come with you?” I snapped back at him, wondering who in the hell this guy thought he was.
He leaned in close, the smell of some kind of cologne, or hell maybe it was just him, hitting my nostrils. It smelled good, it was woodsy with a hint of vanilla, and far too good. The man’s body language screamed menace and power, but I held my ground. “Because you want your sister happy, and I hold the key.”
My stomach fell to my feet, and the small sandwich I had earlier started to roll around threatening to come up. “What does that mean?” When Onyx didn’t respond, I stole a glance at Malcom then Kennedy, each one sad and scared like their world was falling apart around them, and they had no way to put it back together.
“They can’t tell you anything about it, but if you want your sister to be happy, you’ll come with me. If you don’t, I’ll take you anyway.” He was frank, leaving no doubt about what was going through his mind.
He’d do it, I felt it deep in my very soul. This man did not seem like the type that would make empty threats, and judging from my family in the room, they knew it too.
“Kennedy?” I asked again, hoping she’d tell me something, give me some kind of clue about what the hell was going on here.
She glanced to Onyx then back to me as she shook her head. “What will you do with her?” she questioned with a tremble in her voice.
This wasn’t happening. This shitty day could not be twisting around to make it the shittiest of my hell-filled life. My sister couldn’t actually want me to really go with this guy.
His sinister laugh filled the air. “Whatever the fuck I want.”
My back straightened as all kinds of twisted scenarios ran through my head. I blamed it on my horror movie addiction trying to let myself hold onto hope that this couldn’t be real. Each thought became scarier than the next. There was nothing good that could come of this.
Malcom came around and wrapped Kennedy in his arms tight. There was some sort of silent conversation going on between them that I wanted in on, dammit.
Kennedy’s expression read pure devastation. “The deal’s off.” The words came out barely above a whisper.
Onyx chuckled in a menacing way, and goosebumps ran through my body as my heart sank. “Again with the negotiation. You’re already in. No backing out unless I cut you off. And you already know too much, so either way you’re a liability.”
Kennedy’s face washed out in fear. “But you can’t take my sister. I’ll give it all up just to keep her here.”
My sister threw it all out there for the mad man. She was giving up whatever this guy had just to keep me away from him. That told me two things. One being this was scary as hell, because if what the man said was true and he held the key to whatever in the hell they wanted, I would have to go with him. And two, they feared him which didn’t mean good things for my future. Whatever was going on here was huge.
“No. Deal goes as planned, and I get collateral.” He stood tall, the bluntness in his tone and the demeanor about him told me there was no escaping my new fate. Either way, I was going with him. Either my sister would get what she wanted or she wouldn’t, and I’d be in the care of a scary, crazy man. But there was still a sliver of hope that this fucked up situation wouldn’t happen.
“Please don’t hurt her,” Kennedy pleaded with Onyx like I wasn’t even in the room two feet in front of her. There was this detachment in her voice and a void in her face that sealed it. They knew they couldn’t fight for me. They knew nothing would change his mind, and they were terrified for me. The hope began to recede.
“Like I said, I do whatever the fuck I want. This isn’t a debate. For some reason, you have it in your head you control this. Let this be your reminder—you don’t.”
My sister turned to me, tears and pain bleeding from her eyes. “I’m sorry.” The defeat in her expression twisted my heart in two. I felt like my life was shattering in a way that I wouldn’t ever be able to piece it back together again.
“What kind of trouble have you gotten into, Kennedy?” When she remained nothing but a sobbing mess, I turned to Malcom who held my sister tight. “Well?”
“It’ll only be for a month, six weeks at the most. I think,” Kennedy whispered to me without looking me in the eyes.
“Why a month?” I barely spoke the words, but I had to ask the question.
“I can’t.” Her voice was so soft and pained. All I wanted to do was wipe the pain away for her. “I’m so sorry. You weren’t …”
“Times up,” Onyx ordered, cutting me off. “We’ll be in touch.” Onyx grabbed my arm and began pulling me out of the room. I yanked back, needing more time, wanting to know what was going on.
“Wait!” I yelled, trying to get out of his grasp. He ignored me. Instead, he lifted me up, hoisting me over his shoulder. My fists beat down his hard back over and over. “Put me down!”
Kennedy ran up to us. “I’m so sorry.” Those were her parting words as she crumbled to the floor on her knees, sobbing, my heart breaking for my sister.
That’s when Onyx Blake hit me on the ass, hard. Everything inside of me stilled. As he walked us through the door, the fear set in beyond anything I had ever felt before.
The hatred. The anger. The fear.
All of it swirled around inside me. Who was this man to take me from my family? What kind of power did he really have? What did he have that my sister needed?
And in the moment, all I could think was—survival.
The story continues on in PowerHouse (Power Chain Series 1) available now!
Get it here
PowerHouse
excerpt from Stay by Chelsea Camaron
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, d
istributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Thank you for downloading/purchasing this ebook. This ebook and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download/purchase their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support.
1st Edition Published: August 2015
Editing by: C&D Editing
Cover Design by: Cover Me Darling
Formatting by: IndieVention Designs
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This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are adults over the age of 18.
All characters are fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Fair Warning … This isn’t a sappy romance. It’s not sweet. It’s far from anything you would want to imagine. This is a story to leave you feeling dirty.
Nothing about us is normal.
Nothing about us is natural.
Can love ultimately be defined in such ways, truly?
This is our story.
He is a hit man, the very one who took my family the night that changed us both forever. Something in my eyes stopped him from killing me. Something in my eyes called out for him to take me.
At ten, he captured me. At fifteen, he consumed me. And at eighteen, he owned me.
Outsiders think he’s my father … That is so far from the truth.
Our twisted desires fuel the darkness that lies deep inside us both. My innocence never existed, and he takes me as I am.
Note from the author
This book is meant to make your insides turn at times. It is not for the faint of heart. Truly, if you read for a happily ever after with a Prince Charming or some form of redeemable characteristic in your hero, this is not the book for you.
Please understand, this is a work of complete fiction. Nothing is meant to be believable as this is a truly dark and daunting story.
Chapter One
The house made of glass will surely crack one day, was what I thought at ten years old. The safety of the gates was nothing more than a façade. Behind those walls laid an unknown hell. Upper-class America was no safer than the poverty-stricken ghettos because danger lurked in the most unlikely places. At least in the streets I would have had some control and a chance to run. If I didn’t come from the family I came from, maybe I would have had help; maybe I wouldn’t have been all alone, even when the house was full of people. No, there I had nothing except time.
That night, the darkness came again as I lay and waited.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
He would be here tonight. I knew it. I felt it. The red rim of his bloodshot eyes at dinner was the sign I had learned. It was my warning. It was the evidence of his overindulgence in what my mother called the occasional adult beverage. Only, with my father, it wasn’t occasional, and it was always more than one.
At ten years old, I had survived one moment at a time, always waiting and counting. Funny how they taught you to count the seconds of time in school, while I used it to count the seconds passing by at home.
Things had gotten worse as time passed by. The harder Father worked, the more he indulged. The happy possibilities of a little girl’s daydreams were long gone, and in its place was a reality nightmares were made of.
I had been waiting for my escape, even if it wouldn’t come for years. I had been counting on the future being better than the present. I used to count the stars on my ceiling from the nightlight I once had. However, I got older, and Father felt it was silly for me to have them, so to the trash it went.
Once I had gotten beyond the preschool stage where visitors would expect my room to have a theme, I was stripped bare of any color or any extravagances tied to me personally. My walls were plain white with nothing hanging, for we couldn’t give in to the whims of a child for decorations. Therefore, I lived in a room with four white walls, white bed sheets on my bed, covered in a white down comforter. My dresser was white, my nightstand white, and my headboard was a built-in bookshelf, done also in white.
Not given any freedom of expression, I wasn’t permitted to actually store any books on the shelf. No, personal effects must go inside the toy box that sat inside my overly large walk-in closet. Our house was large with a very sterile feeling. My room wasn’t allowed to look out of place. Like everything else in that house, it had to have clean lines and a contemporary feel, my mother always said. Personally, I found it to be just as stuffy as the rest of the house.
Mama and Father always told me not to share the secrets of our home. The special secrets of our family were our own. I tried to tell once when it first started. The doctor at my check-up said no one should touch me … down there—well, except him when he checked me. I whispered my truths, and he patted my leg like everything would be all right. Only, it wasn’t.
No, he called my mother to the room, stopping to tell her all about my creative imagination in the hallway. The door was cracked, so I had heard every word he said to her. He made it very clear this was the silly nonsense of a child wanting attention. Of course, a man such as my father—her husband—wouldn’t do those things.
After that, I decided I would wait. My time would come … I prayed.
As the bed dipped, I closed my eyes tight. The bed in which I should drift safely to the land of dreams and fairytales had been nothing more than a prison of its own making.
Fingers moved through my hair as I concentrated on counting my breaths.
One Mississippi, exhale.
Two Mississippi, inhale.
Three Mississippi, exhale.
Rough, calloused fingers ran down the back of my neck then traced my shoulder before trailing down my arm, all the way down until the hand found the hem of my nightgown.
I tensed. He laughed.
“Fallyn, don’t tease me, baby girl.” His voice was gravely and not hushed.
He didn’t have to hide his presence in my room; my mother wouldn’t stop him, so I supposed there was no reason for him to be quiet. She was supposed to protect me; only, she didn’t. The staff always left promptly at seven nightly and didn’t arrive before eight in the morning. Privacy was what my mother said we needed. Really, it was another way to keep the darkness from being seen by any outsiders.
There were many secrets we hid from the world, but none amongst that house. If only the walls could speak for me back then...
Squeezing my eyelids, I forced them to remain closed.
Four Mississippi, I went back to mentally counting.
His hand moved to my butt, tracing the edges of my little girl, cotton panties. Why my cotton? Mama wore the silky, soft ones. I had seen them in the laundry. Why did he touch mine? To this day, I still questioned that.
Count, Fallyn, don’t think of the hands moving, just count. Five Mississippi … Six Mississippi … He will finish sooner rather than later.
His fingers edged closer to the spot, and knowing it would hurt, I braced myself. It would burn, so I would squeeze my eyelids more, trying to remain unmoving, unnerved, and unresponsive. If he was drunk enough, he would believe I was asleep … If I was asleep, I didn’t have to participate.
I exhaled deeply as if in dream.
Seven … Oh, it stung.
When his finger pushed between the curves of my girlie parts, I tried to think of the two walls they represented. Mama had bought me a book about little girls
, explaining my parts. Why didn’t he understand they were to cover and protect the opening—my opening?
His thumb circled my middle, his finger pressing inside my tiny portal, and I gritted my teeth as I clinched my whole body tight.
“My baby girl, always so greedy.” He leaned over, licking my neck as bile rose up my throat.
By some miracle, I remained steadfast in my breathing and maintained control of my body. Inside, I wanted to jump out of my skin and hide my soul from the world. Then, just as the fire hurt and the burn built, something inside me twisted, and I became removed. Sick, screwed up, seriously drowning in disgust, I lay completely still, forcing myself not to throw up as he continued. I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t even want to share the same space, the same air with him. He was there, though. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d had his fun, and I was left covered in his filthy, sticky mess.
His breathing came in pants, and I was certain, if he knew I was awake, my hand would be working or my mouth. At least that night, I was saved the humiliation of an audience. He was always rougher when he made Mama watch. To this day, I didn’t know if it was a power play or a sick game between them. Either way, I was thankful for the break that night, even if it was only once.
The shrill scream of my mother filled the air, yet the man over me didn’t move. Then there was silence. Unfazed, he continued to slide his finger in and out of me.
Removing his finger, I thought for a moment he might be done early because of the commotion outside my room. I was wrong.
Slowly, as if not to disturb me, he rolled me to my back then moved his hand down the front of my panties as he lay beside me.
Eighty five Mississippi, I tried to count silently, failing at reaching the next number when the burn hit me as he shoved his finger inside me harshly.
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