Preyless

Prologue

RORY

I had always wondered what it would feel like to die.

Well, in a way.

I never exactly wondered what it would feel like regarding the action itself, nor had I ever planned a death of any kind—for myself or others.

Death, for the most part, was painful in nearly all ways of its delivery, regardless of how some felt about it.

And if you just so happened to die in a way that didn’t stem from the agony of pain or sickness…

then you were probably lucky enough to only spread that pain on to the souls of others.

Nevertheless, death was painful.

Or it should have been.

Right?

A sick part of me hoped it was for the ones who hurt others freely.

Who damaged them.

Who made them crave things people shouldn’t generally crave.

But over the last three months, I had come to an agonizing yet truthful understanding.

I would never know.

Pain was nothing new to me, but I didn’t like thinking about it until I had to. In utter honesty, nothing good ever came of it.

So, instead, I pictured my own version of Rapunzel.

Locked in a tower, desolate and alone, until a version of Prince Charming came for me.

A Prince Charming who had come to rescue me, after all.

Someone who would grow to love me. Who would show me that I wouldn’t and shouldn’t have to feel his wrath or disappointment breathing down my neck anymore. That I wouldn’t have to provide for someone who had lost themselves in the hope of our ruin.

A Prince Charming who would simply love me like I craved.

Like I deserved.

But my life was no fairytale, and regardless of how much I wished to escape this life and be reincarnated into the next one—preferably as a peaceful frog on a lily pad with no worries outside of what bug I would eat that day—I was fucked.

So, instead, I thought about death. About how sweetly relieving it must feel to finally give into the lack of bindings. The release of life.

No more shitty job.

No more shitty life.

There would only be peace.

I should’ve avoided that train of thought, though.

Anger only clawed its way up my throat every time my mind drifted in its direction.

Because he was dead, and while I only hoped he was in hell, I was left alive to suffer through the trauma and aftermath of him. Of having to heal from his hands, words, actions, and toxicity after the unimaginable.

If only…

“Alright, do you have any questions for me before you start?” the man in front of me asked, raising his bushy, gray eyebrows expectantly.

The question forced me out of my thoughts, and I looked at him, trying to appear as though I wasn’t thinking about death for the last ten minutes of my technical orientation.

As all girls do, or something.

This new job just happened to be working night shifts in a random hotel in a city that I’d only lived in for a solid seventy-two hours which also happened to be two streets away from a central naval base.

My last-ditch attempt to escape the hellhole that was my life.

I definitely had a death wish.

“No, sir,” I replied, smiling politely. A blush started to mar my pale complexion under the intensity of his stare. Men intimidated me beyond belief, and while I had the faux-confident constitution of any SEAL around here, I couldn’t stop the ringing in my ears or the panic in my veins.

One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…

Safe, I reminded myself. You’re safe now.

He sighed, and those bushy eyebrows of his lowered skeptically.

He looked as tired as my soul felt, and I honestly felt bad for the man.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind staying on the premises?

I know we’re a bit remote compared to the main parts of Norfolk and Virginia Beach, but I could really use the help running this joint.

Driving out here every day is exhausting. ”

I forced a chuckle out of my sore throat.

The throat which carried stark, black-and-blue handprints underneath my black turtleneck.

Even stopping at the local convenience store for a cheap, knockoff color correcting concealer did little to hide the bruises. Or the cut that graced the left side of my temple.

Hubby Dearest was just too drunk to realize he had gone too far, leaving bruises where everyone could see them this time.

Before he climbed into his car and—

Forcing myself to blink the thoughts away, I hid the wince from my chuckle and smiled politely. “It’s truly no burden to me. I think I’m at a point in my life where nature, remote locations, and keeping my head down sound perfect.”

He squinted at me now, and my heart dropped the slightest bit.

I needed this job because I needed somewhere to sleep—not to mention somewhere to figure out what I was doing with my life next—and I would be damned if I ever touched the life insurance money that he left me with.

It would be split and donated to the local domestic violence shelters by the end of the week.

At least he would do something good in his last moments. Even if he still made me want to fly back to Oregon and spit on his grave.

Regardless, I needed the man in front of me to give me a chance.

He shook his head before continuing. “Well, if you say so, kid. When I was twenty-two, I certainly preferred to travel and drink, but I know jack shit about this generation. Maybe there is some hope for you lot, after all. As long as you’re a good worker, I believe we will get along just fine.”

I giggled, though cursed internally at the painful wince that immediately wracked my features. Thankfully, he had turned his back away from me, and I was able to school my features back to normal moments later when he returned his heavy gaze on me. “And you’re comfortable with the dress code?”

“Business casual, right?”

He nodded. “That’s right. I’m good with jeans—hell, you can even wear sweatshirts and comfortable tops.

I know how drafty it can get here sometimes.

I just ask that you don’t show up to work in pajamas.

Or…nothing at all…like Larry did once. I had to scrub that surveillance footage from my brain after showing it to the police. ”

My mouth parted in shock. “Larry?”

“Bath salts,” was all he said, and I had to force myself not to burst out laughing. Even managing to not tip up my lips in humor was a challenge.

Laughing in front of my elderly boss regarding the mention of hardcore drugs…probably wouldn’t have been the best of ideas.

I just hoped Larry wouldn’t be paying me a visit during one of my night shifts.

I was tiny, malnourished, and exhausted. Living in my car until I could make it to this interview was hard enough, and I certainly did not need to deal with him, too.

Nevertheless, his lore sounded hilarious.

My now new boss tapped the cold, black metal desk that separated us with his knuckles before standing and grabbing his coat.

“Well, you have my number if you need me. I know you said you could start immediately, and there’s truly not much else you can do except hand people their keys and keep surveillance for the morning shift, so I will leave you to it. ”

I stood with him, rubbing the sweat off my hands on to my denim jeans before extending a palm out for him to shake. “Yes, sir. I’ll text you with any questions I have.”

On a cracked phone that had…zero minutes on it.

I’d need to correct that as soon as possible.

At least the hotel had full access to Wi-Fi.

He nodded again, shaking my hand politely before passing me with a smile. “Welcome to the Wooded Lodge, Rory. And call me John, would you? I’m old, and probably old-fashioned, but the ‘sir’ still makes me feel like I’m one breath away from a cane.”

I nodded with him, a hint of a smile on my face.

I watched out the windows as he left the building and began making the trek to his car.

The sun had begun to set, filling the sky with streaks of oranges and pinks—even hidden behind so many of the trees near the forest trails by the beach—and I felt a semblance of peace gnawing at my insides for the first time in months.

A semblance of warmth, even.

A breath of relief flew out of me at the realization.

I got the job.

I escaped my husb—ex-husband.

I had a place to live…even if it technically was my job.

Everything was looking up from here.

It was finally time for me to heal—one way or another.