Chapter Five
Indie
I woke up more exhausted than I had been when I went to bed last night. Mimic woke me multiple times throughout the night demanding I walk out to the living room, only to send me immediately back to bed.
The few hours of sleep in between those wake ups were plagued with nightmares. Memories of years at the Trick Pony. Things I had been forced to do. Things that had been done to me.
The nightmares were constant when we first escaped.
Every night, Alice and Jenny and I would wake each other up screaming and crying.
We shared our dreams only with each other.
Sometimes I wondered if that was why Jenny had taken her life.
Not only did she have to endure her own time there, but mine and Alice’s too.
The last time I’d had one was almost a year ago. They came only when the stress of being alone became too much.
I wanted to blame Mimic. Every time my eyes opened, and I found him watching me, I was back at the Trick Pony.
Reliving the moment we were woken in the night to service some special guest. Opening our eyes to Devlin, or his son, or worse Veronica, who hovered over us with a smile that was meant to be soothing, but we knew it would only cause us harm.
The fear would flash through me like a lightning bolt only to disappear as quickly as it arrived. But it never went away. That moment of being startled awake would always take me back to what I had been through.
I knew if I spoke to Haizley, she would tell me I was suffering from PTSD. She would have exercises and tools to help me get past it, I was sure. Maybe even a pill I could take. But I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone.
If I did, they would know Daniel Scott was here because of me. I didn’t know how he’d found me. Murmurs in town spoke of his connection to Amber. I couldn’t help but feel guilty that my being here might have put her at risk.
Daniel was dead now. Killed by a hitman if the rumors were true.
It wasn’t surprising. His father was dead; Veronica was dead.
Maybe it didn’t matter how he found me. Maybe I was safe now.
Maybe there was no one left looking for us.
I wondered if the others were safe. Had he found them before he found me?
Was Alice safe? Was she happy? Were any of them happy? Or were they all living the way I was? Under the radar, trying not to draw attention to themselves.
Living a life of celibacy because the idea of a man or woman touching me was so triggering that I’d resigned myself to being alone. Never having a partner or a family.
It wasn’t just the idea of being touched.
It was the revelation that anyone who knew what had been done to me, what I had eventually done willingly to avoid the beatings and the abuse, would look at me with not just pity—pity I could endure; it was the disgust in their eyes that I didn’t want to see.
Eyes didn’t hold secrets. The eyes let people see what was hiding underneath. The horror, the fear, the dark, depraved secrets that I craved. Just once, I would like to look into someone’s eyes and see patience. Maybe kindness, and one day even love.
There was something in Mimic’s eyes. Something that called out to me when his eyes focused on mine. Something I couldn’t explain. It terrified me and ignited something in me I had never experienced.
Now, I lay in my bed listening for any sounds coming from the other side of my bedroom door. It was quiet. Peaceful, almost.
Except that I knew he was out there.
He was in my space, leaving his mark.
He was trying to be quiet, but if I listened closely, I could hear the whisper of movement. A heavy sigh escaped, and I knew I had to climb out of this bed and face the day. And the man in my home who made my heart race in a way no one ever had.
Whenever he was close, my heart beat frantically. Not in fear, but in anticipation. Anticipation of what, I wasn’t sure. Yes, he was hot and sexy. But did I want him to touch me? Did I want to feel his hands on my body and his mouth on my skin, trailing kisses down my throat?
The way my pussy flooded between my legs at the idea of Mimic taking me said I did. But could I trust my body to know what it wanted? It had been trained to react. Trained to expect stimulation and release whether I wanted it or not.
No, my body couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t think my heart or my mind could be trusted either.
My heart didn’t know how to react. The only love I had ever experienced was from my mother.
And my mind? Well, I wasn’t sure she was even all there.
I knew I was broken. We all were. No one survived what we went through. What we were taught. What we endured.
Then again, maybe Jenny survived. Maybe her death was her way of truly getting free. Maybe death was the only genuine option.
With a heavy sigh, I climbed out of my bed and slipped on my robe. I bolted across the hall to the bathroom. I quickly used the toilet and brushed my teeth. The reflection in the mirror showed me just how hard that bastard had hit me.
I gingerly touched the bruise that had formed under my eye.
I’d have to ask Gunner what story he wanted me to give my clients.
Jealous ex was too cliché for me to even consider it.
It was always the scapegoat when a woman got hurt but couldn’t tell the truth of what really happened.
I wanted something that didn’t make me sound like a battered woman.
I wanted a story that made me sound like a badass.
I thought about Magyk. She’d never made contact after that night.
Never checked on us, never came back to make sure we were really okay, that we had truly survived.
But she was still our savior. Mine and the other girls who escaped with me.
We were free because of her. I would never forget what she risked for us.
I took a deep breath, shaking off the memories that threatened to pull me down, and stepped out into the hall. Armed with a confidence I never truly felt, I walked down the hall and stopped.
“Haizley?”
“Oh, Indie!” She rushed over and pulled me into her arms. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked, pulling back to look at my eye. She winced and asked, “Does it hurt?”
“It’s not bad. I’ve had worse.”
“What?”
Shit!
The horror on her face that I might have endured something worse than a black eye was the reason I would never tell her about my past.
“I broke my leg when I was a kid, falling out of a tree. That was way worse than a black eye.” The lie rolled off my tongue with ease. I had a dozen or more that I’d practiced saying in the mirror after I ran away from the foster home.
Cover stories had become my life. I’d created an entire childhood of love and happiness, filled with all the things I’d never been able to do. Trips to the zoo and the aquarium with my parents. Father/daughter dances in middle school that I never went to. And prom—what a night that was.
That was when I lost my virginity. A sloppy, fumbling romp in the science room at a high school I never went to.
I had a story for every question. A tale to hide all the dark truths of what I’d really suffered.
I learned quickly that people didn’t want to hear the truth of what went on in the real world.
No, they preferred to live in their fantasy that life was perfect.
They wanted to hear fairy tales. The fun, family-friendly stories that warmed the heart and made them feel good inside.
No one wanted to feel sick after hearing about the first time a girl sucked a dick at five years old. Or how they lost their virginities at the same age.
“How old were you?”
“Eight,” I answered without thinking. The truth was, when I was eight years old, I was beaten black and blue for disobeying a client’s order. An order that should never have been issued to an eight-year-old child, especially by a grown adult.
“Gosh, your mom must have been frantic.”
I nodded. I hated lying to Haizley, but what choice did I have? I knew that, of anyone, she would listen without judging or pitying me. But I didn’t want a therapist; I wanted a friend.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, searching the room for Mimic, trying not to identify the feeling of loss I felt that he wasn’t still here. The rejection that came with his leaving me.
“Oh!” She rushed over to the counter and set a plate of pancakes on the table between two place settings. “Gunner needed Mimic at church, so he asked me to come over and stay with you.”
“He does understand I’m an adult, right? I don’t need a babysitter.”
“He does not,” she deadpanned.
A laugh tumbled out of my mouth because I knew she was right.
Gunner acted like my father most times. He was sixteen years older than me, so biologically he could have been my father.
I wished he were my father. I would gladly take a stupid teenage kid as my father than the one I had.
The one who ignored me when he bothered to visit.
The one who hurt my mother over and over.
The one who never came looking for me when I disappeared.
My stomach grumbled at the sight of the pancakes, and I sat in the chair across from Haizley. “You didn’t have to come; I have to work today, anyway.”
Haizley froze and looked down at her plate.
“What’s wrong?”
“Remember what I said about Gunner not understanding you’re an adult?” I nodded and waited for her to finish. She looked at me with sympathy. “He rescheduled all your clients today.”
“WHAT?” I jumped up from my chair. “He can’t do that. I do not work for him. He is not my boss!”
I paced around the living room. I couldn’t believe the audacity of that man.
He didn’t get to dictate what I did and when.
I was fine to work. Sure, I was a little tired, and I might have had a small, dull headache in the back of my head, but I needed to work.
I had bills to pay, and besides, what would I fucking do all day if I wasn’t working?
It wasn’t like a had a bunch of friends I could call to hang out with.
Yes, Haizley was here, and I counted her as a friend, but she had work as well.
I was sure she had better things to do than stare at me all day while I slept.
“Indie, calm down.”
I stared at her with my mouth open. “Did you just—”
“Yes, I told you to calm down. You have a concussion, and stress isn’t good for your head. For what it’s worth, I told him you would be angry. Eat your pancakes and then get dressed. I’ll take you over to the clubhouse, and you can beat the shit out of him. I’ll even hold him down for you.”
The smile on her face told me she meant it. Frustration ran through me as I shook my head and sat down. Haizley was right. It wasn’t a good idea to kick someone’s ass on an empty stomach.