Chapter 1
One
Dani
It’s early in the morning and the sun hasn’t quite crested the horizon. I enjoy the early mornings before the hustle and bustle of the city becomes deafening. It’s peaceful, and peaceful is everything I strive for these days.
As I walk to the diner for a twelve-hour shift, I can’t help but get lost in my thoughts as I toy with my lip ring.
It’s been three years to the day since I was rescued from that hell hole of a trafficking ring.
At the time I was an aspiring model going to a local photoshoot to build my portfolio.
A man named Anthony had posed as a photographer for new and upcoming models, affordable enough for newbies such as myself.
I never saw the drugging and kidnapping coming.
I only lived in that house for a few days, being groomed to be a perfect little submissive for the men that would pay handsomely for such qualities in their pets.
I was rescued along with a handful of other women that were caught in the same predicament that I was.
My blue-eyed savior swept in, saved us, and I have never seen him again.
Granted, I have been reaping the benefits of said saving ever since.
Once we were rescued, we were brought to a warehouse to be evaluated and treated for our injuries.
After evaluation, we were given the option for new identities or to go back to our previous lives.
Jess was long dead and buried, so I chose a new identity.
Danielle Moore—Dani for short. I was set up with a job, money, and a place to live.
Essentially, I had all my needs covered while I got back on my feet.
I wouldn’t say I’ve fully gotten back on my feet, though.
I work at Bonetti’s Diner on the west coast of California where I barely make ends meet.
It’s not really enough to pay bills, get groceries, and have enough left over for hobbies or fun.
We stay moderately busy and the tips are nice for a waitressing job, but that’s about it.
I’m too anxious to put myself out there for much else.
I have no idea what I would even want to do, to be honest. Modeling has been ruined for me, so here I am with waitressing.
I live modestly, even though I definitely have enough money to live comfortably because I was set up with an account which held a million dollars in my name.
But I can’t bring myself to use any of it aside from the necessities—I don’t like feeling like I owe people.
I make just enough to scrape by, and in the months where tips aren’t enough, I dip into the money only when I have to in order to pay the bills or put food on the table.
I live in a quaint, little apartment about eight blocks from the diner with my cat, Amzee.
It’s not the best part of town but also not the worst. I chose it so that I don’t have to drive anywhere.
The diner is within walking distance, and I can take the bus for the grocery and pet store.
It’s not that I don’t like driving, I was given a car so I have the means, but I’ve become accustomed to my routine and I have a hard time straying from that comfort.
Not only were we given the means to start fresh, but they also set us up with therapy.
Lord knows we all need it. I went to a few sessions the first two-and-a-half years, individual and group ones, but over the last six months I’ve slowly stopped going.
I felt like I finally had the knowledge and coping skills, so I decided to try to do it on my own.
See how far that got me? Still depressed and anxious, but at least semi-controlled with medication.
I did meet my best friend at therapy, though.
Melody has become a staple in my life. I was sitting in the lobby one day waiting for my name to be called for my appointment, when she approached me asking about my Sleep Token shirt. We’ve been besties ever since.
Walking up to the front doors of the diner, I take out my keys and unlock the door. Max is the cook, and he usually gets here before everyone else to prep the kitchen for the long day.
“Hey, Max, it’s just me,” I shout needlessly—I’m the only waitress that likes coming in this early. It’s only because I enjoy taking my time getting the restaurant ready for the day in the peace and quiet.
“Hey there, darlin’, how ya doin’?” Max replies, popping his head through the kitchen door. Max is short with a balding hairline and bright hazel eyes, and right now, those eyes are trained on me as I move about the restaurant, working on prep.
“Oh, you know, living the dream as usual. How was your weekend?” Weekends are the only time I refuse to work, and the owners of the diner are nice enough to accept that. It helps that I usually work ten to twelve hour shifts every day during the week.
“We were busy as usual. Ya know, we could use your help on the weekends, missy.” It’s always the same comment from him after every weekend. I just smile and nod my head.
“I know, but the other girls have to learn one way or another. I can’t be mothering them constantly.”
“Alright, alright. I know there’s no convincin’ ya.”
“Nope, you should know by now, Max.” I beam a smile at him as a flit around the restaurant, sweeping up the mess that was missed from closing duties last night.
The other girls that work in the restaurant are mainly part-timers, and I’ve found that they don’t really have as much work ethic as I do.
This is my full-time job, one that I am proud of and actually need; I put my heart and soul into this workplace, and I know my managers see that.
I just wish it was reflected in my pay. Shaking myself from my negative thoughts, I remind myself it’s really not their fault the economy sucks and little mom-and-pop-shops are closing left and right.
“Alright, missy. I gotta get back to workin’ back here, we’ll catch up later.”
“Sounds good, Max.”
Eight hours into my shift, my feet are becoming sore and I’m in desperate need of a break.
These long hours kill my feet, but my right foot in particular I have been having a tough time with.
The doctor’s said it’s plantar fasciitis, and it fucking hurts like hell.
I’ve tried the injections, but they wear off after a few months.
The temporary relief is great, but what I really need is the surgery to get it fixed.
It would require being in a boot for a few weeks, and the restaurant can’t afford to be without me for that long.
Maybe it’s the other way around, but whatever the case, I haven’t made the jump to get it scheduled.
I also don’t think I could walk numerous blocks to and from work everyday in a boot.
I have the money to take off work, I don’t know why I can’t just pull the trigger and get it done. I sigh at the thought... maybe one day.
The bell rings as a new customer comes in, and I shout over my shoulder to take a seat wherever they like. The afternoon rush has passed and there are only a few patrons in the diner now.
Noticing the customer is by himself, I grab a glass of water and the coffee pot before heading over to the booth in the corner.
His back is to me, so I can’t make out his features other than he’s tall with black hair. Muscles ripple along his back as he gets comfortable in the booth thanks to the tight-fitting black T-shirt that adorns his torso. I paste a smile on my face as I come up to his side.
Setting his water on the table, I greet him, “Good afternoon. Would you care for any coffee today, Sir?”
I’m taken aback as I lift my gaze from the table and into the man’s eyes. They are the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t even take in the rest of his features, the eyes are all I need to see.
Eyes I could never, ever forget.