Chapter 2
CADEN
When I imagined my twenty-third birthday, I expected to be wearing a slutty dress, drunk off my ass, and finding some random woman to sleep with.
Instead, I was on a train, escaping my father, my ex, and one of the most dangerous gangs on the east coast—add a few FBI agents in there, and we could have one hell of a party.
I guessed it really was true when they said no one liked you when you’re twenty-three.
Signs of Life by Motionless in White blared through my headphones as pain rippled through my side.
The fresh stitches of my stab wound sent radiating pain through my body, making me wince with every movement the train made.
I didn’t remember train rides being this rough when I was a child, but I also wasn’t running through the New York subways when I was five-years-old.
Maybe ditching my protective custody fresh out of the hospital wasn’t my brightest idea, but I was tired of being babied, even if my stupidity was to blame. I didn’t feel the blade penetrate my skin since I was drugged out on whatever concoction Dom gave me, but boy, did I feel it now.
Karma really was a fucking cunt.
If it wasn’t karma, it was the universe’s sick, twisted joke of a consequence for rebelling against my father.
I fucked the bad boy with the sexy tattoos and shitty dick game—very disappointing after getting hooked by his sweet talking and charm.
I never expected a bucket of bullshit being added to my already existing trauma, a stab wound, and witness protection. A complete trifecta.
Dominic was…a mistake. I thought I loved him, but really, I loved the idea of him. I had no idea he was part of a gang or that he’d end up ruining my life. I didn’t know who Liam was until that night. Now he was permanently embedded into my mind.
Liam Keller sounded like your garden variety, white-collar, rich man—turned out he was the leader of a notorious gang in New York.
Not the typical dealing drugs to high schoolers on the corner type of gang.
Nope. Born Killerz, with a ‘z’ at the end, sounded like a shitty name for a wannabe pop-rock band.
And again—nope. He was one of the biggest cocaine and heroin distributors, plus prostitution on the East Coast, mainly in New York and Massachusetts.
He was trying to go down south with his operations, but they already had their own people down there, so it didn’t work out.
And I was the reason he was dead.
Technically, I didn’t kill him. Dominic sold me to the fucker after he ripped my heart out of my chest. At least in that moment, I thought he did. Moments later, he shattered my soul, then my world deteriorated when he drugged me, and Liam destroyed what was left.
My memory was still hazy, and I still don’t remember all the details.
The doctor said Dom injected me with a drug cocktail of sorts.
He couldn’t pinpoint one of the drugs that was administered, and said it was something new and dangerous making its way onto the streets of New York.
I remembered calling my dad prior to Dominic finally meeting me outside, but before I could protest or run, I was stumbling inside the house with Dominic whispering in my ear about being a good whore.
I think Dominic had a cuck kink or something because he stayed the entire time with Liam.
Dominic hacked off my tiny black dress with his switchblade before cutting my bra and panties, not caring about the superficial lacerations he left behind.
I thought drugs like Ketamine and Rohypnol would make the body oblivious to pain, but I felt everything. I just couldn’t fight. I remembered bits and pieces like the needle going into my neck and the fear coursing through my body.
The pungent smell of mildew and musk were permanently ingrained into my senses, an aroma that made my skin crawl.
I could feel the old mattress and coils beneath it as they dug into my skin all while Liam straddled my bare hips.
It was a permanent ick etched in my brain.
My body was paralyzed, but my mind was alert and screaming.
It was hard to explain the feeling, but it was like my body was in slow motion, yet my mind was going a million miles a minute.Waiting for my fate felt like hours, but in reality, only a few minutes passed.
Dominic wasn’t intimidating, but his deceitful laughter was only a fraction of the impending torture.
My trauma felt like a heavy blanket weighing down my soul, leaving me torpid.
Apathy was all I felt now. Well, other than the intense pain in my side, but I couldn’t succumb to the darkness dancing on the edge of my mind.
I was a fucking mess. Anger, sadness, fear, guilt—everything swirled together in a chaotic mix. This was my life.
I wiped the tears angrily as the memory flashed through my mind like an unwanted horror movie.
The sensation was odd. Numbing, yet intensified with every touch. Describing it would make me sound crazy, but I thought being drugged would make me feel nothing. His body weight was soul crushing, and his laughter was bitter. Rough hands left scorching bruises on my thighs, forcing me open.
I snapped my head to the side, taking a shaky breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Don’t let them win. Except they already fucking won, didn’t they? My fingers lightly grazed my throat, the ghost of his touch still lingering. The bruising was minimal, thank God.
That’s my good whore.
I squeezed my eyes shut, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves and the panic grasping me in a tight hold. My side ached, adding to the punishment while everything that happened played through my mind. The damage was already done, yet Liam decided if he died, so would I.
Never in my life did I think my father’s voice would be a saving grace.
I hated the man, but I would forever be grateful that I called him to pick me up when I thought Dom ditched me.
He lost his religion—or what little he had left—and for good reason.
In my defense, I had no clue who Liam Keller was or who the Born Killerz were.
Calling him and hearing him bitch me out saved me from being gang raped.
The screaming and the gunshots didn’t make Liam budge.
He paid good money for me, so he was determined to use me until he was satisfied.
I guess he thought Dom would protect him, but his pussy ass ran when my father and his people got too close.
I wished I was numb when Liam stabbed me.
The pain was delayed, but then became all-consuming.
The final thing I remembered before my world went black was a gunshot and a crushing weight.
I dug my nails into my arm, grounding me in the present so I didn’t panic. When I got off this train, I could scream, cry, scrub my skin—allow everything to fall apart around me—but I needed to be strong now.
The knife punctured my spleen, so they removed it.
I woke up in the hospital feeling groggy, but the morphine did its job.
To have some morphine right now would be orgasmic, because the pain radiating through my body was not the vibe.
It would’ve been wise to heal before going on the run, but my father had plans I refused to follow.
Florence Buford.
The fake alias my father wanted to give me was a preschool teacher in the middle of bumfuck Iowa.
I was the reason a notorious gang leader was dead, and if I stayed in New York, they would kill me.
So, Caden Carpenter is dead now, too. It worked out perfectly, but my father always had to try and control my life, even a fake one.
He had my bag at the hospital with Bert and Ernie, ready to escort me to my life in exile.
My father was angrier than usual and seemed more than ready to get me out of his way.
After the nurse chewed his ass out about his demeanor towards me, he put on his loving father persona.
I wasn’t going to allow him to control my life anymore, so I ditched my protective detail and bought a train ticket to the furthest town I could find.
The hard rock fizzled into a moody bop. This thing called “love” really was fucking miserable.
As much as I loved NF, I skipped the song.
I didn’t need to be in my head right now.
My demons were fighting in there already.
Her Eyes by Flame on Fire had quickly become one of my favorite songs.
It was repeated a few times on this long-ass train ride alone.
I looked out the window to see the Washington sunrise kissing the horizon. It was definitely prettier than New York City, and hopefully, it would be more peaceful, too.
I winced again, gripping my side. I needed to get off this damn train soon before I screamed bloody murder. Running from them was easy at first, I had pent-up energy, but I was feeling the effects now.
I had already gone through half a bottle of Tylenol to get through this train ride.
I was grateful there weren't too many people on here. After the second train transfer, there were only a handful of men and women left, but they were all minding their business. One more hour until I got to my final destination. I desperately needed to clean my wound. The bathroom on the train wasn’t gross per se, but it was far from sanitary.
Dying from a blood infection was not on my bucket list.
I boarded the train in Jersey after ditching my detail in the crowd.
When I was settled, I looked up how long it took to heal from a splenectomy, and it said four to six weeks if I was home, taking care of myself.
Spending three days on a train without the proper medications may not be the correct way, but I’d taken care of myself for most of my life, and I could take care of myself now.
I rested my head on the headrest, letting my mind wander.
None of this would have happened if I died instead of Nathan.
My brother was my father’s pride and joy.
The wanted son, the golden child. I was the mistake, the bane of his existence.
I never understood why he despised me. I was just a kid.
Didn’t all children misbehave? Nathan was the only good thing in my life until he was gone.
The ocean took him from me when I should have died instead.
I wanted to pretend I was living for Nathan, but this life would be a joke.
If he ever saw the way our father treated me, he’d roll over in his grave.
My father drowned himself in work to mend the loss of Nathan.
He thought my mother would stay, but the bitch left.
I was a child, scared and alone, with no stable home or parent.
The guilt ate me alive, but in the end, there was nothing I could do, so I started my own downward spiral and rebelled.
I’d seen that man angry most of my life, but this was a different level of rage.
He had something in him that I’d hardly seen before—worry.
It fueled me to keep dating Dominic. I made it my goal to piss off my father and fight against him because of his treatment towards me.
I guess this was what I got.
I sighed, wincing as pain shot through my stomach. I’d survived worse. Being a walking dead girl might make it easier to start fresh and live the life I wanted before everything went south.
The train came to its last stop. I grabbed my black and pink bookbag that once carried college textbooks, but now carried everything I had to my name. I pulled my ball cap over my faded-blue locks and walked off the train.
Welcome to Westhaven.
Here was to a new beginning, I guess.