by L M Terry
Discovering Danielle
Discovering Danielle
Hidden Series Book Three
LM Terry
Discovering Danielle
Copyright © 2019 LM Terry
Published by LM Terry
All rights Reserved
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form, either electronically or by mechanical means without prior written consent from the author. Brief quotes are permitted in the instance of reviews or critical articles. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book is intended for readers 18 and older, due to adult content and language. This is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, events or incidents come from the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
To the man who took a young girl with zero confidence under his wing. Thank you for seeing me and making me see that my different wasn’t bad but beautiful. For loving who I am, flaws and all. For encouraging my light and my dark. I will always be your crazy Gemini and you will always be my Libra, the scale that keeps me balanced.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.
~ Nelson Mandela
Prologue
Danielle
17 years old ~ Summer 2010
◆◆◆
Tears drop to my bare knees. My dry skin drinks them up almost as quickly as they fall. This is it, the last stop before I officially become someone’s property. I’ve only lasted this long because I am a virgin. A hot commodity in this world. After tonight that little sliver of safety will be wrenched away.
My stepfather sold me at a truck stop. Yes, you heard that right, a fucking truck stop.
There are five of us. The lucky ones. At least we haven’t been mauled by the disgusting beasts that have been shuffling us around for the last two weeks. Men are milling around looking at us, touching us. Just like at a damn car auction. I want to run but it wouldn’t do any good. There is no escape.
I guess it doesn’t really matter, my life hasn’t been worth living since I was fifteen. That was when my mom and I found my dad hanging from our staircase. My mom met my stepdad, Ted, a year later and I went from being a cherished daughter to nothing more than a tool for him to make money. I was no different than the lawn mower my friend used to mow lawns in the summer. Yep, that’s me…a lawn mower…a thing…Ted’s money maker.
It started out with photos, then went to videos and before long escalated to him making me give blowjobs to truckers or anyone who would bite on his black-market ads. The final blow was being sold at the B and G truck stop or best known as blow and go by the locals. The place is known for the skeevy dark things that go on in the back-parking lot.
You may be wondering how I let it get to this point. Well, I’ll tell you, because I know full well how I got here. One fucking night of drinking with my best friend, Lizzie, and the crazy story we wrote about our hot as fuck teacher, Mr. Baxter. It was filled with the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul. Saturated with fantasies that sleep inside me waiting for the right person to wake them up. Lizzie thought it was just a silly story, but to me it was more. It was what I craved. It was dark, it was hot, it was everything I want, besides Mr. Baxter. I don’t want him. He was just a fill in for the man that I haven’t met yet. The one who might pull me out of the shadows and give me everything I want and everything I don’t.
One little erotic story that my stepfather found and used as blackmail. I tried to tell my mother what was happening, but she was so fucked up she either didn’t believe me or didn’t care. She just stared at me or more like through me, no response came from her lips. I would have gone to the school counselor but…the story. The provocative words wrote eloquently in my own handwriting. Words that could provoke fear in some and moans of ecstasy in others. Ted made sure I knew the majority of the population would find it demented as hell. He also pointed out the fact no one would believe an eccentric teenager with mentally fucked up biological parents.
So, I did what he asked until he wasn’t the one asking any longer. Now there is no asking, it is only demanding…no choice. Which ironically is closely related to my dark fiction. This is not how I envisioned it in the safety of my room with my giggling best friend and a bottle of vodka.
A warms hand lands upon my back. It begins to stroke my hair and a gravelly voice whispers into my ear, “Everything is going to be okay, princess.” He sits down in the chair beside me, his hand never leaving the back of my head. Is he claiming me? Will he be the one who buys me?
Slowly I turn so that I can see him, his silver-grey eyes meet mine. My fear evaporates. Why? I rest my head on his knee and his designer suit drinks up the tears still falling uncontrollably from my eyes. He could be interested in buying me for a million reasons. I should be frightened. He could simply be interested in purchasing me for a snuff film or something just as horrific.
He smells so good, not like cologne, I really can’t explain it. He smells like mine. He must have a lot of money. He is dressed like a model on the cover of a Forbes magazine. Not one of the old billionaires, no, a young entrepreneur type. I hope he bids high enough to take me with him, even if it is for a snuff film. Dead would be better than two minutes with some of the nasty men that have been ogling me.
Just as the bidding begins the man pulls me up, throws me against a wall covering my body with his. Pop…pop…pop. He continues to whisper that everything will be okay, shielding me from the gunfire and shouts unfolding behind him. When the room is quiet, he leans back slightly tipping my chin with his knuckle. “It’s over, princess. You are going home.”
What? No. No. No. I can’t go home. I don’t want to go home. My brain screams the sentiments but not my mouth. He takes his jacket off and wraps it around me, it smells like him, it smells like mine. The man turns away from me as men in black police gear swarm the room, one of the officers gently puts his arm around my shoulders guiding me away from the man with the silver bullet eyes. James, I’ve decided his name is James…my hero…my James Bond.
If only I could have seen him one more time. I might have been able to tell him how I ended up in that room in the first place. He made me feel safe. I haven’t felt safe in so long.
I never saw him after that. I left a note in the pocket of his jacket before I gave it back to a man I had seen
him talking to inside. The man was looking for his sister. He showed me a photo, but I did not recognize her. Anyhow, he told me he would get the jacket back to his friend. I wanted to give James my phone number, my address, my birthdate, my grade point average…everything. But, I simply wrote Thank you from DJ with a mini sketch of a butterfly beside my initials.
Now, here I sit with a social worker by my side at the airport waiting for my mom and Ted to retrieve me. When they arrive, I see the papers sticking out of his jacket. A silent reminder that he is the one in control. The paper with my words, words that may as well be nails in my coffin.
Fuck.
The entire ride home is made in complete silence. When Ted pulls in the driveway I can’t keep quiet any longer. I lean forward and speak into my mother’s ear. “Did you even report me missing?” I seethe. Does she really not know what kind of monster she brought into our home? How clueless can this woman be? I already know the answer, the social worker told me my parents called me in as a run-a-way.
She bursts into tears and Ted leans over taking her hand to comfort her. Oh. How. Fucking. Sweet. “Why don’t you go inside Stacey, let me talk to Danielle. It will be okay. She is just upset after what happened to her. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to take it out on you.” He glares at me as he speaks to her. “Hey, listen honey, Dani and I will go on a run for Chinese. Does that sound good?”
She nods her head sadly and then gets out of the car. Oh, what a lovely homecoming. I’ve watched the news. I’m not stupid. Most girls fortunate enough to be found after being abducted have friends and family anxiously awaiting them. There is always a lot of hoopla played out across the screen. But, I guess I was not abducted off the street. No, I was sold by the very person who claims to be some knight in shining armor and now thanks to him labeled a run-away. The man who helped a distraught widow and her young daughter. Yeah, right.
“So, Danielle, did you learn anything new for your next story? Look at it as research, eh?” He laughs as he turns the music up and backs out of the driveway.
He drives right past the Chinese place my mother loves and straight for the B and G truck stop. Are you fucking kidding me? My mind races, I can’t keep doing this. I need to find a way out, but if I tell someone he will show them my story, and everyone will think I’m a messed up by product of my parents. They won’t believe me. No one will believe me. Shitty, but true. Both of my parents were diagnosed with mental illness. Both artists. Fucked up minds, great art. Much like myself, maybe Ted is right.
When he pulls into the dark parking lot I cringe. I recognize the truck he is pulling up to, one of the regulars as he calls them. The guy is nice, I guess, but his truck smells like beef jerky and it always makes me want to throw up. I gag at the mere thought.
“Out,” Ted orders.
I groan but do what he asks. We walk up to the regular, I don’t know his name. I don’t care to. The truck stop is loud, buzzing with activity. Unfortunately, in today’s world everyone is in a hurry or looking at their phones, so no one notices a teenage girl with two fucking grown ass men. Fuck. Everyone knows the interstate running along here is trafficking central but still no. one. notices.
The man smells of diesel, I already want to puke. He opens the door for me. He slaps me on the ass as I climb up like a good girl into his cab. Just like I thought, beef jerky and diesel…lovely.
Instead of crawling into the sleeper, my mind shorts out. James didn’t save me just so I could go back to this fucked up life. I quickly crawl to the passenger seat, rip the door open and jump. My ankle twists but I don’t care.
I run…I run…I run.
Where is Mr. Bond when you need him?
Chapter One
Anthony ~ Spring 2018
◆◆◆
Why did I even waste my time coming to this shit hole? Oh, yeah, I remember sex and alcohol. Shit, blah, blah, blah. I try to wave down the waitress, but the bitch ignores me. Of course, she does, everyone does. I’m a fucking mess, I know this but guess what I don’t care. I usually go to one of the classier BDSM clubs but I’m so slopping drunk I knew it was fat chance they would let me in. So, here I am. Alone in a crap club with a waitress who is snubbing me.
I watch the couple on the center stage. The woman on the St. Andrews cross is moaning as she gets whipped by a burly looking man. I sigh, I’m tired of this shit. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I hate it.
I’m tired of clubs where I hook up, debate a scene or two with some tall leggy blond…or two, play and then go home to nothing. It only curbs me. It doesn’t give me what I’m looking for. Hell, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m looking for anymore.
My friends have been calling me for months, but I’ve been ignoring them. They used to go to these clubs with me. Now they are cuddling babies and shit. They have wives bringing their fantasies to life. Not that I want a wife, I don’t. I’m not the husband type. I just want…
My attention is drawn to two assholes scoping out a goth looking girl up at the bar. Skeeze balls. I can spot their type a mile away. One of them makes his way towards her. He whispers in her ear, and she turns to look at his friend who is sitting at their table. Once her eyes are turned away he drops something in her drink. She quickly turns back to the bar shaking her head no. Not interested. Good girl. Smart.
The man shrugs his shoulders and walks away giving his friend a thumbs up. Asshole.
I wait a few seconds and then make my way to the bar. I wedge between the goth girl and the person perched beside her so that I can place my order. I needed another drink anyhow, right? “Hey, that douche bag that was up here just spiked your drink. I’ll order you another one, what are you having?” I don’t turn to look at her as I speak.
“I was just about to leave anyhow. Thank you but I’m fine,” she says in a shaky voice.
I should walk her out. I should at least look at her. I don’t. I told her about her drink. Job. Done. Once upon a time, my job was to save women. Now my friends…coworkers…are too busy. But, hey, I told her about the drink.
I stumble back to my booth to enjoy, or not, the rest of the show.
The two drink-lacing jerk’s obnoxious laughter draws my attention back to them. Did they find another victim? I glance over to the bar just in time to catch goth girl throw back the last drop of her date-raped filled drink. What. In. The. Fuck.
Ignore this…not my monkey, not my circus.
But,
shit.
I walk back up to the bar, wedge my way once again between her and the patron in the next seat. “What the fuck did you just do?”
“Shit. Fuck. Shit,” she squeaks.
I order another drink and as I’m waiting I slide a pen and napkin to her making it look like I’m asking for her number. “Write down your address and a number of a friend. I’ll make sure you get home.”
She quickly scribbles something down as I take in her black nails, tattoos and piercings. She is shaking as she pushes it back to me. “How bout’ your phone? Give it to me.” I am in no shape to drive. I’m going to have to get help on this one. I quickly download an app on her phone that will allow me to track her. “Shove your phone down your pants, they might ditch your purse the minute they take you.” The waitress hands me my drink as I’m telling the black-haired young woman what is going to happen next. “Get up and walk outside while you still can. They will follow. They will shove you in their creepy van or whatever the fuck it is they are driving. Don’t worry though, they won’t get far. I’ll make sure you get home and I’ll call your friend. Got it?”
“Yes,” she cries and then without another word she is up and heading for the door. I take her now vacant seat and watch as the dumb shits follow her out.
Chapter Two
Danielle
◆◆◆
Icame to the club hoping for a hook-up. Someone to force me out of my comfort zone, which doesn’t take much. I have Panophobia…it’s pretty much all the phobia’s wrapped up in one little ole’ p
ackage which is me. You would assume that I would have developed such a thing in the midst of one of the many horrific things I’ve experienced in my life but no. It happened almost a full year after I ran away, in the middle of a grocery store. I heard the snap and suddenly fear took over. Living in constant fear is simply…hard…almost impossible.
After I ran from Ted I went to Lizzie’s. I told her everything. Her parents were loaded so she took everything out of her savings account and gave it to me. Enough to start a new life somewhere else. Best and only friend I’ve ever had.
Ted and my mom didn’t report me missing this time, I was even able to sneak in the house before I left. I took my birth certificate, clothes and my car then I hit the road for the coast. As far away as I could get from them.
I found a little one room apartment above a nail salon. It was perfect, affordable and a block away from the beach. It was nothing like my hometown in the Midwest and that is exactly the reason why I love it. I worked at the salon until D-day. That is what I call the day fear moved in and Danielle got pushed to the side.
Seven years I’ve been living with my terrifying companion, fear. This wasn’t my first try at doing something stupid, hoping to break the spell. I’ve tried everything. My therapist told me I need immersion therapy. Great, I’d try anything but unfortunately my fear prevents me from going. Which brings us to my latest stunt, coming to a BDSM club in hopes that someone will force me to do something…to do anything.
Funny right?
Funny because we all know my past. But, here I am a twenty-five-year-old virgin sitting at the bar in a sex club hoping someone will force me. Life has pretty much been one fucked up thing after another, after another.
I knew the asshole spiked my drink. I sat willing myself to pick up the glass. If I did I knew I was taking a risk, a big risk. A dangerous one where I might find myself once again imprisoned by awful men. The risks weren’t outweighing my current imprisonment of fear. It could end in being murdered but even that sounds better than continuing the life I am leading.
