Covetous

by Natalie Bennett

  Copyright

  covetous by Natalie Bennett/BB Books

  © 2019 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. KU94

  Editing By: Pinpoint Editing

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  PLAYLIST

  Lana Del Rey—Doin Time

  Billie Eilish—Bad Guy

  Weeknd—The Hills

  Camilla Cabello—Senorita

  NF—Time

  Drake—Trust Issues

  BANKS—Till Now

  BANKS—Stroke

  Ellie Goulding—Hate Me

  Drake—I Get Lonely

  Sam Smith—How Do You Sleep?

  Lana Del Rey—Hope Is Dangerous

  The Weeknd—Call Out My Name

  Marshmello—One Thing Right

  CHAPTER ONE

  Past

  I was homesick for a place that didn't exist. A place where my mother acknowledged that I was a human being, and I had a father who cared. It was easier to believe they'd never loved me at all than it was to pretend they had, and one day just simply decided not to.

  A mother that cared about her little girl would have protected her, right?

  She would have made him stop instead of calling me delusional. My mother's fear of my stepfather and her lack of backbone caused her to act none the wiser. I was left to suffer in silence. Alone. Always alone.

  After marking another red dash on my calendar, I added them all up and got a total of fifteen. That's how many days my mother and stepdad had been gone. They hadn’t bothered with leaving a note or anything. It wasn't all that unusual for them to randomly up and leave, but two days ago, my sister told me they were never coming back. At first, I refused to believe her, chalking it up to the drug induced haze she'd been in. Now the more time that passed, the more I wasn't so sure.

  What if they really were gone for good?

  For some kids in my situation this would have been a relief. They’d be grateful that God finally stepped in and did something, but Cassie had an encyclopedia of issues I was tired of trying to understand.

  Leaving the sanctuary of my room, I walked down the hall, peering into my sister's room before going downstairs. Her bed was unmade, the zebra comforter half on the floor, half not. Bags from expensive department stores were strewn all around, and her curtains were drawn shut.

  With no desire to venture into her pigsty, I went down to the kitchen. On the way, I passed the few family pictures we had hanging on the wall. We looked ordinary. My stepfather, Mama, Cassie, and I. Our house was nice, the lawn was green, and the pool was never dirty. Everyone thought we were perfect. But all they had to do was peek through the curtains, and they would see our normalcy was a pathetic sham.

  Before I even entered the kitchen, I smelled it. I'd taken to stashing food in my bedroom, and kept a glass for water, so I never needed to wander out.

  That was the only reason I was unaware of the condition the rest of the house was in. I had the same routine every day: straight from school to my room. If I were lucky, my stepdad would leave me be.

  This was the reason I chose not to have friends. Sure, plenty of girls (and some boys) wanted to talk to me. And it wasn't that I didn't want any friends. It was the complete opposite. I was just too ashamed of where I came from to open up and let someone in.

  When I finally got a look at the kitchen, I gagged at the sight that greeted me. Gnats circled the overflowing trash can. Dishes were stacked in a sink full of contaminated water, still covered in food. Take out containers and stray needles sat on the island.

  The smell reminded me of when Richard had locked my puppy in the basement to punish me.

  When he finally unlocked the padlock so I could go see her, it was this smell that floated up from below. Something rotten. Something dead. I was six years old when I learned what death entailed, saw firsthand the horrible way something could die.

  I knew cleaning would be how I spent the remainder of my night. So, I pulled my dark hair into a ponytail and got busy. Twenty minutes in, I found a dead mouse floating at the bottom of the sink.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Past

  Twenty-two days ago, my mother left me.

  I didn't have any tears to shed over her abandonment, and my sister couldn’t care less. She went on as if nothing had changed. For her, not much had. The electricity was on, and whenever she did decide to come home that's all she was concerned about.

  On the bright side, whoever was paying the bills was keeping basic foods in the cabinets and fridge.

  And my body wasn't sore anymore. I was finally healing. I was by myself almost every day now, but that was better than unwanted company. I found peace in the silence. I slept without worrying about Richard sliding into my bed, not leaving until early sunrise. No more watching him drag Mama up the stairs by her hair, being forced to listen to them fight for hours before the moaning started.

  I kept up my same routine. School, homework, shower, sleep, repeat. On days I dealt with Cassie, it was all discombobulated. I never knew how heavy she was until I had to drag her to bed.

  Like today. My arms ached, sweat dripped off my forehead, and my chest heaved in protest.

  After dropping her onto her mattress, I rested my hands on my knees and struggled to catch my breath. This was the third time in two weeks. Her addiction was getting worse.

  I'd missed school the other day because I fell asleep on her bedroom floor, too exhausted to even attempt going back to my own room.

  That couldn’t become a thing. If the teachers started questions, there was no way I could answer. The last time I did, Richard punished me as soon as the case worker left our house. If he came back or they found him, and he learned I'd talked, even if I said nothing accusatory…My stomach hurt just thinking about what he would do.

  Looking at my sister, you would never know what a wreck she was. I thought drug users stood out, had a certain profile. Cassie didn't.

  Her mocha hair still shined, and her skin was relatively healthy if you ignored the tracks. After checking her pulse and ensuring she wasn't dying or overdosing, I turned towards the door. She must have been more lucid than I thought because her sweaty hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, making me yelp.

  "I know what he did to you, Willow." Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn't spoken in days. I froze, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

  "Tis okay baby girrrl. I found a way keep ya safe." Her words slurred together, brown eyes opened and looked straight into mine. They were glazed over from her personal cocktail of drugs and liquor. I tried to pry her hand off me. For someone not in their right state of mind she was surprisingly strong.

  "Nick will keep us safe. He loves me. Even after what I did, he loves me," she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

  I had no idea who this Nick character was. Cassie had brought him up a few times. Always saying he was involved with bad men, and she wasn't allowed to tell his secrets. I'd brushed him off as a made-up person, like an imaginary friend. I wanted to ask her who he was. Really, I wante
d to ask her anything.

  Just because I enjoyed peace and quiet, didn't mean I liked having no one around to talk to. The condition she was in most of the time, however, ruined the chances of rational conversation.

  “I’m sure he will.” I agreed for the sake of not upsetting her. She could get volatile sometimes.

  "You're so kind and sweet. You deserve better,” she choked on her words,

  I tugged, and she finally let me go. I tripped over my own two feet, butt landing on the hardwood floor. I scrambled out of the room and didn't look back.

  Panic. It was all I ever felt at the mere thought of talking about Richard and his late-night visits. I stood, leaning against the hallway wall, willing my heart to stop racing in my chest, blinking back tears. If I didn't talk about it, then it never happened, right?

  No one could judge me or look at me in disgust if they never knew, right?

  Taking a deep breath, I peered back into my sister's bedroom and saw she was rolled onto her other side, facing away from me. Doing a quick count to three, I darted past her doorway and ran into my room, where I spent the rest of the day trying to purge unwelcome memories from my mind.

  The digital numbers on my alarm clock read eleven-forty.

  My sister had drunkenly giggled her way into the house an hour ago. She'd been moaning like a freaking porn star ever since. At eleven years old, I probably shouldn't have known what porn was, but I did, thanks to Richard.

  I watched the numbers on the clock slowly change from eleven-forty to one-fifteen. That's when the glass shattered, and my heart launched straight into my throat. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach, making its way to my chest. I sat up and listened, waiting to hear Cassie laugh or curse. The front door slammed shut, and seconds later a car started.

  Still, I waited. When the clock changed to one-thirty, and I still hadn't heard a sound from below, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut. Concern for my sister had me launching out of bed and running from the room.

  "Cassie?"

  I called out her name, taking the stairs two at a time, getting no response. There were vases of golden lilies sat around the foyer. I ignored them and went straight to the living room. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found.

  I would never forget the broken glass from the coffee table cutting into me as I crawled across the floor, and my sister's naked corpse cradled in my arms.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Past

  The rain was light, but the wind was brutal. It fitted for a funeral. I didn't know any of the people around me. Sometimes I forgot how I even got here. My mind went to autopilot the night Cassie was murdered.

  I called emergency services, and they showed up within minutes. A police officer had to physically remove me from the living room.

  Meaningless words were spoken, and the shiny oak casket was lowered into the ground, where Cassie would deteriorate away. I hadn't paid much attention to the man holding an umbrella over me, covering me from the rain.

  I'd been staying at an older woman's house, just going with the flow of whatever happened next, like a leaf being carried on the wind, having no control of where it landed.

  I turned my head, and the man that had been standing across from me was suddenly in front of me, kneeling down so he could look me in the eyes. His were dark, like his hair. I blinked at him, unsure who he was or what he wanted. Another man in a suit stood a little behind him, holding a red umbrella.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked me. When I shook my head, a small smile painted his lips.

  Then, he said the three words I never thought I'd hear. It wasn't as shocking as my mother saying she loved me, but it was close.

  "I'm your father."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Past

  Four Years Later

  I chewed on the end of my pencil, trying to ignore the stripper swinging around on the pole to the left of me.

  Pretty Kitty was fortunately closed until later in the evening. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been trying to do math homework at the bar. I would have been upstairs in the private lounge.

  Rosebud, or Rose, as she liked me to call her, was trying way too hard to get my father's attention by shaking her ass and doing erratic downward dogs. Gross.

  The word father was still foreign to me. He'd shown up at my sister's funeral and promised to take care of me from that moment forward. Considering I hadn't ever used the word dad, and he wanted me to start at eleven, it was a bit awkward at first. But now it was as natural as the sky being blue.

  Our relationship was rocky in the beginning, to say the least. Seth had been absent my entire life, and he had no viable excuse as to why. Not only that, he had another daughter born two weeks after I was. He never stopped trying to make it up to me, and it was safe to say I didn't hate him anymore. Much.

  "Her tits are fake," Abigail whispered way too loudly from my other side. I glanced at the stage to make sure Rose didn't hear that, and then shot my sister a glare.

  "Willow, you're no fun," she pouted at me. Rolling my eyes, I looked back to my paper.

  It was pointless - there was no way I was going to get anything done. My concentration was gone.

  "How would you know there fake?" I asked her, slipping my paper back into my school folder.

  "Uh, because the right one is way bigger than the other." She cupped her breasts to emphasize this point, her hazel eyes full of mirth. Huh, she was right. I discreetly eyed Rose's giant mismatched boobs and tried not to laugh. I had no room to talk; my back and my chest were the same size.

  "Gotta go potty, be right back," Abigail flashed me a smile and hopped off her bar stool. I watched her make her way across the upscale strip club and disappear down a hall, her golden hair swishing behind her.

  I looked around, tapping my fingers on the bar. Pretty Kitty was just one of my father's many establishments.

  It was dome shaped, the walls were all a metallic black, and the floor was just as dark, with swirls of deep burgundy.

  There was the main level, the second tier, and then the VIP lounge. But that was only for big spenders. Some would frown‑‑ok, many would frown at two fifteen year old girls hanging out in such a place. But not Seth Borgia. When he stepped into my life, I was thrust into the world I never knew existed. How could I?

  No one ever sat me down and told me there were men and women with power who seemed to have their own elite level of classification. Men and women who did things that could make the strongest man vomit out of disgust, piss his pants from fear, or give up everything he believed in for just a small taste of the lifestyle.

  I was now one of these elite by default. Hence why I was sitting in a strip club on a Tuesday at four in the afternoon.

  My father, Seth, didn't believe in wrapping Abigail and I in protective bubbles. He never wanted us to be blindsided by what went on around us. In many ways, I was grateful for this. There wasn't much I heard or saw that surprised me anymore. From sex trafficking to drug deals, I'd seen it all at least once.

  Well, nothing surprised me up until I spun around on my stool.

  The dress shoes were the first thing I noticed. They were so damn shiny I could almost see my reflection in them. My eyes traveled up the dark pant-legs of a suit, over the jacket of said suit, hugging a visually muscular frame, and landed on the face of a god. Maybe the god part was pushing it, but he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

  "You must be Willow," his voice was smooth, firm. He looked me over in a clinical way. I couldn't explain how it made me feel, because I'd never felt anything like it until right then.

  It only took me a fraction of a second to realize who he was.

  "Don't you talk?" He spoke again, looking down at me.

  "Not to strangers." I shrugged, wondering why he was here in the first place. Anyone who was no one or someone knew who the Serbans were. This life was a pyramid scheme, and everyone was desperately trying to reach the top. That's where the Serbans were, and had been f
or years from what I was told.

  "I'm not a stranger," he replied coolly. Before I could come back with a snarky reply people started popping out of the woodwork. Abigail rushed up to us with stars in her eyes, staring at Pierce like he was a double layered fudge cake, and my father's loud voice had us all turning our heads.

  "Ah, I see you've met my beautiful hijas." Seth approached with what looked like a genuine smile on his face.

  This confused me even more; he hadn't uttered a word about who he was meeting today, only that it was important. Most of the time we knew.

  "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself just yet,” Pierce said, looking from my father to me, ignoring my sister completely.

  "I'm Willow, this is Abby, and you're Mr. Serban." Based on the look my father shot me, he wasn't impressed with my introductory skills. I added Mr. out of respect, so I personally thought I did fine.

  Abigail started to snicker beside me but quickly swallowed it down when Seth shot her a sour look. Pierce studied me for a beat before one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. I felt a warmth on my face I didn't know how to explain, causing me to look away from his intense gaze.

  "Such a cheeky little rebel," he mused. I didn't miss Seth tensing and the slight flash of anger in his dark eyes.

  But he forced a smile and chuckled along anyway. My face heated further from the nickname. He hadn’t said it to be cute. He must have known I’d been expelled and forced to switch schools. Everyone seemed to know.

  The reason why?

  Sarah Marshall's family let the whole world know that me, Willow Borgia, had assaulted their little angel.

  "Why don't we go upstairs and discuss business?" My father suggested after clearing his throat. Pierce agreed, and with one last nod at my sister and me, they set off across the club. Abigail said something about his looks, but I barely acknowledged it. I was more concerned with the fact our father was meeting with the one man he told us to never trust.