by Nikkie Locke
Unbound
Nikkie Locke
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Amber Lockhart
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5150-2
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5150-5
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5130-8
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5130-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art ©123rf.com, ©istockphoto.com/©essenin quijada
This one is for you, girls. You know who you are.
Life wouldn’t be the same without you.
Who else would make boob jokes at my graduation party? Who else would cry when I sold my first book? Who else would call and offer to let me watch their baby during edit week?
I love you girls. Period.
Also, this book is for Chip. Just because.
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
Epilogue
Also Available
Prologue
Thirteen Years Earlier
Peppermints. She always smelled like peppermints. Her skin, her clothes, even her breath smelled like peppermints. He could smell it when she kissed him. Even when he had something on his face and she licked her thumb to rub it off — spit baths, she called them — he could smell the peppermint.
She always carried them in her pockets. Peppermints rolled around in the cup holders of her beat-up station wagon. When he behaved, she shared them with him. Sometimes, even when he didn’t, she let him have them.
He could see her from where he lay on the kitchen floor. Despite the warmth outside, the coolness of the tile gave him chills. Lying on her back, she stared blankly at him. She didn’t answer when he called.
He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The hard floor hurt his knees, but he couldn’t stand, and he knew he had to move. If he could just reach her, she would be okay.
His hands slipped in the pool around her as he crawled through it. He knew what coated his hands, but refused to think about it. His face ached, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. When he first woke, pain radiated throughout his small body. Throwing up then didn’t ease the sickness he felt in the pit of his stomach as he slowly made his way to her.
He sat up beside her, his leg against her side. The blood on the floor felt cold as it soaked through his jeans and dampened his skin. Working up his courage, he touched her face. The blood on his hands smeared wherever he touched. Her skin felt as soft as always, but it wasn’t warm. He knew then. He knew she was dead.
He opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out. He thought about running for help, but why? No one could bring her back, and he couldn’t leave her alone. Instead, he sat next to her waiting for someone to find them. His tears were hot against his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away.
She told him stories. She loved stories. Good versus evil with heroes and monsters. The hero always won. He kept people safe, and they loved him for it. He wanted to be a hero.
Real life wasn’t like the stories though. Monsters existed outside her stories. He knew it better than anyone. Sometimes, in real life, the monsters won.
Chapter One
I am way too young to feel this damn old.
The thought came to Payten as she stood up from picking straw wrappers off the floor of her parents’ diner. She threw the paper into the trashcan and rubbed at her back. The late-night dancing at the local bar the night before with her friend Kalvin combined with a long day at the diner added up to an aching back and tired feet. All she wanted was a long, hot bath in the peace and quiet of her home.
I wouldn’t say no to a foot rub from a gorgeous man, as well. Hell, I wouldn’t say no to a foot rub from a total creeper at this point.
She glanced around the front of the diner. The long room was painted a pale blue that hadn’t changed since her childhood. A large, round table with ten chairs took up most of one side of the room. A small table with a four-pot coffee maker was pushed against the wall closest to the front door. Coffee cups hung on the wall above it. Down that same wall, on the other half of the room, four booths with benches covered in faded navy upholstery waited for patrons to fill the diner. Across from the booths, a long counter with bar stools covered in the same upholstery separated the dining room from the kitchen.
The dining room was finally clean after what seemed like hours. She checked her watch. It read twenty minutes after ten o’clock. She tapped at the watch’s face, but it seemed to be working fine. She had only been cleaning for a little more than an hour.
They always leave such a mess.
On Sunday nights, she always opened the diner back up from seven to nine for the town’s youth. She remembered what it was like being a teenager in a small town where the lights went out at six. As a result, she served burgers, shakes, and sweets to the town’s teenagers for an extra couple hours. The jukebox was always too loud, but she loved it. She did not love cleaning up the mess or the pounding headache that usually resulted from said jukebox.
A quiet rap on the locked front door pulled her out of her moping. Her best friend waved from the other side of the glass. Hopping up, she moved quickly to unlock the door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, tugging her friend into the warmth of the diner and relocking the door behind her.
“What? A girl can’t come visit?”
Payten rolled her eyes, even as she hugged Britt. “You were here for lunch.”
“Oh, yeah.” Bridgett shrugged. “Dad and Aaron are making poor Michael watch Rambo. I bailed on him.”
“‘Poor Michael?’ I’ll bet he’s loving it.”
Bridgett snorted. “Yeah, he is. I thought I’d come walk you home. Figured you’d be about done.”
“Almost,” Payten replied. “Coop,” she called into the kitchen. “You done?”
Plate and rag in hand, he stepped into view. “No, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes. She and Cooper had worked together in the diner since she was sixteen. He was two years older than her.
“Don’t call me ma’am. You’re older than I am.”
“I know,” he told her with a wink. “How’s Bridgett?”
Bridgett grinned. “Doing good. How’s that wife of yours?”
“According to what she told me an hour ago, she feels like a bloated elephant waiting to give birth to a whale.” He winced. “I get to rub her feet when I get home.”
“So, you wouldn’t mind finishing up here while I steal Payten?” Bridgett asked.
“Not in the least.”
Still rubbing at the bone-dry plate in his hand, he replied, “Oh, yeah. I’m a terrible husband.”
Payten knew he was lying through his teeth. Cooper adored his delicate, sweet wife.
Near the back door, she grabbed her coat off a hook. Her apron took its place. She tossed Bridgett her purse. Since it was Bridgett’s fault the damn thing was so huge — getting her addicted to humongous purses after giving her one for her birthday — she could carry the darn thing.
“I’ll owe you both one,” she told him, shrugging into her coat.
“Add it to that Christmas bonus.” He laughed.
“Later, Coop,” Bridgett said, following Payten out the door.
The cold hit her full force, pushing heavily against her chest. Then again, she wasn’t exactly dressed for it. The warm fleece coat zipped up the front, covering her black McFly shirt. Bridgett had gotten it for her at a Dublin concert.
Her jeans were probably not the warmest choice she could have made when getting dressed that morning. They were rubbing a little thin in places, but the dark denim jeans were her favorite pair. She compensated for the lack of warmth by wearing knee-high athletic socks. A pair of black Nikes completed the look she liked to think of as “Diner Chic.” It was much better than what their friend Andie had dubbed it. Hers had been more along the lines of “Not Even Trying.”
Underneath the outfit, she wore a red silk bra and matching panties. Not that it matters, she thought with a sigh. No one will be seeing them anytime soon.
“It’s so freaking cold,” she muttered. “Not the night for a walk.”
Bridgett shrugged. “Just thought it might be nice.”
Payten couldn’t count the number of times Bridgett had shown up at the diner to walk her home. When she turned sixteen, her parents had started letting her close the diner during the week. Bridgett arrived nightly to walk her home. They talked about everything under the sun and more. Bridgett was her friend and constant companion. Bridgett living in Ireland the past four years hadn’t changed that. Cold or no cold, she was so in for this walk.
“Let’s go,” she replied.
From experience, she knew it would take Bridgett a bit to start talking. The walk to her house was only four short blocks from the diner, but seeing her breath cloud as it left her mouth made it impossible to forget the cold. Without a conversation to distract her, she decided to focus on other things.
She planned her to-do list in her head. She’d already written it down, but a mental review couldn’t hurt.
Wrap presents, make dessert for Christmas dinner at Grandma’s, do the laundry, check e-mail, call Betsy about last minute vendor at the New Year’s celebration.
She briefly considered calling Betsy the next day. She remembered Betsy’s one A.M. phone call from several days before and changed her mind. Betsy was her manic volunteer on the planning committee. If Betsy could call at one in the morning, Payten could call her at eleven. It sounded fair to her. Then again, Betsy was her only volunteer on the planning committee.
“So,” Bridgett drawled.
Here we go, she thought. “So what?”
“Seeing anybody?”
She winced. Not this again. “Nope.”
She could see Bridgett glance over at her from the corner of her eye. Her friend’s disgusted frown was comical enough to almost make the worn-out conversation worth repeating.
“My mom says that the Wilson kid is single,” Bridgett offered.
She snorted. “Bennie is fourteen years old, Britt. He should be dating your sister, not me.”
“Not Bennie, doofus. The other one.”
Payten frowned. “Wait. You mean Shelia? Britt, you don’t seriously think — ”
She stared at Bridgett astonished for a minute. The fact that Britt couldn’t meet her gaze and couldn’t suppress her grin gave her away.
“Britt!” Her friend burst into laughter, and Payten laughed along. “You really had me going there for a second. Jeez.”
Bridgett slung her arm around Payten’s shoulders. Whether it was a typical friendly gesture or if she just needed help standing, Payten wasn’t sure.
“That was good, huh?”
Payten poked her in the ribs. “Brat.”
“Seriously though, Payten — ”
“Seriously though, Bridgett,” she mocked. “I’m not interested. In case you haven’t noticed, Hartsville isn’t exactly crawling with eligible, good-looking, decent men.”
“Eligible, good-looking, and decent, huh? Bit high on the standards, aren’t we?”
Payten laughed. “And just because you’ve found the love of your life and blah blah blah doesn’t mean everyone else needs to do the same.”
“You aren’t getting any younger.”
“Britt, I’m twenty-two. Not exactly a spinster. I’ll get there when I get there. It’s not like I have an expiration date.”
“You might,” Bridgett grumbled.
“Name one man worth dating in this town who’s interested in me, Britt.”
“Dean,” she answered instantly.
“Dean?” Payten repeated. “Dean as in Maddie’s cousin Dean? That’s just weird.”
“What? It’s okay for you girls to throw me at Maddie’s brother every chance you got in high school, but not okay for you to hook up with her cousin? What am I missing?”
“Eww.” Payten groaned. “Don’t say hook up. That’s just — No. And, Jack was different.”
“Yeah,” Bridgett agreed. “Brother, not cousin. See the difference?”
Payten nearly sighed with relief as they turned the last corner before her house. One short street left then she could bail on this conversation.
“Britt, could we please talk about something else?”
“I’m just saying. Dean is a really sweet guy. You better jump on it before someone else does.”
“Hmm,” Payten muttered noncommittally.
“Speaking of, I hear Jack’s with Kayla again.”
“I hear that, but no confirmation from him yet,” she replied, grateful for the change in subject.
“Why Kayla? I don’t get it,” Britt complained. “She’s such a — ”
“Slut,” they finished together before erupting into laughter.
That laughter carried them the remaining few steps to Payten’s porch. Bridgett passed her the purse she’d been forced to carry.
“Heavy thing,” she teased.
Payten frowned. “It’s your fault.” She dug to the bottom in search of her keys. “I don’t know why I like the damn thing. I can’t even find my keys. If I had some light — ”
She stopped suddenly and glanced toward the porch light. Off. She always left the porch light on if she wasn’t going to be home until after dark. Her hand fisted around the strap of her purse.
She glanced at Bridgett. Not any help at all, she merely shrugged. When Payten looked back at the door, it suddenly flung open.
“Surprise!”
Payten screamed and threw her purse into the mass of dark figures standing in her foyer. The porch light flipped on and blinded her. She stumbled back, bumping into Bridgett and almost causing her to trip back down the stairs to the small porch.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
The declaration came from the back of the group. The familiar voice pierced through her surprise.
“Quinn?” She stopped moving away. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Quinn stepped forward into the light. “We wanted to surprise you. I told them to wait until you were inside, but somebody — ” She paused to glare over her shoulder at another of the shadows. “ — couldn’t wait.”
Someone turned on the foyer light. Payten could see the rest of the girls standing inside her door. Her girls. Quinn, Maddie, Ryleigh, and Andie. All four of them were waiting to surprise her with Bridgett leading her home.
“I couldn’t wait,”
Maddie blurted. “I’m just so excited!”
“What’s the surprise?” Payten asked.
“Well, it won’t be a surprise when we all die of pneumonia,” Andie sneered from the back of the group.
“Still a bitch, I see.” Payten stepped inside with Bridgett falling in line after her.
“Let me — I need to — This isn’t — ” She looked around the crowded foyer. She and Bridgett had stepped inside and closed the door, but nobody had moved out of the foyer. She felt like a sardine.
“Everybody to the living room,” she ordered. “I’ll get my coat off and meet you there.”
The women left for the living room, all except Bridgett.
“What?” Payten asked, pulling off her coat and hanging on the coat tree.
“Promise me you’ll think about what I said.”
“About Dean?”
“Yeah,” Bridgett said. “Just consider it.”
Scooping her purse off the floor and setting it on the small table across from the door, she nodded. “I’ll try. But only for you.”
Britt grinned. “Thanks. Let’s go see the horde.”
She smiled back and followed her into the chaos of her once-peaceful living room. Her girls always managed to stir things up when they came home.
Chapter Two
He lay quietly in his bed. So much to do. Everything was finally falling in place. All his planning, all his hard work, had paid off. The excitement bubbled in his chest. It made his mood so light he felt he could fly.
Instead he lay still, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath his only movement. Discipline carried him this far. It would carry him the rest of the way.
With his eyes closed, he summoned up an image of the ceiling above him. He knew every crack, every spot, and every pock. After all, the ceiling belonged to him. He never gave up what belonged to him.
His darling stepson had made that mistake once. The boy learned his lesson.
Slowly, he told himself as he worked to regulate his breathing. One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Release. The boy would get his soon.
His stepson’s punishment had been fine at the time. Now, so many years later, he deserved more. The little bastard deserved something far worse.
