The Drazen World: Improper (Kindle Worlds Novella)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Copyright
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Flip City Media Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Drazen World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Flip City Media Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Improper
Kimber Nilsson
Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing the original works comprising the Drazen World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Flip City Media, Inc., or their affiliates or licensees.
2nd Edition
For Christine, you seduced me with characters cloaked in layers of secrets and tragedy and then peeled them off slowly and painfully. I felt like I knew them, but it wasn't enough. It will never be enough. Thank God.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Carrie
1981
The house was quiet, empty. Maria had taken Deirdre and Leanne to dance class, and Margie was hanging out with her friends somewhere, probably the mall. Me, I was fourteen and in junior high, holding onto my Barbie dolls with one hand and reaching for high heels with the other.
I was grounded because I hadn’t had my homework to turn in. I needed help in math, especially with the word problems, Margie usually helped me, but she wasn’t around last night. I couldn’t get another zero on my math assignments; Daddy would be mad.
I was in the kitchen preparing my usual after-school peanut butter sandwich. I’d just opened the jar of grape jam when I heard someone call my name. I put everything down, ran down to my room, and hid in the closet.
“Carrie?” he called in his broad Irish brogue. “Where are you? I know you’re in here.”
I burrowed under the pile of clothes in my closet, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.
He came into my room. “Carrie?”
I couldn’t see his face through the louvers of the closet door. In fact, I never saw his face. He was tall… and I was afraid. His shoes squeaked as he walked around my room, and then, he stopped to listen for me.
“Come now. I have candy.”
My mind blanked. Hiding was useless. He would hurt me more if I didn’t come out. So I opened the door and stared at the floor, at his dark shoes topped with white socks and his skinny ankles.
“You were made for this, Carrie,” he said with clenched teeth, as he gripped my ponytail and shoved my head onto the front of his pants. His dick would be salty, briny, and pungent again and forever. It was our ritual. “This is your state, divine providence. Learn it, Carrie.”
At that moment, I realized I’d been born for him to use as God had intended him to.
I almost retched as the familiar cloak of shame and guilt swelled from inside my gut. The odor of bleach and brine from his come engulfed my nose.
“That’s a good girl,” he crooned.
Then everything went black.
I don’t remember the rest of what happened that day.
My name is Carrie Drazen, and I hate candy.
Chapter One
Carrie Drazen
The Uber driver pulled up to the small church that Dr. Jane MacCallan had written on my appointment card. She'd strongly admonished me to show up if I was serious. I'd made deals in the past with my parents and Margie to discuss this lifelong curse of self-destruction, not to mention the self-loathing that followed, but this time, the deal was with me. I couldn't go on like this anymore. I needed relief from this vicious cycle.
The heavy oak door creaked as I pushed it open. I looked through the blinds on each of the office doors until I found the right room. Inside, Dr. Jane was speaking to a group of women, telling them a few more people were coming. I waved shyly from the door.
“Come on in, Carrie. Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here, or soon will be.”
I sat in uncomfortable silence as the women made small talk with each other, the voices too low for me to understand what they were talking about. Some were about my age, in their early twenties, the others even younger. A couple of them were older, like in their forties. All were looking sideways at me. Could they tell how much I hated being there, hated my life, and hated myself?
Was the nightmare a real memory but in Technicolor, complete with sounds and live action? Worse yet, would I have to retell the recurring dream where he appeared out of nowhere, took control of me, and made me afraid of the hurts? I was afraid that if the man in the dream doesn't exist, why have I continued to indulge in self-destructive behaviors? The dream had shred me, left me riddled with shame and guilt, to the point I vomited. I felt shame because the things he made me do were dirty and nasty. I felt shame because I liked it.
Dr. Jane turned to me. “Would you like to begin?”
I took a deep breath.
“My name is Carrie Drazen, and I’m a sex addict.”
Chapter Two
Carrie
After the meeting my cell phone needed to be charged, so I plugged it in. It turned on with a melodic series of pings, notifications of text messages and voice mails.
MARGIE: Mom’s in Sequoia Hospital. Alcohol Poisoning. Meet me there.
MARGIE: Where are you?
MARGIE: Call me when you get this message.
MARGIE: Are you okay?
And then— Daddy on voicemail,
“Carrie, it’s your father. Call me when you get this message.”
I grinned… who else would it be? This was Mom’s, like, third hospitalization for alcohol poisoning. Why didn’t they just hire a sitter for her? After years of living with her alcohol abuse, I had no sympathy left.
So I texted Margie back.
CARRIE: I was in a meeting and just saw your messages. How’s she doing?
MARGIE: They’re keeping her overnight but she needs to be admitted to a rehab facility. I don’t know where but the doctor is going to recommend a few places.
CARRIE: Really? She won’t go.
MARGIE: I don’t think Daddy’s going to give her a choice. He put his big Drazen foot down. He’d lectured her and everything, right in front of the doctor and attendants.
CARRIE: Big whoop. We’ll see. She’ll weasel out of it somehow, she always does. You know what they say. Where there’s a will, she’ll find a way.
MARGIE: Cynic.
CARRIE: See you later.
Taking a deep breath, I called my father.
When he answered the phone, it sounded like a command. “Carrie!”
“Hi, Daddy. I just got your message. I was at a meeting, and my phone ran out of power.”
“Right, Carrie.” He sounded doubtful.
“I talked to Margie and got the lowdown. How are you doing?”
Mother and Father fought so often, it was more unusual when they didn’t. Mother’s drinking had been crippling our family dynamics since I could remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time Mother was sober, unless she was pregnant with my siblings. I guess that was why Daddy kept her pregnant.
“Your mother drives me crazy, Carrie. One of these days, I’m going to drop over and where will she be?” He sounded exasperated.
“I don’t know. We can only hope she gets better on her own.”
“God willing,” he said.
“He’s not willing… what went wrong, Daddy?”
“Stop that, Carrie. I think we all need to go to church and recommit ourselves to God. Perhaps an increase in tithing…”
I rolled my eyes. Of course money was his response. “Get real!”
“I think we need to do this as a family, as soon as she gets out.”
“Got to go, Daddy. I’ll talk to Margie later this week.”
“Bye, dear.”
Chapter Three
Declan Drazen
“Get Margie on the phone,” I barked into the intercom.
“Right away, Mr. Drazen,” Mary, my secretary, said. She was too polished to sound rushed, but I enjoyed the control I had over her and my other employees.
I had control over my family… sometimes. But I had little control over Eileen. My wife was a beautiful woman, but she was like a big child—spoiled, rotten, and expensive.
Eileen Haynes was the redheaded daughter of my father’s business partner, Edgar Haynes. She had been fifteen when our fathers worked out a marriage contract. She was a looker, big blues fringed with the thickest eyelashes I’d ever seen on any woman, and I’d seen—and had—plenty of women.
My brother Donal and Eileen had been sweet on each other. He’d often had his hand up her skirt. Eileen didn't seem to mind. She blushed like the virgin that she was. If it weren’t for my father striking a deal with hers in an Irish version of a merger, I would have walked away from her. But in a sweet turn of events, I ended up with the prize. Donal had words with my father about the loss of Eileen, but he told Donal, it was her father’s decision. This only intensified our sibling rivalry.
Being the son of a bitch that I was, I had been the one who took her innocence. Donal had his chance. I sealed the deal before the engagement was official. She was the sweetest girl I ever knew, and despoiling her was a pleasure that I indulged in… often. At one time, she had been so enjoyable, I was willing to overlook her spoiled ways. Sometimes I even encouraged her so that I could punish her, do whatever I wanted to her. She was mine. I owned her from the hair on her head to her curl-covered cunt to those elegant feet.
Donal also had an issue with the tight reins I had on Eileen, but, he had no say regarding anything about her. Eileen’s future was set in stone. He tried to convince her, too. Nothing he could say or do would dissuade her from her destiny, her duty to me, and my loyalty to her father. I owned her, hook, line, and sinker.
Over the years, I’d made a lot of enemies, and frenemies. Friends who were enemies, hypocrites who talked about you behind your back and thought it was no big deal. And they didn’t have an ounce of shame asking for favors. None.
Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck their wives. And fuck their daughters too.
I kept a scorecard in my business and personal life. It’s a flaw, I know, but it had served me well. If one of my colleagues managed to wrest an acquisition away from me and I didn’t do or say anything about it, that would give the perception I was weak. That would make my family vulnerable. My role in life was to protect my family, to make them strong, to be an example of how to be a Drazen.
So if I best someone in a deal, I make note of that, so I can watch out for repercussions. That’s the kind of dog-eat-dog-world it is. I’ve kept track of every wrong done to my children. I’ve garnered vengeance on their behalf. To disrespect them is to disrespect me, and no one disrespects Declan Drazen.
Margie is the keeper of my scorecard and orchestrator of the demise of our enemies—Drazen enemies.
“Margie's on the line, Mr. Drazen,” Mary said, sounding tinny through the intercom.
“It’s about fucking time!” I picked up the receiver. “Margaret!”
“Hi, Dad. Why don't you call me yourself instead of putting Mary through all these gyrations?”
“What’s going on with Charlie Chilton?”
“He’s got a three-picture deal in the works with RONY. He optioned a book which, ironically, is about the abuse of children of the wealthy in an exclusive rehab center in Los Angeles.”
I knew about it.
“His daughter, Baby, spawned the book idea, but from what I hear, it has Warren written all over it. Is Fiona in it, by allusion or in any way?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Rob Chilton didn’t bleed for his family, didn’t hold any of them accountable for their actions. But he was going to bleed. Every time he thought of Declan Drazen, I wanted him to hate his son for what he’d done to my Fiona.
Fiona, Rob’s son Warren, and his daughter, Baby were residents of the same rehab facility a few years ago. Warren attacked Fiona in an unforgivably brutal way, one that no father would let go unpunished.
“What do you want to do?” she asked quietly, and I heard her puff on her cigarette.
“We’re playing Whac-a-Mole. Make sure he loses this, and the next one, and the one after that.”
“On it.”
Chapter Four
Carrie
Last night, I went home to my empty apartment, fighting the urge to stop by a hotel bar for a quick pick up. If I was going to do this, I had to say no to the impulse that struck without warning and left devastation whenever I answered.
There was a sudden crack of thunder in the distance. I ignored the sink filled with dishes, the laundry room's littered floor, and blindly poured myself another cup of coffee.
Ever since going to that support group meeting, I’d
been disconnected. I cared about nothing and nobody. I’d even forgotten my regular commitments. To make matters worse, I hadn’t charged my phone since my conversation with my father. I didn’t care if anyone called me. I didn’t want to be bothered.
Having others listen to my story, hearing that I'm a flawed individual unable to control herself, was devastating. Their collective response was acknowledgment, acceptance, and suggested abstinence. I appreciated the first two, but hell no on abstinence. In fact, it had triggered a rebound effect. As soon as I got off the phone with my father, I spent hours surfing Tumblr and Xvids and burning the batteries in my vibrators.
I’d hoped that would stem the tide, but it had only fueled the flames.
Margie
Carrie was the second-oldest child in our family. When we were children, I helped raise her and get her through school.
My hands were red and dry because of all the wringing I’d been doing since lunch time. Carrie and I had a standing lunch date at the Breakwater Club, but she never showed up. I hadn’t confirmed our lunch, but usually she contacted me if she couldn’t make it. We’d never had a problem with that arrangement.
I’d texted her right before leaving the office to let her know I was on my way, but I hadn’t received a response. I waited. I had a small salad and an iced tea.
I drove by her apartment on my way back to the office. The desk clerk, Joe, told me he hadn't seen her yet today, but that she could have left the building through the private elevator. He’d been kind enough to let me go upstairs to check on her.
Carrie lived in one of the Drazen properties. Her apartment didn’t have a lot of space, but it was cozy. It was a one bedroom unit, nine hundred square feet, with an ensuite bathroom and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Griffith Park. Los Angeles traffic was a bear to deal with, and most people lost their sanity if they had to navigate the city from east to west, as Carrie often did. Somehow, it never seemed to bother her.
Inside her apartment, the blackout shades weren’t drawn. I checked her bedroom. The bed was still made. Nothing that showed she had been there in the last few days. I even checked her closet and laundry bin. Nothing. Out. Of. The. Ordinary.