by Cassie James
Copyright © 2019 by Cassie James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all the ladies out there dreaming of their own harems.
One man might get the job done—but five will get the job done right!
Contents
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
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
My stomach heaves as I stare at the steel box sitting on the ground a good six feet away from me. Even from this distance, I can clearly smell the decaying food that I’m sure is lingering inside. There’s no telling who last cleaned the grease trap. Maybe Bobby, the busser who quit two weeks after I started. That would mean this thing hasn’t been cleaned in at least six months.
I shiver inside the dirty brown coveralls that got thrown my way as my manager barked out the cleaning order. They probably aren’t much cleaner than the grease trap, itself, but at least I won’t ruin my own clothes. My wardrobe isn’t nearly large enough to justify losing even a single item.
The night manager hates me. Nat, the friendlier of the two night-shift waitresses, always tries to convince me otherwise, but my new task proves her all wrong. Cleaning the grease trap is the kind of job you give your worst enemy or someone who deeply wronged you. No punishment could be more severe than this.
“Fuck, Jess. Is it even legal for Brandi to make you clean that thing?” Jake holds a hand over his nose and mouth as he leans out the back door to check on me. Clearly, I’m not overreacting about the smell.
“Not sure,” I answer honestly. It’s not like it matters anyway. If Brandi wants me to clean the grease trap, I’ll clean the damned thing. No one else this close to my house would hire me. Most of them had fired one—or both—of my parents at some point. And the others heard enough that they didn’t even bother waiting until I got out the door before they scrapped my applications.
It isn’t my fault that neither of my parents can keep a job, but places around here sure take it out on me just fine.
The only reason I got hired at Mango’s Hot Chicken was because Jake recommended me to the daytime manager. That guy spent more time looking at my chest than my application, but at least he hired me in the end. Brandi never would have taken me on if it had been up to her.
Being a sixteen-year-old dishwasher couldn’t be the furthest thing from my dreams, but at least I make enough money to keep our lights on. In the four months since I started paying the electric bill, my parents have never once questioned how our power stays on.
Knowing the two of them, they probably assume divine intervention. They’re on a major bender, so they’ve vanished into thin air the last few days. Just before this, they got it in their heads that they were the second coming of Moses and Jesus wanted them to build an ark and fill it with people and animals.
They ended up stealing a canoe from somewhere and filling it with sets of household items. Two mismatched throw pillows from the sofa. One olive green cup paired with a neon green one. Two broken hairdryers. I guess that was close enough for their drug-fueled hallucinations.
“Your parents been back?” Jake offers a pained look, already anticipating how much I hate his question.
I use my gloved fingers to pull at the collar of my borrowed coveralls. My teeth grate painfully as I shake my head. It always embarrasses me the way Jake looks at me with pity when we talk about my parents.
“Maybe it’s for the best. If they don’t come back soon maybe you and I could—”
“Jake, break’s over, get your ass back in here!” Brandi’s voice carries out into the back alley.
He offers an apologetic grin, whatever words he’d been prepared to say easily forgotten. I wave him off, not wanting him to get in trouble for my sake.
The heavy back door slams closed behind him, leaving me effectively isolated between the two giant brick buildings that make up our block. Mango’s Hot Chicken on one side and The Tilted Fox on the other. Nikon Park’s premiere strip club. As in, the only one that hasn’t been busted for underage drinking yet.
Growing up in Nikon Park is the worst thing that can happen to a person, and here I am, home sweet home. Of course, the one silver lining of my parents being incapable of finding my long-lost birth certificate is that I get to pretend I’d been born somewhere else. Literally anywhere else. And maybe in some alternate reality where I hadn’t been born a native, I might somehow be one of the lucky few to make it out of Nikon Park alive.
“Keep dreaming,” I mutter to myself.
I turn my attention back to my new friend, the grease trap. I recite SAT vocabulary in my head to pass the time as I use a rusty crow bar to pry off the top of the container. I don’t actually have any intention of taking the SAT, but the words are still swimming in my mind from when I helped one of my neighbors study them last year.
Labyrinth, complicated network of difficult to navigate passages.
I cringe and cough, turning my face away as the lid gives way and the smell worsens tenfold. I can feel my toes curl in against the worn soles of my sneakers as I pull on thin plastic gloves and scoot a cracked red bucket closer—another shitty tool Brandi delegated to me for my task.
Cataclysm, sudden violent social or political upheaval.
My whole body protests as I kneel down next to the grease trap and peer inside. Several inches of standing water slosh against the sides as I steady myself using the cold metal edge.
Antipathy, intense dislike.
For a moment, I close my eyes and try to imagine myself anywhere else. The furthest away I’ve ever been in real life was just outside the city limits, and that was only because Jake’s brother let us tag along with him and his friends to a couple of their lake parties last summer.
Still, I’ve seen enough movies to help me imagine myself some place warm and sunny. Like California. I try to imagine what it would feel like to stand in the warm California sun instead of kneeling in a chilly alley as daylight fades away. I can almost imagine it, only I can’t get past that horrible smell still lingering just under my nose. It was worth a try, anyway.
Police sirens start to wail from somewhere in the distance, overshadowing the sounds of life in the neighborhood. I reluctantly dip the bucket into the wet sludge of the grease trap, only belatedly realizing Brandi never told me what to do with the crap I scoop out.
It’s not unusual to hear sirens in Nikon Park, but I glance up in surprise when I hear the distinct sound of them heading our direction. Nothing around here usually requires lights and sirens. Not in the early evening hours at least. Give it a few more hours, and the whole neighborhood will burst into its usual nightly chaos.
Tires screech at the end of the alley. My forehead wrinkles as I squint in that direction. Seems a little early for there to be any trouble at The Tilted Fox.
I shuck off my gloves and let them fall discarded to the pavement. If there’s real trouble going on next door, then I want to be as far aw
ay from it as possible. Especially now that the sun is quickly disappearing from the evening sky and the only real light in the alley is a single unprotected lightbulb protruding out from the brick wall next to The Tilted Fox’s back door.
Brandi won’t be happy with me for coming back in before my cleaning duty is finished, but maybe I can convince her to let me come back out after the sirens have passed. Then I can bring out the big industrial flashlight we keep on hand for emergencies, instead of working blindly.
I’m already rising to me feet when pounding footsteps cause my heart to leap into my throat. The glaring light of a bright flashlight temporarily blinds me as someone points it directly at my face.
“Jessica Brown?”
My throat is so dry I can’t force the words out to confirm that yeah, that’s me. Lighter footsteps creep forward, and I’m thankful when someone points the flashlight towards the ground and out of my face. A uniformed woman is approaching me with her hands raised as if I’m a cornered animal. It makes me feel like that’s exactly what I am.
My first instinct is to bolt, but in the back of my mind I know that will only make whatever this is worse. Everyone thinks running is a sure sign of guilt.
“Your neighbor said we could find you here. I’m Officer East, is there somewhere we can talk?” I notice she stays back a few feet. I also notice she doesn’t reach for handcuffs or her gun, which soothes some of my sudden anxiety.
“What’s going on?” my voice wavers. She’s wearing that same expression Jake gets when we talk about my parents.
I’m glad I haven’t somehow ended up complicit in someone else’s crime spree or something. I know because no one has read me my rights and the other three officers standing behind her are all wearing similar sympathetic looks. But that means I can’t ignore the most likely explanation: something has happened to my parents.
“I think it would be better if we find somewhere quiet to talk. Is there an office inside?”
“There’s an employee lounge.” There is an office, but Brandi would sooner send me packing in the middle of my shift than let me step foot inside there. Even with a police escort.
“Great, that would be great.” She says great twice like that will somehow convince me to agree. Nothing feels great at the moment. The last time I had to talk one-on-one with a police officer it was because my mom called 911 and claimed she’d been kidnapped. My dad managed to convince them she was mentally ill instead of high and got lucky when they opted not to search the house.
Officer East opens the back door for me and then follows me in with the other officers close behind her. I’m barely inside the kitchen when Brandi comes storming out of the office. She stops short when she sees that I’m surrounded by a whole squad of cops. Her face even goes a little green.
“What’s going on?” She slides a cutting look my way as if I asked for any of this. I still don’t even know what’s going on myself. Officer East approaches her and speaks quietly enough that I can’t eavesdrop.
From across the kitchen, Jake makes eye contact with me. There’s a clear question in his eyes but all I can do is offer a half-shrug in turn. I don’t know anything more than anyone else around here does right now.
Jake’s the only real friend I’ve got around here, and with my parents MIA at the moment he’s also the closest thing I have to family. He’s eighteen, legally an adult, and he’s always seemed like the smartest person I know.
“Can my friend come with us?” I ask one of the officers still hovering just over my shoulder. That guy doesn’t answer, but looks to the man next to him. The second man must have more authority because when he nods I also get a nod from the guy I asked in the first place.
Relief floods me as I beckon Jake closer. He says something to one of the other cooks on duty—Friday nights are one of the few times we’re busy enough to justify having three cooks in the kitchen instead of just one or two.
Time slows as I follow Officer East’s blue uniform through the kitchen. Jake stays by my side, his fingers brushing mine with a reassurance that doesn’t penetrate my heart. I’m painfully aware of my how shallow my breathing is as I cross the threshold into the small employee lounge in the corner of the restaurant. I sit at one side of the small table we use for lunch breaks, shifting uncomfortably as Jake scoots another chair closer to mine and sits down so close that our thighs brush.
My eyes drift in the direction of the tiny TV mounted in the corner. I jump up so fast that the chair I was in topples over. I barely hear it over the sound of my own racing heartbeat. Officer East is saying something, but I can’t hear her either.
My parents faces are plastered all over the screen. Fuzzy, because the TV is so old, but there’s no question it’s them. My ears are ringing but I read the captions moving across the screen. They’ve been arrested I’m reading the words but I can’t make sense of them. It feels like there’s no ground left under my feet as I turn the words over in my head. But Jake puts his hands protectively on my shoulders and brings me back to earth, back to the present.
“Is this true?” I hear him ask.
“A Child Protective Services worker is on their way. We’d hoped to get to you before the story broke…” The officer’s voice trails off. I can’t blame her for not knowing what words to string together to make any of this make sense. “It’s the first time your father—” she pauses and corrects herself— “Mr. Brown has been booked into the system. When they ran his prints they got the hit on a double-homicide cold case. The investigators thought it was a robbery gone wrong and the Browns both confirmed it. That’s what led us to you.”
She stares at me expectantly but I don’t know what she wants from me. It doesn’t exactly seem like a thank you would be appropriate. All the time I’ve spent dreaming about belonging somewhere else, I never expected it to happen like this.
“I don’t understand.” Jake’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping my shoulders. “Jess has lived here her whole life and now you’re saying those weren’t here actual parents? Wasn’t anyone looking for her?”
“No.” I’m surprised my voice doesn’t wobble when I say the word. Jake missed part of the news story, but I didn’t. “No one was looking for me.” This time my voice does crack. I’m not a Nikon Park native after all, but I never wanted it like this. “No one was looking for me because my real parents were dead.”
“Jess…” He tries to turn me to face him but I resist, still watching the TV even though the story has changed over to a special on the nearby animal shelter. This station just cracked the entire foundation of who I am but they move on like it’s nothing.
We fall into an uncomfortable silence. Jake keeps his hands on my shoulders, which I’m grateful for, but my head isn’t in the moment. A strange sort of numbness settles over me. I have no memory of my real parents to mourn. And the only parents I’ve ever known have never really been parents at all. How many times was I the one putting them to bed at the end of the night because they were too strung out to do it themselves?
Now, this breaking news is telling me I’m free of them. A small part of me feels guilty, because that numbness starts to give way to relief. Tears prick the corner of my eyes because finally the universe is telling me I was right to feel like I didn’t belong.
I blink rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. If there’s anything I can thank Nikon Park for, it’s that growing up here made me tough. I won’t cry in front of anyone, not even Jake, and especially not in front of this strange woman who’s looking at me like I might collapse like a house of cards any second now.
“I have a lot of questions.” I say the words because even though they’re not necessary, I feel like I have to reassure everyone else that I won’t fall apart. I take a deep breath and force myself to face Jake. “You should get back to work. I’m sure Brandi is furious.”
I thought I would want to lean on Jake more, but now that I know what’s going on, I want to stand on my own two feet. Finding out I’m not really a
Nikon Park girl makes me suddenly feel like I’m a million miles away from Jake.
“Are you sure?” He’s hesitating, but I know he only wants to do what’s best for me. I reach for him and wrap my arms around his midsection to squeeze him in a tight hug. It’s more for his sake than mine, because I can tell he could use the reassurance. When I let go, his expression is heavy with concern. “I’m right outside if you need me.”
“I need a minute,” I tell Officer East. She nods and follows Jake out, closing the lounge door firmly behind her.
It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. I bend at the waist, clutching my knees for balance as my legs quake and struggle to hold me up. I can feel a niggling sense of guilt in the back of my mind because the truth is I’m so damned relieved to hear someone confirm that I don’t belong to the people I thought were my parents. And I feel a little bad for feeling that way because I haven’t had it nearly as bad as some people around here.
I can’t tell how long it’s been that I stay like that when someone knocks quietly on the door. I don’t answer right away, mostly because my throat is dry and I’m not ready to face any of this.
After a moment, the door cracks open anyway. A mildly familiar face peeks through. I stare at her blonde updo and bright pink lipstick until it hits me where I’ve seen her before—she’s the lady from child protective services that took my neighbor’s three kids away when the mom’s boyfriend wouldn’t stop beating on them. I can still remember the looks on their faces as she ushered them away in her beat-up sedan. And I wonder, who’s going to remember the look on my face now that it’s my turn?
Chapter 2
