by Tracy Sharp
SOUL TRADE
TRACY SHARP
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.
Soul Trade
Copyright© 2013; Tracy Sharp.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Design © Jai McFerran Design
Editor © Katy Sozaeva
Formatting © Lucinda Campbell
Edition: June 2013
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my mother, Jeannine and sister, Joan, whom I playfully call the two witches. Without your encouragement and honesty, this book wouldn’t have been written. Thanks also for talking me down from the ledge during those crazy spells out self-doubt when I’m certain that the book is good for nothing more than lining a cat box. Anyone’s cat box, since we don’t have a cat. Thanks for reminding me, again, that I do this with each and every book and that it’ll turn out fine.
Thanks to Debbie Evans for your friendship, your ear, your shoulder and your laughter.
Thanks to Benjamin, my sunshine and my joy.
Thanks to my husband, Jeff, for your patience and love, and for normalizing my craziness. Your smile will forever make my heart skip a beat. This book is for you.
Chapter 1
How did I end up like this? Robyn Blackwood half-staggered her way through the wall of people in the park. Where is he?
Her dealer hadn’t showed at the usual spot. She scanned the faces around her. There had to be others here. Someone she’d used before.
Yeah. Feeling groovy. She peered through half-closed eyes. Her stomach clenched every few minutes, waves of nausea washing over her. Another one was hitting her right now. She stopped and bent over, dry-heaving. At least the crowd moved away from her. Small mercies. She gagged and placed her hands on her thighs, trying to steady herself.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this for her. She wiped the back of a shaking hand over her mouth. Her entire body trembled. Straight-A student. One of those kids who never had to crack a book.
Then university. She was a shining star. Such a bright future ahead of her. Until…
But that was then. Two years ago. They’d gone by in a heroin-induced, hazy, swollen-eyed blink.
Now she needed a fix. Badly.
The music was way too loud. She couldn’t think. One of the latest emo-screamer bands, shrieking their throats raw on the outdoor stage. She wished she could appreciate them. But all she wanted to do was crawl into a small, dark space and go away for a while. Just drift away. To a place where nothing mattered. Where nothing she’d ever done for a hit even mattered.
Steady, driving music blared around her as she pushed through the hoards of people. She felt a few unwelcome hands copping feels, but she didn’t care. Just kept putting one foot somewhere in front of the other.
The crowds thinned as she moved farther away from the bandstand. Her head throbbed. She kept moving, eyes scanning the area for him. The one who could make it all go away for a little while.
Finally she reached the area of the park closest to the exit/entry where she’d scored before. Sometimes random dealers would hang out there, especially new ones trying to build their clientele. The music faded the farther she moved away from the bandstand. She was free to stagger as she liked, because nobody blocked her way.
Death had to be better than this. Anyway, she felt as if she’d died and just hadn’t yet fallen. “I’d sell my soul to the lowest bidder for a hit right now,” she croaked. And she would.
She didn’t see the figure that followed several paces behind her. His steps were slow and sure and deathly quiet. He stayed far back and to her left.
She sensed movement to her right, and turned her head to see a man pulling a woman into some brush. His hand was clamped over her mouth as she struggled, scratching at his hands and trying to launch forward. The woman was no match for him.
“Hey!” Robyn shouted, but it only came out as a gravelly rasp. Her throat was raw, and she had no strength to shout.
The man looked up at her, hesitated, then continued to drag the woman backward.
Without a second thought she was following them, her cravings momentarily forgotten, adrenaline racing through her and propelling her forward. “Hey! Let her go!”
The man didn’t stop.
Bold son of a bitch. Robyn tried screaming. She could only manage a moan. Realization slammed into her, and her blood turned to ice in her veins. She could try to scream her lungs out, but nobody would hear her. The music was too loud. No one would come.
If she was going to help this woman, she was on her own. And it looked as if the man was completely ignoring her.
Apparently he’d removed his hand from the woman’s mouth, because she was shrieking.
Robyn’s heart drummed against her ribcage. She looked on the ground for something she could use as a weapon, but found nothing. It was too dark to see, and there was no time.
“I’ve got a knife, you fucking pervert!” She’d found some strength, and her voice, and finally was able to shout.
The man was evidently unimpressed. The woman kept shrieking, her screams lifting to new heights of terror.
“I’ll use it! Leave her alone!” Robyn took a few steps forward, and was shocked to find she was no longer staggering.
The harsh crack of his punches undid Robyn. The woman’s screams faded into weak sobs.
Robyn burst through the brush and brought a boot up, bending her knee to make as much of an impact as possible, and kicked him on what she thought was the side of his head.
He grunted and fell off the woman.
She laughed, the sound high and hysterical to her ears. She could barely walk a few minutes ago. Now she was kicking the shit out of a rapist. Go figure.
“Go!” Robyn shouted at the woman. “Run!”
The woman scrambled away, breaking through the brush and screaming her way through the park.
Robyn thought she’d better kick him again for good measure, because she didn’t know how fast this guy could run. She brought her boot up again and stomped it downward. She hit something soft this time: a beer paunch? But she couldn’t bring her foot back. He’d grabbed her boot, and now he yanked. She fell backward onto something hard that dug into her back. A tree root or fallen branch.
His laugh was low and dirty.
She went cold.
“I don’t care what bitch I get, as long as I get one tonight.”
Robyn tried to push up onto her elbows to crab-walk backward, but he was on top of her, and he was heavy. She caught a whiff of black licorice as his breath hit her face. Damn. She’d always loved black licorice. Now she’d gag every time she smelled it. Bastard.
He climbed up and sat on her chest, pushing all the air from her lungs. She couldn’t scream, not that it would do any good. She couldn’t even breathe.
“You’re a spitfire.” The smile in his voice was obscene. “I like the lives ones, but I like them better dead.”
He held something up, turning it over under the moon and stars. It glinted, silver-white.
She felt a cold, sharp sting across her throat, and her airway was cut off. He was strangling her. She felt herself smile as her body fought for air. Of course she’d end up like this. The last good thing she did in this life, and she was punished for it. Oh fuck it. I’m better off dead anyway. She stopped fighting.
&
nbsp; She heard the flutter of wings moving through the air. A night bird taking flight.
And then she was gone.
†
Am I dead?
Robyn sat up, taking in great gulps of air. She brought her hands up to feel her throat where he’d strangled her. Raw. She winced. Her fingers were sticky, and she smelled the tangy scent of blood all around her. She felt around on her chest and neck. She’d bled very little. Had the woman escaped safely? She waited for her stomach to clench, and for the next wave of nausea. They didn’t come.
Other than a slight sting where he’d cut her throat, she felt no pain. No cravings. The remnants of the adrenaline rush must be momentarily making her feel better.
“Wow.” If fighting for your life does that for you, it can’t be all bad. In fact, she highly recommended it.
She pushed herself to her knees and felt tiny rocks and twigs poke into her skin. She had no pants on. No panties. “Son of a bitch!”
She felt around for her panties and jeans, found them scattered in the area, and pulled them on. She’d been raped. It wasn’t the first time a scumbag had used her while she’d been out. She’d always just expected it. But this was different.
Her blood boiled. She’d find that filthy bastard if it was the last thing she ever did. She’d find him and she’d make him pay. She felt around and found the knife that was still tucked into her boot. It had been useless. But it wouldn’t be this time.
“Oh yeah. You’re going down, chum.” She wondered if he was still in the park. “Let’s just take a little jaunt and see, shall we?”
“Do you need assistance?”
Robyn’s heart jumped into her throat. She spun around to face the voice behind her.
He was standing in the shadow of a huge tree, a dark silhouette.
“Look, buddy. I’ve had my quota of shit for the evening. Got it?”
“I understand.” His voice was soft and calm. Soothing. “But you’re clearly strung out, you’ve got blood all over you, and you’re wandering around in a park. How far do you think you’ll get before a cop picks you up?”
He had a point.
But she had nowhere to stay anyway. Maybe a clean bed, a shower, and three squares a day wouldn’t be so bad for a while.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I have a shower.”
“Right. Like I’m going home with a strange man who hides behind trees. How crazy do you think I am?”
“What other option do you have?” He stepped out of the shadows and moved into the light pooling around the park bench under the streetlamp.
Robyn’s breath caught. A young man. Sharp, stony features, but what struck her most was his eyes. Even under the tricky light of the lamp, they were a dark. Black. She was reminded of wax statues.
“Angel or devil?” She blinked, not realizing that she’d said the words out loud.
He reached a hand out to her. “Does it matter?”
No. It really didn’t. She had nowhere to go. No life to go back to. What did it matter?
She heard the rustling of feathers and looked up toward the sound. A branch soared up over her head. A huge, white owl looked down at her, large amber eyes round and steady.
Robyn had the uncanny impression that the spectacular bird was warning her with that unblinking stare.
No. Run.
“I have what you need,” the man said, catching her attention again. She’d almost forgotten that he was there. “What you’ve been looking for. Come with me.”
She stepped forward and reached for his hand.
A chill slithered down her spine. Alarm bells rang in her mind, but seemingly from far away. She pulled her hand back, but it was too late. Her fingers had brushed his. Robyn had the feeling that she’d stepped too far out onto a ledge and she was afraid to look down.
“No,” she managed.
“Open your hand,” he said, his eyes amused.
She looked down at her hand, which she hadn’t known was closed. Slowly she uncurled her fingers. Lying on her palm was a small, glass vial. A glittering, pearly powder sparkled within it.
She looked up at him. “What is it?”
His lips pulled into a predatory smile. She tried her best not to shrink back, but wasn’t sure she’d altogether managed it. She found herself holding her breath.
“I’ve given you what you need. They will collect on your promise.” His voice bubbled from deep within his chest, sounding far too deep and somehow ancient. Eternal.
Her skin crawled and her stomach clenched. What promise was he talking about?
She found her voice. “Who are they?”
He turned and walked away, his boot heels clicking on the pavement, echoing in her ears despite the loud music, which should have drowned them out.
Robyn blinked. All at once he was gone. As if he’d faded into the shadows.
“Well, he was a tad bit creepy.” She went down into a crouch and hung her head, trying to catch her breath. She fell onto her butt and placed a hand on the pavement to either side to steady herself. “Whoa.”
The tiny vial tinkled against the concrete. She reached out and picked it up, turning it over in her palm under the streetlamp.
What is this stuff? It wasn’t like any drug she’d ever seen. It reminded her of cocaine, which would’ve been wonderful. But it sparkled.
He seemed to have stolen her energy. Her breath. Her stomach cramped. The cravings were back. Dandy. Still, she wasn’t about to put this strange shit in her nose.
The longer she hung around, the higher the chance he’d come back. Or maybe another asshole would come by, wanting a piece of what the last bastard received after he choked her into unconsciousness.
But he thought you were dead, her mind whispered. He said he liked them like that.
That made Robyn move. Trying to ignore her screaming muscles, she forced herself to move. She didn’t know what that weird guy was, but he certainly wasn’t your run-of-the-mill freak. Fear kept her legs moving, but Robyn felt exhaustion seeping into every bone. Her muscles groaned. She felt achy and sore all over.
She slowly moved one foot in front of the other, vision blurring, clearing, then blurring again. Vaguely she was aware of passing somebody on a park bench. She glanced over. A raggedy man in raggedy clothes. Long hair, long beard. Drinking from a paper bag. Classy.
She chuckled out loud. Like she looked any better. Probably smelled just as bad as he did, too. And whew! His stench, carried by the wind, seemed to follow her as she lurched and swayed her way back toward the bandstand.
The crowd hadn’t thinned any. People yelled, screamed, pushed into each other. Laughed loudly. Everyone was out of control. She just wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away.
Find a fix, her mind whispered. That’s the only thing that will make it better. Forget this whole damned night.
You have one in your pocket, her mind whispered.
But I don’t know what that shit is.
What do you care? Her mind whispered back.
No, I need heroin.
And lo and behold, there was her connection, standing in the spot he was supposed to have been in before.
“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was weak in her throat.
“I was delayed.” He shrugged, flipped his ponytail and cracked a grin. “You look like hell.”
Her eyes were closing. “Been through hell.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“Our special client is waiting. You need to get cleaned up. Come on, I’ll make it better.”
Somehow she found the strength to follow him to the house across the street. She hated it there. Bad things happened there. But he had what she needed.
Now she was in his dingy apartment. He sat her on the couch beside a young guy she’d seen before, and she faded in and out. Anything could happen to her now, and for some reason, she just didn’t have the energy to give a damn.
She
was vaguely aware of being lifted to stand, one man under each arm, then partially walking, but mostly being dragged by them.
“Whoa, man,” the other one said. “Are you sure you wanna fix this one up?”
“I’ve got a client who really likes her. I told him she’d be waiting.”
The sound of water running. She was in a dirty bathroom. The tub they put her in hadn’t been washed, maybe ever.
“Here,” her connection said. “Clean her up.”
“Ah, fuck, no way. She’s all full of blood. You want me to get my hands full of a crack-whore’s blood? You think I’m suicidal?”
I’m a heroin whore, Robyn thought. Not a crack-whore. She felt a strange little grin on her face.
A door closing. Cabinet? “Here. Rubber gloves. Now wash her the fuck down.”
She tried to open her eyes, but was too weak. She faded in and out as somebody gingerly washed her with water that was too cold. She felt herself shivering. Somehow the cold made everything worse, and she whimpered.
Somebody dried her off, then she was dropped onto a mattress. One she’d been on before. She faded out again. Her eyes fluttered open briefly when the chill of the needle broke her skin. She felt a half smile curve her lips just before she went away.
She woke up in a pool of her own vomit, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Convulsing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered where the vomit had come from. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
“I said I don’t want her.”
If Robyn hadn’t been so racked with convulsions, she would have cringed. She knew that voice. The freak. The one that wanted special things from her. She would’ve done anything for the drug. Anything. But now she was dying, and it didn’t matter anymore.
“I thought you liked it like that,” her connection said. Robyn remembered vaguely that he went by the name Domino.
No. Not like this. Look at her.” Footsteps fading. “Don’t call me again.”
Robyn was fading, too.
“Aw fuck, man. She’s dyin’, man.” The other guy’s voice sounded high pitched. Panicked.
