BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  BOUND

  Serena Akeroyd

  Copyright © 2019 by Serena Akeroyd

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  TRIGGER WARNING

  I. “A mask is what we wear to hide from ourselves.”

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  II. “Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes.”

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Serena Akeroyd

  TRIGGER WARNING

  Please be advised this book contains scenes of a nature that some readers might find disturbing. Acts of dubious consent between the hero and heroine, as well as acts committed against and undertaken by the heroine the reader might find offensive.

  Most definitely a dark psychological romance.

  (Word Count approx. 84k)

  I

  “A mask is what we wear to hide from ourselves.”

  ― Khang Kijarro Nguyen

  Chapter One

  Lucia peered around the door, silently checking if anyone was in the house.

  It was a school day, which technically meant no one should have been at home. But more importantly, it was Wednesday.

  Wednesdays, she had her after school piano class. And the last two weeks, when her granddad had dropped her off at home, she'd seen the same man leaving their apartment building.

  This wouldn't have been too much of a shock, but last month, when her piano teacher had called Pops and told him she was too ill to hold class, he'd dropped her home earlier than usual. When she'd made it into her apartment, she'd heard noises.

  For a kid, Lucia was surprisingly insightful. Most of the others in her class were more interested in TV and playing stupid games, but she saw more.

  To her, the world wasn't a safe place where her mommy and daddy would come to her rescue, come what may. She knew things, thought things…it made her suspicious of others, and those noises, well, they hadn't been the bip-bip of a leaking faucet. Nor were they natural sounds found in a large building—they weren't creaking pipes or the drafty echoes from the vents.

  They'd sounded pained.

  Like someone was hurting.

  More curious than anything because the place was supposed to be empty, she'd cautiously headed for the noise, seeking the source. She'd felt no fear. Maybe she ought to have done. Their neighbor, Mrs. Jansen, was always at home, and Pop said to call on her if there was ever a problem. Technically, this was a problem, but Lucia hadn't been scared.

  Lucia was never scared.

  When she'd approached her parents' bedroom, she’d wrinkled her nose, recognizing a small whimper. Her friend, Mikey—one of the few kids she could stand—had told her his parents had made noises like that, and then, all of a sudden, a baby sister had appeared.

  Considering she got about ten percent of her parents' attention now, the idea of sharing that meager amount with a baby was not appreciated.

  And then, the long moan drifted off into a name. “Sam, God, Sam.” Her mother's voice saying a name that didn't belong to Andrew, her dad.

  Pondering the thought for a moment, and, then, considering just who Sam was, she toyed with the notion of bursting in just to embarrass her mom. Then, she thought back to her other friend, Jane.

  She'd been so upset last year when her dad had moved out and into a new place with a new girlfriend. A girlfriend who took all his time up, and because of it, Jane's dad who had never missed one of their junior league baseball games, hadn't attended a match all season.

  The idea of another person bossing her around was too much to bear. Her mom was mean, but she was hers. And her father was hardly ever at home, but again, he was hers.

  The idea of having this Sam, whoever he was, in her life, didn't sit right. Lucia wasn't sure why, but it didn't.

  And so, understanding the ramifications of what was going on, even if she didn't understand the details, she'd stepped away on tiptoe from the hallway and back to the front door. There, she'd slammed it with as much force as her nine-year-old arms would allow, and had entered the apartment singing at the tops of her lungs.

  When her mom had appeared, looking flustered, Lucia had let her making excuses with lies about how she'd felt ill at work. She'd also pretended not to see the guy sneaking out.

  But every week since, she'd watched out for him.

  Usually, he was on the sidewalk by the time she made it home. Calling for a cab or just walking away.

  Her mom must have taken the elevator down to the garage to sneak off because Lucía hadn’t seen her since.

  But every time she saw him, it made her mad.

  Mad enough that she clenched her fists as she glared at him through the window when he strolled past their car. Angry enough that she almost always forgot to kiss her granddaddy goodnight. So utterly enraged that she started thinking about ways for this, whatever it was, to come to an end.

  Moms made babies with dads. Not Sams. And while she didn't want a new baby in the house, she really didn't want a stepmom or stepdad cluttering up her life.

  Drastic times called for drastic measures, and after a month of it, she'd had enough.

  Taking care to kiss her granddaddy good night, she murmured, “See you tomorrow, Pops?”

  “Bright and early, baby girl,” he told her, a smile in his voice.

  Two years ago, when three girls at school had invited everyone else in the class to their shared birthday party but her, and she'd shoved their coats down the toilet, Lucia had had to move schools.

  She'd tried to explain they were the ones in need of punishing, not her, but no one had understood. That was the story of her life—no one, not even Pops, understood. So now, Pops took her to her new school every day and brought her home.

  She wished he'd take her to his house in Brooklyn because at least she wouldn't be alone until one of her parents came back, but she didn't complain. She saw her grandparents tons, and at least she had enough quiet to get her homework done when she got home.

  For two years, before he dropped her off and drove away, she'd asked him the same question every night, and he'd answered it the same way.

  She liked that. He didn't change, and that made her feel better somehow.

  Lucia kissed his whiskery cheek again, letting him hug her before she pulled away, grabbed her schoolbag, and headed to the building's reception. She waved from the doorway and headed for her apartment on the sixth floor, after smiling brightly at Joe, the doorman, and going up in the elevator.

  When she unlocked the door, she made sure the apartment was empty. Going so far as to check each room to make sure her mom wasn't there, after, she retreated to the kitchen.

  In the cutlery drawer, there were some matches, and there were paper towels on the counter. She'd been planning this for ten days now, and she was certain it was a foolproof plan to stop her mom from playing around with Sam.

  Armed with both the paper towel
s and the matches, she sneaked into her parents' bedroom. Because she was hardly ever allowed in here, she looked around. But it was boring. Just a wardrobe, a picture over the bed, and at the base, a TV on a pine stand. The bed itself took more of her attention. The floral duvet was neatly pressed, not in any way scruffy like it was when she climbed out from between her covers in the morning, and the sheets smelled like detergent.

  She didn't know what went on in the bed, but Sam and her mom had been in here, making noises together. Lucia had concluded that if the bed was no longer there, her mom and Sam couldn't meet here anymore. If that were the case, her problem was solved.

  Her plan was to burn the sheets, destroy the mattress, and damage the bed. Simple enough, she figured.

  Pulling out a few sheets of paper towel, she laid them on the duvet. Then, with her tongue between her teeth, she carefully took out a match and struck it against the box like she'd seen her dad do when he smoked one of the cigars he thought mom and Lucia didn't know about. Only, it didn't work. Not disheartened, she tried again, but each time, the match splintered, breaking halfway down.

  Finally, with some persevering, she managed to set it alight. The flame flickered a little, and she yelped as it stung her fingers. It fell.

  Down.

  Down.

  Straight onto the paper towel, which was consumed by the tiny flame.

  Entranced, she studied the flickering motions of the miniature fire she'd created. Only, it didn't stay miniature for long. It grew. It consumed the paper, the sheets, and then, eventually, the stuffing in the pillows.

  The flames were glorious. From small flickering tongues, to large waves of heat that hit her and made her skin flush and start to sweat. She didn't back off, though.

  Instead, she studied the flames, enjoying their brightness, and feeling the power of the energy roaring through the room and, ultimately, through her as she watched on.

  Smoke started to appear, great billowing gusts of it, and just when she began to cough, she heard a, “Dear God! What the hell are you doing?”

  Before she knew what to do, Pops had pulled her away from the bed and dragged her into the hall. He ran off, and she watched him, puffing as he returned with an extinguisher from the outer corridor.

  She peered round the door and watched as white foam spurted out in a smooth roll. In less than a minute, the fire she'd started was dead, and her parents' bed was most definitely ruined.

  Satisfied, she waited in the hall for Pops to come and tell her off. He should praise her, after all, she'd stopped her mom from making a baby with Sam, but he wouldn't understand.

  Nobody did.

  There was no point lamenting it. It was just fact.

  When he stepped into the hallway, a glower on his face, she had to admit she felt bad. She never liked making him angry, not when he was so nice to her all the time. Being at his and her grandma's house was the only time she was happy, and so, she showed her appreciation by confessing, “I had to do it, Pops.”

  He frowned at her, and lifted a quivering hand to his brow. Small flecks of soot had drifted onto his fingers and he smeared them over his forehead. “You had to set fire to the bed?” For a second, he seemed astounded, then he shook his head. “Fire? What the heck were you thinking, Lucia? You could have burned the whole building down.”

  “No. That's not possible,” she told him, confident in her plan. Did he think she was an idiot? She'd taken precautions.

  “Why isn't it?”

  “There's a big flap on the mattress. It says non-flammable. That means it won't set on fire.”

  He blinked, his astonishment at her words making him rear back. “I think you'll find it was on fire. But why on Earth did you check the mattress for that flap?”

  Lucia snorted. “Because I didn't want the fire to get too big, of course.”

  “And it wasn't too big when I came in?” he snapped.

  “No. I knew it wouldn't burn, but I still wanted to damage it.”

  “Why on earth would you want to damage your parents' bed?” He sank from angry to perplexed in less than thirty seconds.

  She was used to that, though. Even her teachers looked at her funny sometimes, and they were pretty smart.

  “If they don't have a bed, mom can't make a baby with Sam. I don't want a brother or a sister, and I sure don't want a new father.”

  Another blink, another befuddled frown. “Who's Sam?”

  “I don't know. But dad's called Andrew, so it isn't him.” She folded thin arms against her chest, physically rejecting the notion of a new dad.

  “I realize that,” he chided. “I named him myself, Lucia.” He stared at her a second and, with his thumb, pointed at the bedroom. “You figured it would stop your mom and this man from being together if you burned the bed.”

  She leaned back against the wall, a cocky smirk twisting her lips. “Pretty smart, huh?”

  “No, it was a stupid plan. Lucia, you can't go around setting fire to things.”

  “I've only done it once,” she scoffed. “I'm not going to do it again. Don't be silly, Pops.”

  “Silly?” His astonishment had her sighing. Honestly, why wasn't this making sense to him?

  “I had to do something. I don't want a stepdad. I never see dad anyway. If he leaves then...” She firmed her mouth, not wanting to contemplate her words.

  Pops' eyes softened. “How did you think you'd get away with it?”

  She shrugged. “Dad has cigars.”

  “Yes, but he hasn't been here since seven this morning.”

  That had her frowning. “Oh. I hadn't thought of that.” Why hadn't she realized that would be a problem? Plus, he never smoked in bed. He did it on the fire escape out back. Annoyed that she wasn't as smart as she reckoned, she pouted.

  Pops scrubbed his dirty hand over his face again, staggered back, and leaned against one of the tables, which lined the hall. The photo frames it carried shivered with the movement and the momentum of his substantial form bumping into it.

  “You're not to do anything like this again, Lucia. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Pops.”

  “Do you understand this was wrong? I mean, why didn't you come to me about it? Tell me what was going on?”

  She jerked a shoulder. “I just wanted them to stop. I don't want them to get a divorce like Jane's mom and dad.”

  Pops licked his lips, then whispered, “Dear God.”

  “You keep on saying that.”

  “I know. I need His help.”

  She moved closer to him and patted his hand. “Is He listening?”

  Lucia didn't understand who or what God was, but she'd been to church and had seen lots of people praying to the sky. It made no sense to her, but she knew her grandparents found comfort in God. She didn’t understand Jeopardy either. She figured they were entitled to their quirks. They were old, after all.

  “No. I don’t think He is,” he remarked in a low tone. She watched as he rubbed his eyes, digging his thumbs into the corners. “I can't even begin to think what would have happened if I hadn't come back with your French books. They must have fallen out of your bag. Thank God they did.”

  “Oh yeah, I have homework today. Madame Piaget gets really angry if you don't get your work in on time.”

  He sighed and curled an arm about her shoulders. “Honey, if I hadn't gotten here in time, you'd have more to worry about than detention. You see that, don't you?”

  “I guess,” she told him, unconvinced.

  Pops stared at her, a pucker distorting his forehead. “You could have ruined not only your home, but everyone else’s in this building...you could have destroyed their lives. Their homes. What if someone had been injured?” The arm around her shoulders began to shake.

  “You have to promise me you'll never do anything like this again—even if it seems right to you. Ask me first. Talk to me about it. That's what I'm here for.”

  “I won't do anything like this again,” she repeated, a sing-song note
to her voice.

  “Promise me,” he demanded.

  “Well, I do. But I have to protect my mom and dad, don't I? I mean, if I have to do something like this to stop them from doing something dumb, I can't promise, Pops. I don't want to lie to you, that's all.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, a sudden glint making an appearance in their depths. “Your grandma told me your mother was complaining about that perfume your daddy bought her for Christmas. Said it smelled horrible. She asked if your grandmother had the receipt still.”

  Dad didn't buy any of his presents. Either Lucia's mom bought them or his mother. Lucia thought that was really lazy, but grandma had good taste in gifts, so she'd never said anything.

  “I tried that last week,” she confided. “I poured some of hers out and mixed in some of dad’s cologne. If she smelled bad, I thought it might stop, but it didn't. I saw Sam coming out of the building again.”

  Pops sucked in a shaky breath. “How about this? I promise you that nothing like this will happen again, if you promise the same. You can't go around punishing people, Lucia. Or trying to manipulate them into doing things—even if it stops them from being bad. Do you understand?”

  She didn't, but because it would make him feel better, she nodded. “Yes, Pops. I understand.”

  Relief at her words made him sigh deeply. “We can never talk about this. Ever again. Not even to your grandma. It will be our little secret, you hear me?”

  She beamed up at him, because this was their secret now, and that meant Pops would make sure she wouldn't have a new dad.