by Khan, Jen
Emma Chase
A Sins of the Father Novel
By Jen Khan
Emma Chase: Sins of the Father, Book 1
By Jen Khan
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Jen-Khan/496570623787324
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Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Khan
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be distributed or reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
All character and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is intended for mature adults only.
Editing done by Mickey Reed http://www.mickeyreedediting.com/p/freelance-editor.html
Cover Design and Image by Vanessa R. Mickey http://photographyonthebanks.com/
Cover Model Amber Stegall
****When you are done reading, please consider giving a rating and/or brief review where you purchased this book and on Goodreads. Thank you!****
Acknowledgments:
A HUGE, HUGE, HUGE thank you to my family and friends who have supported me every step of the way on this journey. You are freaking awesome! Without you, I would have bailed.
My son, who I love more than anything in this world. You can do ANYTHING you want to do. Dream big and make things happen.
My mom who hasn’t read it yet, but that hasn’t stopped her from sharing and bragging all over social media and the DMV about me.
Vanessa, who I had originally recruited to be a beta reader, read Emma in two days and then offered her services to help create the cover. I owe you a big bottle of wine, a hug and a ton of pimping. Check her photography biz site…Amazing http://photographyonthebanks.com/
Amber for jumping at the chance when called upon to be my cover model. You really brought Emma Chase to life. Thanks doll. You are gorgeous.
My beta readers: Steph (my fabulous and beeeeautiful lil sis), Courtney ‘Curly G,’ Heather, Julie, Kitty-Kitty, Claudia, Vanessa, Charlena, Jessica, Stacey, and Marsha who read this during the writing process and let me know what was shit and was golden. This book became what it is now because of your help.
My editor Mickey who tore my book to shreds and helped me build it back up so that the rest of the readers of the world could enjoy it without wanting to vomit. You are also a fabulous motivator and friend.
My fellow author gal pals in the Anything Goes Writing Club for your support. You females EFFING ROCK! What happens in AGWC, stays in AGWC ;)
AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST: My home bitches Courtney, Heather and Crystal, my cheerleaders and groupies. You had to listen to me every day for months and never once griped, moaned or throttled me. Here’s to it finally being over…until the next book that is. Oh and Fireballs. FORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE!!!!!!!!!!
A little 411 before you dive into this book:
This book deals with a very sensitive topic that affects many women around the world and could very well trigger painful memories for some. The first scene shows a dark act which involves violence against the main character. It is brief and deals with a very real issue which may make many uncomfortable.
This book does not focus solely on the violent act, but the journey that Emma goes through to overcome. It is also a love of a lifetime kind of love story.
This book is intended only for mature readers and is not suitable for those under the age of 18. There is language, sex, alcohol and some laugh at loud moments not meant for young eyes.
Please enjoy and thank you for reading.
Chapter One
Emma
I feel myself coming to, and immediately the pain hits me throughout my entire body. My eyes blink at the brightness. As I slowly roll over, my stomach wretches and I vomit all over myself.
My body curls into a fetal position of its own accord, arms wrapping around my knees. I examine what I can see of myself, taking stock of my current situation. From what I can tell through my already swollen eyes, my arms and legs are badly beaten, my shoulder is dislocated—which I can only tell because it happened to me a couple of times as a kid—my sweater is torn, and my pants are down around my ankles.
I peel back the hair that is glued to the side of my face by a mixture of what must be dried blood and vomit, wincing when I feel the huge, painful lump growing on my right cheekbone.
I force myself to move rising up on all fours and crawling to the nearest wall. Putting my hands to the wall, I attempt to bring myself to my feet. My legs give out from under me and I collapse, throwing up again.
My head is heavy, like I’m in a thick dark cloud. My memories are fuzzy. I scan the room, and my living room is trashed. Definitely signs of a struggle. What the hell?
That’s when it hits me with a jolt. I sob uncontrollably. My mind is finally catching on, and it all comes rushing back to me. I shake violently, so I curl back into a fetal position to try to stop it. The waves are massive, and the toll it takes on me is unbearable. I am overwhelmed with emotion over these memories that keep hitting me. Like one devastating blow after another. I lack control over my body as shock takes its hold on me, dragging me deep into myself.
Oh my God!
The last thing I remember is entering my apartment, and before I could shut and lock the door, I was on the floor, flat on my stomach.
“You stupid bitch,” a man said. If I thought hard enough, I was almost able to recognize that voice. “I told your father that I would get to you one way or another if I didn’t get my money.”
Shit.
“Your father knows better than to try to play me, darlin’” he growled. Yes, I knew that voice.
At that moment of revelation, I was being lifted off the floor by my hair. I screamed and flailed my arms and legs, trying to make contact with my attacker to no avail.
He was angry, and I really didn’t think this was going to end well for me. He turned me to face him, but it was dark and I could barely make out his face. But oh yes, I knew him. I could make it out just enough to know what I was dealing with.
He backhanded me, my head snapped to the side, and he punched me in the ribs.
Next thing I knew, his fist made contact with my cheek and I went down hard on all fours.
I had to get away, but I didn’t know where to go. I started to crawl to the door, my mind racing.
The man kicked me over and over in the ribs and the stomach, and he made contact with my head.
I dropped to my stomach with a thud and tried to blink away the stars that were forming in front of my eyes.
“Since Joe decided not to pay up, you will.”
I rolled to my side, holding my injured ribs with one hand and my head with the other, and through clenched teeth, I told him that I didn’t have enough to cover my father’s debts.
As if on cue, I heard him undo his zipper. “Well, I can find other ways for you to settle Daddy’s debt.”
******
I can barely see through my swelling eyes. I am still shaking hard, but I know I need help, so I drive my Pathfinder to the one place I know I can find it. I don’t know how I make it to the parking lot behind Holt's. Maybe luck was on my side. If that's what you want to call it.
I can’t think of why I chose to come here to him. Why would he want to help me? He shunned me the last time we saw each other. Regardless, I know deep down that Braden Holt is my only hope.
My car is torn to hell. I must have hit every car on the way into the parking lot before skidding to a stop behind the building. I fling open the car door, ready to make a mad dash for the building.
A
s soon as the door opens, I fall out of the car, landing on my side, hitting my head on the concrete.
So much for a mad dash.
My body feels like it's shutting down on me. I try to get up on all fours, which takes so much out of me that I give in and throw up again. It is mostly dry heaves at this point.
I am bleeding everywhere. The sweat and blood sting my eyes and limbs. I pull myself up using my one good arm and the car door.
I got to my feet and every inch of my body screamed for me to stop.
I fall forward and grip the trunk of the car next to mine. My forehead rests on the cool steel, and I have to push myself to keep going. This is not easy.
I didn’t change my clothes before I left my apartment so I know my appearance must be scary as hell. My once white shirt is now covered in streaks and smears of blood. I’m not concerned about if I am decent enough to walk into the bar and be seen by all of the people I could hear chatting it up with each other through the back door.
I stumble to the building and climb up the stairs on my hands and knees. I just can’t muster up the strength to walk in with even the slightest bit of dignity. I reach the door, bring myself to my feet, and push myself through, losing my footing. My bad arm is powerless to break my fall so I hit my head on the floor.
Where I land, the floor is sticky and reeks of beer. It hurts like hell and I don’t care. I lay my cheek to the cool floor and start sobbing again.
I am giving up. I can’t move another muscle. Every ounce of strength becomes nonexistent. I am losing consciousness, unable to take the pain any longer.
I always thought I was strong and could get through anything. Hell, I’ve been through my fair share of shit in this life and still pushed forward. Clearly I never took this scenario into account.
I hear footsteps, voices, and panic. I guess passing out isn’t an option for me right now.
I try to lift myself up, but my one good arm is just too weak. The footsteps stop as they approach me. “NO! Please don’t!” I scream and curl into a ball.
“Emma, it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
Oh my God. Is that Jim’s voice?
Jim Holt, Braden’s father, is a kind man. He never turns away a person in need. Even if that person is the loser who broke up with one of his sons.
I can’t see him because I can’t even hold up my head at this point. I am frightened. I know it’s him, yet I am incapable of wrapping my mind around the fact that I might be safe now.
He kneels down next to me and touches my face. “Please don’t hurt me!” I cry out again, curling my body into a tighter ball.
“You’re safe, Em. Olivia, call an ambulance.”
“No, please no ambulance. I can’t.” I know that I am sobbing hysterically, but I just don’t care anymore. I’m not strong enough for this.
I become aware of more footsteps approaching and I flinch.
“Fuck! What the hell happened?” another man’s voice says. Jake Holt, Braden’s brother. “Emma? Holy shit. Where’s Braden?”
That’s when I hear his beautiful voice, which sounds as though it is miles away. That may be due to the multiple head injuries I’ve sustained.
He crouches down beside me and pushes the hair from my face. I catch his sharp intake of breath once he gets a clear shot at my face. “Em, you with me, baby? I’m going to take you to the hospital. Jake, bring the Jeep around!”
“Bro, we need to call—”
“Get the Jeep.”
“But she’s hurt, and by the looks of it, badly. We have to call an—”
“Now, Jake! We don’t have time for this shit!”
I am lifted off the sticky floor and moved outside into the cool air. A car door slams, and I am aware enough to know that I am sitting on someone’s lap.
“Em, stay awake, baby. Do you understand? I need you to stay awake for me.”
“Sure.” I am slipping into the darkness.
At that moment, the truck must hit a bump in the road. My whole body jerks, the immense pain shooting through my entire body.
“Shhhh, I know it hurts. We’re going to get you some help.”
I lift my head slightly seeing Braden’s beautiful eyes through the blood, sweat, and tears that are trickling into my own. He glides his arm up and down, tracing patterns on my back, and he uses his other hand to position my head into the crook of his shoulder.
“Please stay with me, baby. We’re almost there.”
“I need to take a nap. Just to rest my eyes a little. Everything is just so heavy.”
I don’t even think he understood what I just said. My tongue is so weighted down that I could barely form the words needed to explain how I felt.
“If I just take a little nap, the pain will go away for a little while. I just need it to all go away.”
Braden strokes my face with the backs of his knuckles before his fingers go into my hair.
“I know, beautiful, but you have to stay with me. Let’s get you to the doctors and then you can sleep. They’ll be able to take care of you while you sleep. I just don’t want anything happening to you, all right?”
I nuzzle into his neck and inhale his scent. He has a manly scent mixed with soap, shampoo, and beer, which makes sense if he was working the bar tonight.
“It doesn’t matter. Just let me go to sleep. I have nothing. No one,” I wail.
It is true. My father bailed, leaving me behind to “pay his debts” to the town’s drug dealer. I know this because he decided a while back that it was time he took on a second job for extra money. I always knew what that meant. Even as a kid I knew he was a small-time drug dealer. Once, while doing chores, I was putting his socks in his sock drawer and stumbled upon his stash of eight balls. We got a lot of visitors that he would take back to his room and they would leave with a small baggie in their possession.
“Em, you have me.”
I can’t hold on any longer. I drift into the darkness. Braden’s presence is fading, the pain subsiding, and I feel a tremendous peace wash over me.
Chapter Two
6 hours later…
I am so tired. If I listen carefully, I can hear a low beeping noise and—what is that? It almost sounds like breathing. I manage to open my eyes just a bit. My eyelids are so heavy. The light hurts them. I move my head, directing my gaze towards the sound of the breathing, and behold, Braden is sitting in a chair with his head lying next to me on the bed. Is he sleeping?
I can feel him holding my hand. I am safe and so tired. I give his hand a light squeeze. I just don’t have the strength to give it a real one. There’s that peaceful feeling again. I sense myself drift away.
4 hours later…
I am having a dream. It’s a strange dream. I am floating over my apartment building. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to go inside. I have this sense that I need to stay outside.
Something bad is happening in that apartment that I’m not supposed to see right now.
What brings me out of my dream are faint voices and what sounds almost like a scuffle.
“Sir, if you cannot control yourself, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Why isn’t she awake yet?”
“Sir, she has four broken ribs, a broken nose, several cuts and contusions, as well as a severe concussion. She also had a dislocated shoulder and her wrist is fractured on top of all of that. We are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable while she recovers.”
I feel sorry for whoever they’re talking about.
12 hours later…
I struggle to open my eyes. Each eyelid weighs a ton. My head is fuzzy and my ears are clogged giving me a sense like I’m in a tunnel. My throat feels like sandpaper.
I squint against the bright lights and my eyes move to the TV hanging on the wall then to the ceiling.
I roll my head to the right and see machines and tubes. Ahhh, the hospital. Right next to that is a small table with a salmon-colored pitcher and cup. I realize how th
irsty I am.
Then I realize how badly I have to pee. I take in the room and spot the bathroom.
Now, I wonder how am I going to make it way over there with all of these tubes and machines hooked up to me.
I check out my left arm and notice that it is in a sling. It sucks that I’m a lefty.
And just like that, all the memories come flooding back to me. They wash over me like a tidal wave.
Tears begin prickling my eyes.
Shit. I have to save my strength for getting out of this bed and over to that bathroom. That is my main goal in life at this very moment. No time for crying.
Hmmm…I’m barely registering any pain.
Whatever they are delivering to me through these tubes is good stuff. I’ll have to make a mental note to tell the doctors that. Maybe they will send me home with a few pills to get me through the first couple of days.
I calculate a plan to get to my destination, when I notice a light…snoring sound? I slowly rotate my head towards the sound and… Oh. My. God. Braden is asleep in the chair next to the window.
His long legs are crossed at the ankles. His beautiful, muscular, tattooed arms are folded over his broad chest. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest almost too tightly. The way that boy can rock a t-shirt is almost sinful. He is wearing a black Under Armour baseball cap that hangs low over his eyes and his neck is resting at what appears to be a very uncomfortable angle. That’s going to hurt later.
Damn, I have to pee.
I sit up slowly on my elbows to get a better grip on my surroundings.
I lift up to a sitting position, wincing from the pain in my ribs, and let my legs drop to the side of the bed.
That bathroom is only a few feet away. I can do this.
“Em? You’re awake.”
My eyes drop and I stare at the floor.
Maybe if I don’t address him he will just go away and allow me to keep some shred of dignity.
