Weeping Violet

by D W Marshall

  Weeping Violet

  A Dark Romance Novel

  D.W. Marshall

  Wicked Moon Penning

  Copyright © 2020 by D.W. Marshall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Weeping Violet is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Heidi Dorey

  Edited by AuthorsAssistant.com

  Interior Design by Danielle H. Acee

  To my sons, Spencer and Jacksen. Keep reaching for your dreams, they are closer than you think.

  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

  Epilogue

  Shattered Sapphire Excerpt

  Also by D.W. Marshall

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  1

  How can I be afraid and excited at the same time? On one hand, I’m free. Mason kept his promise and let us go. In style, too. I’m sure the private plane and escort to our front doors had more to do with him and his control than it does with concern for us. But here I am, rolling down the road in the back of a luxury sedan on the way to my house. I missed my mother so much while I was gone. I’m almost more afraid to see what my disappearance did to her. She already suffered the loss of my father, and now this. Maybe calling her first would be a better option?

  I’ve been counting the minutes, hours, and days to my release, but I never thought about what it all means for me or for her. Shit. What about my best friends Tabitha and Taron…and Logan? What about him? Did he move on and find someone else? Could I blame him if he did? No, I can’t. I’ve been gone a whole year.

  The closer we get to my destination, dread and fear replace my excitement. I have to remember my new mantra. I open my journal that has been sitting on my lap this whole ride and I scrawl the ten words that have given me strength since I boarded the plane home. I am safe. I am strong. I am a survivor. I close my eyes and take deep breaths; we are close to home.

  “Miss, we’re here,” the driver interrupts my attempts at calming myself down.

  I glance up at him and offer a tight smile. My heart is racing and slamming against my chest.

  I turn and look at my home. It’s small and sweet, just like I remember it, with bright spring flowers and a neat, manicured lawn. I stare down at the words I have written in my journal—my salvation during the last year. I filled it with my fears, my secret wishes, and dreams, and my growing inner strength is revealed between the lines. I can do this.

  This is it. I am going to hit the reset button. Home.

  It’s time to forever shed the label of Violet the sex slave…the Chambermaid…whatever I was during the last year, and become me again.

  Once I ring that doorbell, I step back into my life as Brinley Avery Bishop—college student, daughter, and aspiring actress. Girlfriend? Maybe I should follow my agent’s advice and dye my naturally blonde locks. I could do a vibrant red, or even a deep brown. The color doesn’t matter. The point is, if I look less like me, I will feel less like her.

  My legs are lead as I climb out of the car and make my way up the short path to the front door. With sweaty palms, I reach for the bell. My only thoughts are for the woman on the other side and what her reaction to my arrival is going to be. Mom must be out of her mind. I can’t imagine what she suffered—waking up one day to learn that her only daughter is missing. I’m sure by now she believes I’m dead. How else could she mentally survive?

  What am I going to say to her about my absence? What will be enough for her? What will be too much for Mason?

  Too much time has passed.

  Still, I have to do this. This is my home and we are the only family the other has. With shaky hands, I depress the bell and I wait.

  It feels like forever.

  My chest feels heavy and tight. My body is teeming with nervous energy, so much that my hands tremble. She’ll have questions. How will I answer them? Mason was dead serious when he made his threat to us: “Breathe a word of your whereabouts, or what took place here, and you will see me again.”

  It’s not like I even know where I was. He made sure to blindfold me during my arrival and my departure. Mason did his job well. No one used their real name in The Chamber, not even me. So what would I say? There is nothing that I could add that would help anyone locate the place.

  What Mason doesn’t know is that he has nothing to worry about. All I want to do is forget about my year of being passed around from stranger to stranger as they used my body for their own pleasure. I am the last person who would run around broadcasting what I went through. The sooner I can put it all behind me, the better—but, somehow, I know I will never forget.

  When the door flies open my mother and I just stare into each other’s green eyes. She looks older. Her eyes lack their usual brightness. Her blonde hair lacks its usual luster. I probably look too good. During the last year I was kept in impeccable shape and condition through regular spa treatments, my own personal groomer, and massages. That’s another thing I’ll have to explain to my mother. Of course, one would expect a kidnapping victim to look beaten or bruised, worse for the wear, not like she just stepped off a photo shoot.

  “Brinley.” The word is a whisper. She gazes at me like I’m a ghost from her past.

  I grab my mother into my arms. She folds into them and we both sob in the doorway. I don’t let my mother go for what feels like forever. I don’t want to. She is home. Seeing her, holding her, is my only proof that I am home and free.

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside, honey.”

  My mother takes my hand and doesn’t let it go. I follow her inside on unsteady legs and take a seat on the sofa because I lack the strength to stand at the moment. On my long plane ride home, I thought of all the things I would say to my mother. Somehow, all of those words have evaded me. I feel like a stranger, like a cloned version of myself. All of a sudden, I am a sci-fi experiment. I look like Brinley. I sound like her, too. I even have her memories. But something feels different, because I am not the same. I’m tarnished and forever changed because of The Chamber. How can anyone experience an entire year at the hands of a cunning and sadistic monster and not be ruined and broken? Even the strongest among the seven of us will struggle when she gets home.

  I gaze around the house where I grew up, and it pretty much looks the same as it did a year ago. My mother has always preferred a minimalist approach to decor. There’s a sofa, a television stand, a small flat-screen television, a bookshelf she made from recycled materials, and her abstract paintings adorn the walls. I remember when she first picked up painting. I teased her and said, “Just because you purchase a blank canvas and acrylic paints, it doesn’t make you an artist.” But looking around at them now, after a year of missing her and my home, I realize her paintings are masterpieces. They are to me because they’re an integral p
art of our home.

  My mom is a hippie who has always believed that a house is meant for eating and sleeping, and living takes place outdoors. Camping, hiking, biking, sightseeing, or gardening—any activity that gives us the opportunity to convene with nature—is what we should spend our valuable time doing.

  She returns with a glass of water. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d left the room. I take my time sipping my water and tasting it. I savor the simplicity of a drinking a glass of water in my home. I glance over at my mother and see that her face is wet with tears. Mine is, too. Suddenly, the water has to compete with the lump that has taken up residency in my throat.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” she blurts out before taking me into her arms again. There is no coffee table to set my glass on, so I hold onto it and her. We cry big, sorrowful, relief-filled tears onto each other’s shoulders. “I am never letting you out of my sight again. Do you hear me?” She breaks our hold and begins checking me in earnest. “Where have you been? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “Define ‘hurt,’” I say, wiping my eyes.

  “Please tell me what happened, Brinley. Where were you?” She wipes her eyes.

  I take a deep breath and begin to tell the last story I ever want to repeat. The worst part is that I know this won’t be the last time I have to tell it. There will always be questions. The hardest part is figuring out the equal balance of what I can tell her without landing myself on Mason’s hit list, while keeping in mind that she’s a mother who has been without word from her child for a year.

  “I decided to go for a morning run near school,” I take a long draw of my water. “I know that I should have listened to Logan. He said it was not safe for me to be running alone, especially in Hollywood. But you know me. You always said ‘Stubborn’ was my middle name…. Mom, do you happen to have anything stronger than water?” I need liquid courage before I can keep going.

  “Sure, baby.” She pops up and quickly returns with a bottle of Pinot and two wine glasses.

  I guess we both need something extra right now. I take my full wine glass and practically down it. It only takes a couple of minutes before the alcohol makes me less anxious.

  “Like an idiot, I left my dorm and my friends, and I took off on a run toward the GPO by myself.”

  “The what?” Mom asks.

  “Seriously, Mom? The Griffith Park Observatory. I didn’t think anything of it, really. I mean, I always thought the freaks came out at night, you know? But that was the day I learned the freaks never sleep.” I take another long draw of my wine and finish it. My mother refills my glass. I don’t hesitate to take another sip. “I made it to the GPO in record time. I was feeling that high I get from running. Then I bent down to tie my shoe, and before I could get back to my feet again, I saw three men coming for me. I didn’t even have a chance to run, scream, or fight. They were on me before I could process what was happening. They put a cloth to my face and that was it. Lights out for me.”

  My mother finishes her first glass and pours another. Tears are rolling freely down her cheeks. I can’t visibly see her hands shaking, but I hear the bottle clank repeatedly against her wine glass.

  I continue. “When I woke up, I was on an airplane.”

  “Where did they take you?” Her voice catches on a sob.

  “I have no idea. I thought for sure I was headed to my death. I had no reason to believe otherwise. I mean, only psychos would kidnap perfect strangers. I just knew I was going to die and we’d never see each other again.” I pause and draw in two deep breaths. This is the tricky part. What I say from here on could get me into a lot of trouble if I believe Mason’s threat, and I do. “What I learned after I got off the plane ride was that death would have been the easy way out for me, Mom. Death would have meant peace. But when I got off of that plane, I never thought I would know peace again.”

  My mother tries to stifle her heavy sobs as they rip through her, but I can tell she has never been more scared than this moment, hearing my words. My living nightmare.

  “The place I was taken was a sex club for rich and powerful men. I was forced to work there, and…I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!” My mother pulls me into her arms. Her cries are loud and frightened. “We have to call the police.” She squeezes me.

  “And tell them what?” I pull away from her so I can look her in the eyes. She needs to understand that calling or telling anyone is not an

  option. Especially the police. “The man who took us warned us that if we said anything, he’ll come after us. He said we wouldn’t be safe anywhere on earth. He will make us suffer. He’s a dangerous man. Trust me. The men who take part in his annual chambers will do anything to keep this covered up. Let it be over. Isn’t it enough that I’m home?” I beg and plead with her.

  My mother grabs my arms and shakes me a little. “You listen here. I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass about this monster. He took you, kept you for a year, and made you do unspeakable things. He has to pay. He has to be stopped.” Her voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it.

  I jump up from the sofa. I have to get through to her. “This is a losing battle. You don’t want this. What if he takes me again? Just drop it, Mom! When I first got there he showed us videos. He watched us for two years before he kidnapped me. He’s probably watching me now. I have the money. I just want to forget.” Tears are pouring down my cheeks.

  I just want her to understand, I don’t want to look over my shoulder. I want to live my own life, free of The Chamber. Free of The Monster. I need to work at living my new life. I hit the reset button and now I need to find my new normal.

  “I just want to get past this, Mom.” I am exhausted.

  “What money, Brinley?” she asks.

  “Four million dollars,” I say. My voice is just above a whisper. I know she is going to freak out. I mean, if I was a mother and my daughter was telling me what I am telling her, I would freak out, too. “I know you have to call the police and tell them I’m home. I know they will want to talk to me and ask me questions. But I can only tell them the bare minimum.” I continue to speak in a low, unsure voice. “This is the way it has to be, Mom. It’s the only way I can be here with you.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” My mother jumps up from the sofa and starts pacing. “I don’t understand. Why would you have four million dollars?”

  I flop back down on the sofa. I bring my knees up to my chest and bury my face into them. At this point, the only way I can speak to my mother is from this position. Discussing any aspect of my time in The Chamber is exactly what I wanted to avoid. It was the most humiliating and embarrassing year of my life. I know that showing up on my mother’s doorstep, after being gone for a year with no word or communication, an explanation can’t be avoided.

  “I don’t know, Mom. We are talking about a crazy person here. He kidnapped seven of us, made us have sex with a bunch of rich guys for a year, then paid us millions for it. Crazy is not meant to be understood. Crazy seems to have the power to do whatever it wants.” I knew this would be difficult for her. How can I expect anyone to understand what I went through? I know—with the exception of the six other girls, my sisters—no one ever will. I’m not happy that I was paid, but I’m not going to give the money back. It won’t change what happened to me, or to any of us. I left a sex chamber a millionaire.

  The worst part of all of this is how confused I feel. When I first arrived at The Chamber I wanted to die—to curl myself into a tiny ball and fade away to nothing. But an experience like that changes you. The Chamber was nothing like I expected it to be. I wasn’t chained to a wall. I wasn’t kept in some dank, dark cell. I wasn’t beaten or drugged.

  It was quite the opposite. I made friends with the other girls. I had massages and manicures and movie nights. I had my own personal trainer and groomer. The only time I felt like I was in hell was when I had to perform sex acts with strangers who, by the end of the
year, weren’t even strangers to me anymore. All of this knowledge, coupled with the money, makes me even more confused, and makes my experience even harder to fathom. Anyone I tell the full details of my story to would think I’m crazy, too. The first question that will spring forth in their minds will be, “Why did you stay?” As if I had a choice.

  Personally, I don’t know why Mason is worried about us telling anyone. I never want anyone to really know what happened within those vast walls.

  What would I say, anyway? Well, Mom, I had sex with thirty-five different men. Thirty-seven if you include the times that Mason had his turn with me, or the times I fell asleep in my Chamber, and my personal guard, Gabe, came to visit me. Why should I feel guilty about the money? I know it won’t buy me my sanity, but that much money will help me start my new life—especially when I don’t even know who I am anymore.

  My mother watches me with concern in her green eyes. I hope she can see me. I’m the same little girl who loved acting and making up stories since I was in grade school. I'm the same girl who wanted to finish college and travel to New York with my boyfriend, Logan, and attend Juilliard. And even though I am not quite as hippie as she is, I hope she still recognizes the me who saw the beauty in the mountains, the trees, and the ocean. I am praying that as she gazes at me with confusion and concern, I still exist in her eyes, because I may need her help to find myself along the way.

  When my mother scoots toward me on the sofa, I am surprised and relieved when she grabs me into the most loving and protective embrace I have ever felt. We both sob again in each other’s arms. She may never understand what happened to me, but she loves me, regardless.