Complicated Love
Page 1
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright - 2017 Harper Phoenix
All rights reserved.
First and foremost, I want to thank my husband and children for allowing me the time it takes to enter this world in my head and write these characters. Without their support and patience, none of this would be possible. My mum for her unwavering support of my writing! And my grandad for believing in me.
Next up is my huge thanks and appreciation to Kim, my PA, she keeps me busy and my schedule full to bursting! Which means I get to meet all of you guys in one way or another! I swear she works all hours of the day! I’m so glad you chose me to be your first author. And I’m honoured to call you a friend.
To my street team—who pimp like their lives depend on it, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart! Especially Lesley and Sarah who do all the background work for me—making sure it all runs smoothly, as well as Beta my work. Again I am so lucky to be able to call you my friends!
For all the Harlots in my reader group. Thank you so much! I cannot tell you how much you all mean to me! I never thought when I embarked on this journey that I would have more than a few friends following me! But you guys knocked it out of the park! I am so grateful to you all.
To my Editor, Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words, for making my words pretty and readable!
To Jo-Anna Walker of Just Write creations for designing yet another kickass cover and making my words pretty in every form!
And last but by no means least, to my readers! Thank you so much. You mean the world to me, and I couldn’t do this without you!
For my Nanna. Always and forever in my heart.
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
.
Two weeks after her rescue.
I’M IN PROVERBIAL hell.
I’d been held against my will for so long before they left me for dead and dumped me, but I’ve gone from one set of captors to another. I’ve seen shit that I never thought possible, and I’ve been through shit I can’t even get my head around right now.
I’ve been saved, and now I’m apparently free.
Oh, but I can’t leave because it isn’t safe.
I want to run. A million fucking miles from here. To where, I’m not sure, but I want to be as far away from this freak show as possible. Oh, but there’s a catch. I’m an addict. Yeah, that’s right, I’m a fucking addict. And having this particular addiction means I can’t go anywhere even if I wanted to. They hold all the cards. Me, I’m just existing. My only way out is death, and that’s what I have to work on because I sure as shit am not sticking around for this shit show.
The worst thing about it is no-one will be missing me. I bounced around in the foster care system as a kid. I was not what they called ‘adoptable’, so I was passed from home to home. Some were good—some weren’t. It was just what it was, and I dealt with it. I never complained, and I was always really well behaved. I achieved at school too because I wasn’t going to live that life forever, I promised myself that. And that’s how I ended up at university. I worked my arse off to get the grades I needed. I didn’t bother with boys, and I didn’t bother with friends until I got here. My only real friend, I guess, had been Devon. I say had because that friendship is fucking done. The mere thought of her boils my blood right now. I hate her. I hate this place, and I hate everything about it. Them too. Whatever they are—because they aren’t human.
I thought I was hallucinating when I was taken. Drugged up to a point where I was imagining things. I even thought that I’d wake up in my dorm room after a crazy-arse dream, but it didn’t happen. The nightmare was real, and so were the freaks that had taken me. I had just started my life and was celebrating my hard work. And then bam. It was all gone. Kidnapped, raped, beaten, left for dead, saved, and locked up again. I mean, as if I didn’t have it hard enough to start with. Who said life was fair though huh? Not for me anyway.
They tell me I’m safe here. That no one will hurt me again, and I’d like to believe it, believe Brad. He says they are different from those that hurt me.
Brad. He’s my addiction. Not him exactly, but his blood. I need it every damn day just to be able to get out of bed. I’m not a sicko. I don’t drink it or anything. No, I have it jacked straight into my veins. I hate that I need it. Hate that I look forward to having it. Hate that it makes me feel amazing. I’ve seen druggies all my life and never had any sympathy—now I guess I’m just the same. It’s Brad’s room that I’m in too. He’s always talking about stupid shit when he’s left to babysit me. He’ll talk, even though I pretend to be asleep so I can ignore him. But it doesn’t stop him. He has a sense of humour, and if we’d met under different circumstances—and I didn’t know he was some kind of beast from hell—I’d find him amusing. Funny even. But I’d been through enough at the hands of those weird bastards not to find anything even remotely funny ever again. I wish I’d just died. It would have been easier. What the fuck is the point of a life like this?
I’m still in a lot of pain, and I can’t sleep without reliving the nightmares. Even when I’m awake, I see shit. Could be the drugs they have pumping into me, but I’m guessing without them, I’d be in a whole lot more pain. So I keep quiet and let the woman, Zoe, do her stuff. I’ve also heard them talking out on the landing about the alpha. He says I’m not allowed to stay alive because I know too much about them. I’m hoping he hurries up and kills me already, but I know that Devon and her man are arguing for me to stay. I’ve been here for around two weeks I think. I watched as Devon killed the woman who sold us out. I watched the whole thing and felt nothing. No emotion. Even though I know deep down that she was the real reason I was taken. She’s the one that told them to take me—to get Devon to talk. I know this, and yet I
still can’t stomach being around Devon.
‘You have Devon to thank for this,’ my captors would say to me, over and over when they—
I can’t go there not now. I’m badly messed up. I have injuries all down my right side. Burns from my ear, which is barely there—just a little bit of mangled skin. My hair just behind it is gone, and the burn stretches down the back of my neck and shoulder, down to my elbow. I have another patch just above my hip and another just under my right boob. It’s awful—like Freddy Kruger skin. It still itches too. My leg and hip were broken, but the blood heals me because they aren’t human. They are werewolves, shifters, or whatever. They heal really fast, which is why they gave me Brad’s blood to try and save my life. And it worked, except, because my body doesn’t produce that blood, I now have to have it every day.
Sometimes I feel grateful to be alive. When the blood kicks in, I’m even grateful that they saved me. But most days, and especially nights, I just want to end it all.
2 weeks later
I WALK INTO my room. Maiya has her eyes open, and she looks quite alert.
‘Hey, you’re awake. Must have seen my fine arse coming huh?’
She rolls her eyes but gives me nothing. Jeez, I wish she’d cut me some fucking slack. I’ve been stuck here while every other motherfucking windbag got to go out hunting, and I get this chick dumped in my lap. Well, not literally, but she’s taken over my fucking bed and isn’t even being nice about it. Meanwhile, I have a crick in my ass, and my muscles ache like a bitch from sleeping in the fucking chair in the corner or on the floor. And this is the thanks I get. A look that could turn a man to stone. I laugh at my own reference to Medusa because the way she looks right now, her hair all matted and shit, it’s not a bad likeness. But I don’t think anyone would be happy with that reference, so I keep my mouth firmly shut. I still get a deadly look from her though—like she wishes she could shoot laser beams from her eyes and kill me dead.
‘So you wanna watch a film? Read a book? Tell me a story? I’m a gentleman, so I’ll let you choose?’ She turns her head away from me, but just before she does, I see the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. I’m working my way in though because a couple of weeks ago she wouldn’t even open her eyes when I spoke to her. So we’re slowing moving forward.
‘I gotta say, I don’t just give up my bed to any random woman, so I hope you know how privileged you are,’ I joke, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn’t have said it. But I have, and it is there in the air between us. She makes a strangled garbled kind of sound in her throat. I wait for a beat to see if she’s going to speak, but she doesn’t. So I just turn on the television and don’t say a whole lot more. I can’t deal with this shit much longer. They’ll either have to let her go or give her a different room. I make a mental note to speak to Jared about it in the morning. Nah, actually, fuck it, why should he have a good fucking time in his room while I’m stuck with this ungrateful bitch every night, and nowhere to sleep. I can’t even wank without worrying I’ll wake her up. Nah, fuck this.
*Hey, dickhead. You having a nice kip?* I text him. The reply is almost instant.
* Was… wtf you want?* I knew he’d snap.
*How about a nice bed to sleep in and maybe my fucking room back?* It’s not a lot to ask really.
*Are you telling me you haven’t tapped that yet?* Fucking like to see anyone try and tap that.
*The fuck I have. She’d kill my arse with one look.* I reply
*You have a king—she’s small, deal with it.* For fuck’s sake.
*Howard has a king. So does every other fucker in this house. Why me?* I ask
*I’m sleeping*
*No, you’re not!* Fucker.
*I’m gonna come and get in your bed. See how you like sharing.*
I knew that would piss him off. Ha, I wait a beat of a second and my phone rings. I swipe the screen and answer the call, flicking the television off as I do.
‘Come anywhere near my fucking bed, and I’ll kill your ass. You feel me?’ he whisper-shouts down the phone. Devon must be asleep.
‘I’m only small, deal with it.’ I laugh throwing his words back at him.
‘Fuck you, Brad, seriously. Why the fuck, you waking me up with this shit? What’s the problem?’
I sigh. I’m being a prick. I know it, but I’m fucking tired, and I hate not getting sleep. ‘I’m tired, and this chick’s taken over my room.’
‘You fucking took her there. No one asked you to. You could have put her anywhere.’
‘You told me I had to babysit her. Watch her all the time. How can I do that if she’s somewhere else?’
‘Exactly. You’ve answered your own question. Now fuck off and let me get some sleep.’
That fucker played me right into that one. I curse as I throw the phone onto the table. It makes a clanging noise, making the princess in my bed jump and lift her head. I walk over to the other side of the bed and start to strip down to my boxers.
‘What are you doing?’ she screeches and starts throwing her arms and legs about.
‘Calm the fuck down. I’m just getting in the bed. I need some sleep, and the floor isn’t doing me any favours.’ I slide the covers back, and I get in. She scoots as far away as she can and looks at me like I just killed her pet gerbil. And it pisses me off.
‘For fuck’s sake, don’t flatter yourself. I want the bed, not you.’ She gasps like I just slapped her. I turn on my side and try to forget she’s there. She doesn’t relax, and I can feel her shaking. I feel like an asshole now, but if I try and make it right, she’ll just think I’m being smooth and trying to get in her knickers. So I ignore it. And fall to sleep.
I wake up to screaming, and it takes me a minute to orient myself. I soon realise it’s Maiya, she’s flailing her arms and legs, and she’s screaming and yelling for someone to let her fucking go. I smell blood, so I fling the covers back. ‘Fuck,’ I mutter. She’s in a deep sleep, but she’s thrown her arms about that much she’s made herself bleed. I run to the bathroom and get a wet cloth. She’s moaning and still fighting against me as I do my best to clean her up.
‘No,’ she screams. ‘Please, no more. Please, not again.’ Then she quietens down before she starts grunting. She’s curling herself in a ball like someone is wailing on her. Then she starts sobbing. I try to wake her, but she won’t come around. She’s screaming for whatever is happening to her to stop—begging for it to end. Her legs open wide, and she goes still, her head to one side. I realise what it is she’s reliving, and I feel fucking sick. I back off, moving into the bathroom. I can still hear her whimpering on the bed. I need to put a fucking stop to this. I march back over and shake her. I shake her so fucking hard because I can’t bear to watch—to listen to another fucking minute of it. I feel her fingers tighten around my arms as I shake her awake.
‘Get the fuck off me.’ She finally opens her eyes and looks at me. The shock and fear I see in her face makes my stomach roll. I pull away and just stand at the side of the bed as she pulls the covers up and under her chin. Tears fill her eyes, and it's then, when she looks so vulnerable, that I realise how beautiful she really is. Her eyes—that normally look at me like she wants to kill me—are actually fucking beautiful, so big and blue. I can’t speak for a second. I have to shake myself and get my brain ticking.
‘You were having a bad dream,’ I tell her. She nods, ‘I’ve been trying to wake you for a while, but you wouldn’t wake up, I’m sorry if I scared you.’ And I meant it. I’m really fucking sorry if I caused her to relive that shit. I gather my jeans from the floor and pull them on. As I pull my tee over my head, I walk over to the chair and try to get comfortable. It's fucking impossible, but I can’t get back in the bed if that’s what happens. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been such a dickhead. I watch her through a small slit in my eye, as I’m pretending to go to sleep. She’s hunched against the headboard with her knees tucked under her chin. She’s as scared as shit, and I can’t help but feel
sorry for her. Right there, I promise not to be such a dick to her. She has been through some fucking awful shit. That much I knew because of her scars, but there was clearly stuff that I didn’t know. And it was that shit that had left the deepest scars of all.
I WATCH HIM sleep in the chair. He looks uncomfortable. There’s a dim light in the room from the moon outside. It must be big tonight because it's casting a bright glow. I tilt my head and watch him. He isn’t snoring, but there is a slight whistle as he exhales. Must be the way it's blowing through his teeth. It’s not annoying, which is good because he stays in here every night.
Not that I sleep much anyway. Every time I close my eyes I see them. They were never alone, always coming for me in twos or more. They would take turns but get just as hyped up from watching as they did…
I swallow, and my throat feels dry, almost like I have a shard of glass in there. I move a little, stretching my legs, and the bed creaks just a bit, but not enough to wake him. I turn the quilt out, place my feet flat on the floor and curl my toes up and then under. The wooden floor feels cool on my feet, but as I stand, my right leg gives, and I fall back onto the bed with a thump. Pain radiates all the way upwards from my ankle to my hip, and I fall back onto the bed. I try to get up again, placing my feet on the cold wooden floor again. This time, I take my time. I push up with my arms, trying to take the weight off my leg. It works, and in a second I am on my feet and shuffling, albeit slowly, to the door across the room. The floor groans a little as I get nearer the bathroom. And as I open the door, it creaks so damn loud I curse under my breath. I dare a look across to the chair. He still has his eyes closed, but I have a feeling he’s no longer asleep. I open the door and forget there isn’t a light switch inside. So I pop my arm back around the door and feel for a switch.
‘It’s up and to the right a bit.’
I gasp as his voice scares the shit out of me. But I find the light and flick it on. I want to say thanks, and I almost do, but I close the door instead and see myself in the long mirror on the back of it. I barely recognise myself. My hair is a crazy mess, and my face has a yellowish tinge. My eyes are still blue, but they look so different like they’ve lost their shine. Is that even possible? The whites of my eyes look yellow, and then there are the scars. I unbutton the shirt to look them over. I think back to how I got them and hear a blood-curdling noise and cover my ears from the sound.