Текст книги "Transcending Darkness"
Автор книги: Airicka Phoenix
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Transcending Darkness
Title Page
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
About Airicka Phoenix
TRANSCENDING DARKNESS
By Airicka Phoenix
Transcending Darkness ©2013 by Airicka Phoenix
All rights reserved.
www.AirickaPhoenix.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and/or the publisher of this book, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Designer: Airicka’s Mystical Creations
Interior Design: Airicka Phoenix
Editor & Formatter: Kathy Eccleston
ISBN-13: 978-1517123970
ISBN-10: 1517123976
Published by Airicka Phoenix
Also available in eBook and paperback publication
Also by Airicka Phoenix
Games of Fire
Betraying Innocence
TOUCH SAGA
Touching Smoke
Touching Fire
Touching Eternity
THE LOST GIRL SERIES
Finding Kia
Revealing Kia
REGENERATION SERIES
When Night Falls
THE BABY SAGA
Forever His Baby
Bye-Bye Baby
Be My Baby
Always Yours, Baby
IN THE DARK SERIES
My Soul For You
Kissing Trouble
SONS OF JUDGMENT SAGA
Octavian’s Undoing
Gideon’s Promise
ANTHOLOGY
Whispered Beginnings: A Clever Fiction Anthology
Midnight Surrender Anthology
Dedication
To Jessica,
For having my back and not getting me locked up.
TRANSCENDING DARKNESS
Chapter 1
“How badly do you want to be free, Juliette?”
As questions went, it was a redundant one. What sort of person didn’t want to be free of the tether binding them to a lifetime of oppression and abuse? What kind of person thrived on the fear of not knowing if they would live to see another day? But Juliette knew it wasn’t the answer Arlo was after. For him, it was to remind her just how far beneath his boots she stood and how her life was his to do with as he so wished.
“I’m sorry the payment was late this month,” she began, talking to his filthy boots rather than facing the man sitting on the hood of his shiny, black Bentley, or the five other men standing in a perfect circular formation around her, caging her in. “I couldn’t pull enough hours—”
“That wasn’t my question.” Arlo slid off the car¸ disturbing the dirt beneath their feet as he kicked absently at a soda can. The bit of metal clattered noisily in the late afternoon as it tumbled across the parking lot. “Do you want to be free?”
Arlo wasn’t much taller than her. Maybe a foot at the very most, but he had intimidation on his side, which was something Juliette severely lacked. Plus he had the gun tucked into the waistband of his black jeans. The butt stood out against the white material of his t-shirt. It was all Juliette could see despite her best efforts not to stare.
Swallowing the thick chunks of bile pooling at the back of her throat, Juliette nodded. “Yes.”
His footsteps drew closer, deliberately slow as the space between them shrank rapidly. He stopped when she could smell the sharp stink of tobacco on his dark clothes and clearly make out the broken road map scarring his boots. The sweet stench of cinnamon rolls curled into the space separating them to claw across her cheeks. It tangled with the stench of stale beer wafting off his breath and taunted the sickness she was fighting so hard to suppress.
“We had a deal you and I, didn’t we?” He reached up and it took all her courage not to cringe when he plucked a coil of her hair off her shoulder. He wound it around a dirty finger, tight enough to tug strands from her scalp. “You promised to pay the debt your father owed me and I wouldn’t take your pretty little sister as compensation. So far, I have kept my end of the bargain, but you haven’t kept yours.”
“I’m sorry—”
With the speeds of an angry cobra, his free hand shot out and closed around her jaw. Jagged nails bit into tender skin as she was wrenched closer. His foul breath cut across her cheeks, burning her senses. Tears sprang to her eyes and were quickly blinked back; he already held all the power over her. She refused to let him see her cry. Oh, but he tried every chance he got to break her.
“Sorry doesn’t get me my money, Juliette,” he murmured in a taunting whisper that was followed by pressure on her face. His cold, brown eyes sliced into her from amongst a messy cap of equally brown hair. Most would have considered him handsome, and maybe he was with his built frame and rugged features, but all Juliette could see was a monster. “I want my money, or something of equal value.”
Crippling terror vaulted up the cavity of her body in a numbing lance when his hand dropped the lock of her hair to snake up the side of her thigh, dragging the worn hem of her waitress uniform up her leg in the process. Chills rushed over her in a torrent of hot and cold. She reflexively grabbed his wrist, but it slid effortlessly inward despite her using both hands against only one of his.
“No, please…”
The hand on her face tightened to the point of blinding pain. Her cry went ignored.
“I own you.”
The hand tucked between her legs to grind in painful nudges over the slip of cotton covering her mound. Her resistance had no effect on him. She was barely able to push him away and that amused him. It lit the dark glimmer of triumph shimmering across his eyes and radiated in the possessive grip of his fingers bruising her jaw. He pulled her in closer so their mouths were mere inches apart and she was forced to swallow every one of his foul exhales.
“Everything you have, everything you will have … mine, and there is nothing you can do about it, Juliette.”
The sickening truth rippled up the length of her to curdle in her chest. It warped around her heart and lungs until she was sure she would suffocate right there at his feet. But even death had abandoned her to his mercy.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, struggling not to fight, while simultaneously restraining his prodding fingers from pushing past the material of her panties. “I’ll get your money!” she promised over the loud boom of terror thundering between her ears. “I promise.”
“See that you do.” His gaze lingered on her mouth, dark and hungry. “And make sure this is the only time we have this conversation.”
He released her and Juliette staggered back in a fit of coughs. A sob worked up into her throat and curled into a tight ball that made her want to do the same across the dirt. Cold, clammy hands went to her face to rub the welts he’d left behind on her skin. The muggy, summer breeze slipped beneath her dress to lick tauntingly at the sweat dampening the material. A violent shudder claimed her.
“And to ensure that this never happens again,” he pivoted on his heels and meandered back to his car. “I want two months’ worth by tomorrow.”
“Two months?” Juliette’s disbelief came out in a choked gasp. “I can’t get six thousand dollars in a day.”
Pausing at the driver’s side door of his Bentley, Arlo turned. “That’s your problem, puta.” He yanked open his door. “Six thousand or your sister by five o’clock tomorrow.”
There was nothing to do but stand back and watch as the group disassembled and peeled off in a plume of dust and exhaust. Around her, the world seemed to roar back into focus with a vengeance. Sights and sounds slammed into her. Their normality paralyzed the breath she was desperately trying to suck in. Despite the heat, her skin prickled in pimples that itched beneath her uniform. Her stomach writhed, a pit of angry snakes struggling for dominance. Nausea pushed against her, threatening to take her under. But she couldn’t. She had work and she couldn’t go in smelling like vomit and sweat.
Knees wobbled as she staggered her way unsteadily to the Around the Bend diner. The squat little burger joint catered mainly to truckers, hookers and the occasional family passing through and was, literally, around the bend before an abrupt drop into the churning Anyox river. It sat off the main highway into the city and was the main stop for most people coming or going. But as tips went, it was questionable. The only ones who actually gave good ones were the truckers and only after spending an hour squeezing her ass. But it was a job and it paid some of her bills.
The afternoon rush had already begun when she stumbled through the door into a wall of palpable heat. Low chatter sweltered through the rancid stench of burnt fries, grease, and stale perfume. Someone had put a quarter into the jukebox and Dolly Parton crooned from the crackling speakers bolted into the two corners of the room. Overhead, the twin fans wobbled and creaked as they churned the sour air like dough beneath a blender head. Juliette always wondered when the two would just dislocate from the ceiling and kill somebody. It was only a matter of time.
“Juliette!” More hairspray than person, Charis Paxton slapped the rag in her hands down onto the counter and speared her tiny fists on voluminous hips. The plastic bangles circling twiggy arms clattered noisily. “You’re late!”
Automatically, Juliette’s gaze darted to the clock behind the auburn beehive adding about two feet to Charis’s four foot nothing stature.
“I’m sorry—”
One child-sized hand cut through the air, five slender fingers splayed in a clear warning to stop talking. She stood like an irate traffic guard at an intersection, but meaner. She burned Juliette with her squinty, blue eyes.
“This isn’t some charity place,” she bit out. “You’re not going to get paid for being lazy.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the woman that she had never been late a single day in two years and that it was only five minutes, but she knew that would only get her fired.
“Do you have any idea how many applications we get a day for your position?” Charis went on in her chirpy squeak. “We could have you replaced within the hour.”
It didn’t matter whether or not that was true. Juliette was in no position to test the theory. So she apologized again before ducking her head and hurrying behind the counter. Her worn sneakers squeaked against the grimy linoleum in her haste to get away from the shrewd woman watching her every movement. Charis didn’t stop her as Juliette disappeared into the back.
Larry, Charis’s husband and their fry cook, looked up from the grill he was scraping with a metal spatula. His pudgy face was flushed and shone with sweat that he wiped off on the hem of his filthy apron. His beady eyes watched Juliette as she darted into the miniature-sized staffroom tucked between the walk-in and the bathroom.
The kitchen was a small, cramped place that barely fit two people. Most of the space was claimed by the grill and deep fryer combo crammed into one corner. It was attached to a sheet of dented metal that ended under the takeout window. The walk-in took up the rest.
Around the Bend was the kind of place she felt like people needed to get a tetanus shot before stepping into, or the sort of place that killed its customers and served them in the burger mix. It was dingy and badly maintained. It made no sense to her why anyone would want to eat there. But people did and so long as they did, she continued to get a paycheck once a week. By no means was it enough to support her, her sister, and the tower of bills that just kept getting bigger each day, but it was something. The rest was made up from her two other jobs that she did throughout the week. Yet no matter how many jobs she worked or how many paychecks she pulled in, it was never enough. Between the mortgage, bills, Viola’s tuition, and Arlo, she barely saw a penny of it.
Things hadn’t always been bad. There had been a time when she had been a normal carefree teenager with a room full of all the crap girls wanted when their life was perfect. She’d had a mother and a father and an irritating baby sister. They had even had a tiny dog that slept on a velvet cushion on her window seat. Back then, she never had to worry about making ends meet. She never even knew where the money came from, only that they had it and she was popular and rich and the envy of everyone at her elite prep school.
Then her mother had died. No amount of money in the world could save her. The cancer had been too advanced. It had taken over her body seemingly overnight. She barely lasted a year. Juliette’s world had fractured the second her mother’s heart monitor had flat lined. Her perfectly manicured existence tumbled into dark chaos and no one stayed to hold her hand through it. Her perfect boyfriend had called her an emotionally unresponsive bitch and left her for her best friend. All the kids who had once begged for a second of her time were nowhere to be seen. Her father drowned himself in whiskey, quit his job, and squandered their money on horses. The checks to the school bounced. The bank began to call three times a day. The cupboards had more cobwebs than food and she had a nine year old sister who needed her. Abandoning her dreams of partying it up in college, Juliette had gotten a job, then two, then three. She worked her fingers to the bone and went home exhausted only to wake up an hour later and do it all over again. But that was her life and someone had to do it.
“Larry?” Securing the apron strings around her waist, Juliette faced the giant beast of a man dumping greasy onion rings out of the fryer. “I was wondering if I could get an advance on my paycheck this week?”
Twisting enormous hands in his apron, Larry turned to her. “You’re still paying off the last advance I gave you.”
“Then an advance on my next week pay? You know I’m good for it,” she pressed. “I’ve been working here for two years. I’m always on time and I come in every time you guys ask me to.”
“Always on time?” he mumbled with a raised eyebrow.
Juliette grimaced. “Today was an exception. I ran into some complications.”
Larry grunted and went back to scooping onion rings into a paper covered basket. “How much do you need?”
It was a struggle not to look away, to not shift uneasily. “Six thousand.”
Larry’s tiny eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. “Six thousand dollars?”
“You know I’ll pay every penny back!” she cut in hurriedly.
“What the hell do you need six thousand dollars for?”
“Bills,” she semi-lied.
“I don’t have that kind of money,” Larry shot back. “Are you crazy? Do I look like a bank to you?”
Already mortified for having even asked, Juliette bristled. “Well, what about three thousand?”
“No!” he barked. “Get to work.”
Cheeks hot, she spun on her heels and stormed from the kitchen.
The Twin Peaks Hotel was the crème de la crème of luxury and sat nestled in the heart of the city. Its gleaming walls of glass glinted in the fading afternoon light. Sparks sliced down the sharp lines in blinding winks. The building itself rose from a bed of lavish green like a sword jutting from its magnificent hilt. For miles all around, lush hills rose and dipped. Manicured bushes swayed daintily in a breeze that wouldn’t dare be anything but soothing. Even in the winter, the surrounding park and golf course remained the picture of absolute perfection. Back when life had been simple, Juliette had dreamed of renting one of the condos at the very top and entertaining the most exclusive people. She used to drive out with her friends and walk the grounds, chattering on like the world was already hers.
Stupid, she thought now as she shifted the strap on her purse higher and ducked through the staff doors at exactly five.
Unlike the cool scent of lavender, sea breeze, and money wafting through the lobby and corridors, the staff area stank of sweat, harsh cleaners, and desperation. The paint was a little duller there, the carpets a little more rundown. It was the type of place dreams went to die. But it was substantially better than Around the Bend. It was certainly cleaner.
Unhooking her purse from around her shoulders, Juliette marched into the change area and made a beeline through the rows of metal lockers and wooden benches. Her locker was tucked away in the far, left corner, away from the showers, the door, and the bathrooms. The alcove held three other lockers owned by three other women Juliette had never talked to, not once in four years. But she was fine with that. Friends required a level of dedication she didn’t have time for.
Grease and sweat left over from her six hour shift at the diner slicked the dial on her lock as she fumbled to get her locker open. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried, the oily sensation never left her skin.
The lock gave with an audible click and she wrenched the metal door open. Her purse was carelessly hung on one of the spare hooks while she kicked off her shoes and reached with her free hand for the maid uniform. The simple gray and white ensemble was a drastic change from her scratchy waitress one. The material was softer and comfortable with a neat little collar that matched the cuffs on the short sleeves. The flat, pearly buttons slipped easily into each hole from hem to throat. She dusted a hand along the front before tying her apron overtop and starting round two of her day.
Being a room attendant took no real brain power, but the manual exertion of it was exhausting.
Most of the customers weren’t too bad, like the older couples who were neat and orderly and only required minimal attending. It was the frat boys, the rich and sleazy assholes who partied hard on their daddy’s dollar and thought they owned the damn world that she couldn’t stand. Walking into one of those rooms always made her want to dress up in a hazmat suit first.
Used condoms, discarded panties with questionable stains, filthy clothes, drug paraphernalia, the stench of sweat, pot, and sex were just some of the things that greeted her when she opened her first room. It was policy to shut the door behind them while they worked, for their own safety as well as the privacy of their clients, but the smell was just unbearable. She wasn’t sure she’d survive being locked up in there.
Going against the rules, she propped the door open with her cart and got to work stuffing everything into trash bags. Personal items were put aside or tossed into the laundry pile. The bed was made, all surfaces wiped down and the floors vacuumed. But it was all done with a quickness she normally didn’t show in her work. Each room would take an hour, two if it was really bad, but she usually took her time and made sure she did everything perfectly.
She didn’t have time for perfect.
Checking the rooms off her clipboard, she grabbed her cart and hurried her way back down through the service elevator. Her foot tapped anxiously on the sheet of metal as she watched the numbers descend.
On five, the doors opened and one of the servers pushed his empty food cart in next to hers. He took ages aligning it perfectly.
“Busy night, huh?” he said unexpectedly as the car started its descent once more.
“Yeah,” she mumbled absently, eyes never steering away from the blinking numbers overhead.
“Are you almost off?” he asked.
She looked at him then, taking in his boyish face, mop of golden brown curls, and sparkling green eyes. Practically still a baby, she thought, judging his age to be roughly nineteen.
“Almost,” she answered.
They approached their level and he let her out first. Juliette propelled her cart straight into the stock room and hurriedly refilled everything she’d used. She emptied the trash, dumped the laundry into the chute and returned her cart to the store room manager, who barely glanced up from his magazine. With five minutes to spare, she bolted towards payroll like her pants were on fire.
“What’s the hurry, chica?”
She ignored the question thrown her way by one of the servers in passing and pumped faster.
Martin, the floor manager and all around douchebag, took his break at midnight and usually didn’t return until six in the morning. If she didn’t catch him before that, she would have to wait to see the accounting clerk and those bastards didn’t come in until nine.
“Martin!” Panting and wheezing, Juliette skidded to a clumsy halt just outside his door and doubled over. “I need to talk to you.”
“You have two minutes,” Martin stated, never once glancing up from his paperwork.
“I need an advance,” she said, staggering in a few steps deeper into the eight by eight room consumed mainly by the metal desk and wall of filing cabinets.
“I’m not payroll,” he muttered.
“No, but they need your verification.”
Round, ruddy face lifted and she was pinned by a pair of sharp, clear blue eyes. “Didn’t you get an advance last week?”
And the week before that, she thought miserably, but didn’t say as much. “It’s an emergency.”
One eye squinted at her warily. “How much?”
“Six,” she said, deciding to go with the high amount and work her way down if he said no.
“Hundred?”
Inwardly, she grimaced. “Thousand.”
“Jesus Christ!” The joints of his chair shrieked when he threw himself back. “What the hell do you need that kind of money for?”
“I told you, it’s an emergency or I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Christ!” Martin said again, rubbing his palm over his pudgy face. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to be responsible for you paying that kind of money back.”
“I’ll pay it back!” Juliette promised. “You know I will. Come on, Martin. I’ve been a model employee. I’m always on time. I finish my work. I’ve never had a complaint. My work is exemplary. You know I’m good for it.”
Martin kept rocking his head from side to side. “Can’t do it. Not only because I won’t, but because payroll will never agree to that amount. Are you crazy?”
“Well, what about three thousand?”
Martin sighed. “The most I can do is maybe five hundred bucks.”
“Five hundred?” Disbelief and outrage rang through her voice even as dread coiled in her chest. She felt the urge to burst into frustrated tears and swallowed it back quickly. “Fine.”
Five hundred bucks wasn’t enough to pay what she owed, nor was it enough to appease Arlo when he came knocking. But maybe it would be enough to give her a few days to come up with the rest.
By the time she shuffled home to the only place she’d ever lived, the clock was sitting at well after three. Shadows spilled along the walls like black paint, obscuring the worn, second hand furniture she’d picked up from street curbs and dumpsters. The original items had been sold off to pay for the overdue mortgage. She hadn’t gotten nearly as much as her parents had paid for them, but it had kept the bank off their backs for a little while. The only things she hadn’t gotten rid of were her and Vi’s bedroom sets. Both had been birthday presents and the last gift their mother had given them. But everything else was gone, leaving empty rooms throughout the house, giving it the appearance of abandonment. Maybe in a way, it was. Juliette certainly no longer lived there. It was a place to keep her things mostly. But it was the one piece of her old life she fought desperately to cling on to.
Careful not to make a sound, she started up the stairs. She knew from the discarded backpack next to the stairway, that Vi was home and already in bed. Her entire body ached. There was a numbness behind her eyeballs that she was certain wasn’t normal and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Instead, she staggered her way into the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise as she locked herself inside.
The bags beneath her brown eyes had bags and each one was a darker shade of purple. They stood out against the dull, lifeless white of her complexion. Dirty blonde wisps stood in erratic, frizzy waves where they had escaped the elastic restraining the unruly curls. She’d taken a shower that morning, but the strands were dull and lanky from sweat, humidity, and grease. She ripped the band out and tossed it down on the counter before shoving away from the mirror to undress. Her waitress uniform hit the floor and was left there as she turned away to climb into the tub for a quick shower.
It was after four in the morning by the time she fell face first across the bed.
True to his promise, Martin had left a note with the accounting clerk regarding her five hundred dollars. The check was waiting for her when Juliette returned to the hotel the next morning. She signed for it before making her way to the staff lounge and the coin operated phone mounted to the wall.
Juliette didn’t own a cellphone. It was an extra expense that she couldn’t afford. Vi had one and only because it gave Juliette some piece of mind knowing her sister could use it in case of an emergency, even though, at the end of the month, Vi racked up a bill fit for six cellphones. But Juliette had no problem using a payphone if she really needed to. She very seldom ever had anyone to call anyway.
There were still three hours before her shift started at the arcade and fun pit. Thankfully, unlike her commute from the diner on the outskirts and the hotel smack dab in the very heart of the city, the arcade was a reasonable twenty minutes from her house by bus. The bank was ten minutes. But she still had to call Arlo and hopefully talk him into taking the five hundred for the time being. The very thought made her insides writhe.
The staff lounge was occupied by one other person, a woman in a maid’s uniform. Realistically, for the amount of time Juliette spent at the hotel, she should have at least known some of the others. Some she did recognize on sight, but others were new or she never paid attention. Maybe that made her an antisocial weirdo, but she rarely found time to sit down and have a proper meal, never mind an actual conversation with another human being.
The woman never glanced up when Juliette hurried across the worn carpet to the tiny alcove cut into the other side of the room. The phone booth hung over a small, wooden table containing a tattered phonebook. It was flipped open to a cab company ad. The number was circled with a bright, red pen.
Juliette ignored it as she snatched up the phone, inserted fifty cents and punched in Arlo’s number. After seven years, it was as clear to her as her own name. She didn’t even need to look at the dial pad.
A man answered on the fourth ring.
“Yeah?”
Juliette had to swallow hard before she could answer. “This is Juliette Romero. I need to speak to Arlo … please.”
The gruff man said something away from the phone. There was some scuffling and then Arlo’s voice was in her ear.
“Juliette. Do you have my money?”
Nausea soured the contents of her empty stomach. The plastic handle squished beneath her clammy palm as she gripped the phone harder.
“Not exactly,” she murmured unsteadily. “I have some of it, but—”
“Juliette.” Feigned disappointment crackled between them in the single exhale of her name. “I don’t like hearing that.”
“I know, and I tried, but it’s a lot of money to get in a single night.”
Arlo sighed. “How much do you have?”
More and more, it was becoming increasingly harder to breath around the sickness climbing up her throat. Dull, gray fingers had begun to creep up around the edges of her vision and she had to struggle not to pass out.
“Juliette.”
Oh how she hated when he said her name like that, in that sing-song manner.
“Five hundred,” she said. “I have … it was all I could get.”
There was a hiss of air being sucked through clenched teeth.
“Oh that isn’t what we agreed to at all, is it, Juliette? That isn’t even half.”
“I’ll get the rest—”
“You know, it’s not about the money, Juliette. It’s about keeping your word. I was really good to you, wasn’t I? I gave you time—”
“One day isn’t—”
Arlo kept on talking. “I thought for sure we had some kind of understanding when we spoke yesterday. But maybe you just don’t care about your sister as much as you claim. Maybe you’re hoping I’ll take the hindrance off your hands.”
“No! Please, Arlo, just give me a little—”
“The time for bargaining is over, Juliette. I want your sister delivered to me by six PM sharp tonight or I will get her myself.”
