Broken - Anniversary Edition (Broken Trilogy Book 4)

  Broken

  Broken Trilogy, Book One

  J.L. Drake

  Broken – 5 Year Anniversary Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by J.L. Drake.

  All rights reserved.

  Second Print Edition: March 2020

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Book Pages By Design

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-820-2

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This 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 locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For my mother, who has followed this story with me from the very beginning. Thank you for the endless support you’ve given me in everything I’ve ever tried.

  I love you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Prologue

  Deceit

  Deception

  Dishonest

  Distortion

  Fiction

  Myth

  Tale

  Fib

  …any way you say it, it means the same thing…lies.

  Chapter One

  Savannah

  I don’t know how long I’ve been here—four months, possibly five. Time passes in strange ways when you have no means to mark it. At first, I counted time by the meals I received, but after a while they became fewer and less dependable. I know for sure I’ve been here one full season. The men went from wearing long sleeve shirts to t-shirts.

  My prison is a small room with a rusty bed that squeaks whenever I shift position. A tiny wooden table with a small stool takes up one corner, and a toilet and sink hide behind a tattered curtain in the other. No windows, no TV, nothing to read but an old copy of Wiseguy by Nicolas Pileggi. I wasn’t one for reading crime novels in the past, but I can recite every single word by heart now.

  I hear the familiar sound of the key retracting the lock, and my stomach sinks. I pull at my ratty sweater, wrapping it around my midsection a little tighter—like that is going to help protect me from them.

  I hear his boots scuff on the hardwood, and sweat breaks out along the back of my neck. Shit, it’s him. My skin crawls when I see his sausage-like fingers holding a tray of food for me. His hairy stomach pushes out below his t-shirt and bulges over the top of his jeans. As soon as he spots me, he gives me his lopsided smile.

  “Hola, chica. How are you today?” His voice is raspy and his accent thick, but I understand every word. His body language is enough in itself. “I asked you a question,” he barks at me.

  “Fine,” I say through the lump in my throat.

  He stands holding the tray above me. Finally, I raise my eyes to meet his, and he smirks, showing me how much he enjoys having this power over me. I’ve had enough encounters with this man to know he won’t leave without wanting something in return. Luckily, up until now, it’s never been anything sexual—just more head games. That doesn’t mean he’s never insinuated it. I tremble, shaky fingers pulling at the hem of my cotton nightgown that reaches mid-thigh. I don’t need to give him any ideas. His gaze drops to my legs, and he licks his lips.

  “Beg,” he orders, drawing out the word.

  My mouth goes dry. He loves this part. I am an animal to him. He calls me his perra, which means dog in Spanish. My temper rises as I try to tell myself to stop, but I can’t help it. I am past caring anymore.

  I give him the sweetest smile I can muster. “Screw you.” I’ve never spoken more than I absolutely had to since I got here, and suffice it to say, he is blown away by my choice of words. Normally, I do what I’m told while secretly fantasizing the many ways I’d like to kill this man. I try to behave, never wanting to relive my first few days here. The incredible pain after they beat me to a bloody pulp when I didn’t do what was asked made me wise up quickly.

  My present adrenaline high is short-lived, however, as I watch his eyes narrow and his jaw tighten. He suddenly tosses the tray across the room, shattering the dishes against the wall.

  “No food for you, pedazo de mierda!” he hisses, taking a step toward me. I cover my ears and tuck my knees up to my chest. This man is large enough to pick me up in one hand and toss me across the room, duplicating the tray’s fate. He grabs a handful of my hair and drags me, my knees bouncing along the floor like a rag doll. I barely register the pain—I am more aware that this six foot, three hundred seventy-five pound man is hovering over me, enraged. Why did I have to get smart? The only thing I have going for me is they haven’t killed me yet. Maybe I am being held for ransom. It’s no secret my father has a lot of money, and everyone knows his name—he is running for a second term as mayor of New York City.

  I try to force myself up onto my hands, but his boot crushes on my back, forcing me down hard. My forehead smacks against the floor, and my ears ring. I let out a whimper as my eyes focus on something just out of reach. I hear the sound of him removing his belt, and my heart quickens. No, no, no! This can’t be happening. If I could just move a few feet to the right…I muster up all I have and launch myself forward along the floor.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is calm—oh, so calm. My fingers wrap around the broken piece of plate, and I tuck my hand under my chest to hide it. “Come.” He bends down, grabbing my feet and flipping me over, and drags me back toward the bed. I scream in protest. I kick and wiggle, but his grip is too tight. “Feisty little thing, aren’t ya?”

  He leans over me, and I take my opportunity. I shoot upward, driving the sharp piece of glass into his neck. His eyes go wide with shock, and he falls to his side with a loud thud, cursing and digging at the object. I scramble to my feet and head for the open door.

  I have no idea what direction to go, but I don’t care. For the first time in forever, I am free of that room. I move as fast as my feet can take me. I’m low on sugar and my head feels light, but I keep going—this is my chance. Physical activity has not been a part of my world for so long it is hard for my brain to wait while my legs try desperately to keep up.

  The hallway is long with lots of doors, the wallpaper is ripped in places, and the lighting is low. It looks like an abandoned hotel, but where are the windows? I keep winding around corners, holding myself upright against the walls as my knees grow weak. I have no sense of direction; every hallway looks the same. I hear voices getting louder, and my heart is in my throat. I try pulling and pushing on the closest door handle, but it doesn’t budge. Stinging tears race down my cheeks.
Panic is kicking in, and sobs overtake me. I fight them back, but I feel I’m letting myself down. I have a chance to escape, and I can’t even open a goddamned door! A heavy click followed by a humming noise makes me freeze. Then the lights flicker and go out.

  I cover my mouth to stop the screams as my hands shake violently and my teeth chatter. I press my back against the door for support. A bright flicker off to the left draws my eye, but it quickly dies, replaced by a dull orange glow. Someone is standing about ten feet from me, smoking a fat cigar. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. When I open them again, I’m met with a mean set of eyes inches from my face. I am unable to move. I know this man. I’ve seen him a few times before, and I think he runs this place. He puffs away, filling my nose with the nauseating scent of his Montecristo. I’d know that smell anywhere. My father often had parties, and they seemed to be the most popular cigar among his guests.

  My knees weaken as he continues to stare silently at me. I hear his shoulder shift in his jacket as his hand comes up and grips my chin tightly. With casual ease, he flicks open and ignites his Zippo, holding it up to inspect the growing lump above my eye. The light goes out, and I feel his vise-like grip move to the back of my neck as he pushes me to move forward. He obviously knows the building well, since it is still pitch black and he directs me without hesitation. All I can hear is my hammering heartbeat and my short, ragged breaths.

  Finally, we stop at a door, and he pushes it open and tosses me inside. I stumble forward and fall to my knees. Suddenly, the lights come on, and I come face to face with the fat man, whose neck is now wrapped in a white bandage. He holds his belt in his hand, snapping it for more effect. The last thing I remember is being pushed onto a couch and the first crack of the belt along my lower back. This kind of pain I’ll never forget; it is permanently embedded in my memory. Thankfully, I slip away into a blissful place, one I welcome with open arms.

  I wake to blinding pain, the smallest movement causing me to sob, which in turn hurts even more. My brain is cloudy. I can barely form a thought; even breathing is tricky. It takes me a few moments to realize I am back in my prison lying facedown on the squeaky bed. I let go and allow the tears to flow. I need something to think about, something to focus on. I remember the first day I came here. Christ—it seems so long ago.

  “Hello, my love,” I purr to my Keurig as I place my beloved mug, which reads “Don’t talk to me until this mug is empty,” underneath and push the button. My friend Lynn gets a kick out of the fact that I can’t function until I have at least one large cup of coffee in me. She bought this mug for my twenty-sixth birthday. It was tucked inside a basket she had done up along with an airline ticket to Fiji for the two of us to escape my crazy world. Man, what a trip that was. I hear my front door open.

  “You’re in for it now, Savi!” Lynn shouts as she comes into my kitchen. She holds up a magazine, showing me the cover. As soon as I read the caption, I know I’m in deep shit.

  “Oh, no!” I snatch it from her fingers.

  “Oh, yes,” she sighs, passing by and opening a cabinet. “So, I take it he hasn’t called you yet?”

  I shake my head as I study the picture in horror. Us Weekly has a picture of me at a bar last night, leaning over a table and showing off my behind. The caption reads “Mayor’s Daughter Reveals All.”

  “I was reaching for my purse!” I shout. “It isn’t even my butt—this has been Photoshopped.”

  “I know that, but will Daddy dearest believe you?” She sips her coffee, eyeing me with concern. “Maybe you should call him first. It might look better if you do.”

  Lynn and I have been friends forever. We met in middle school the day we got stuck in detention for running our mouths and have been fast friends ever since. She rode the wave of fame and publicity right alongside me. She is my rock as I am hers, and we both consider ourselves the sisters we never had. Perhaps she has a point. I toss the magazine aside, reach for my purse, and pull out my cell. Three rings later, I hear his voice.

  “Dad. How are you this morning?” Silence grows on the other end of the line. “You there?”

  “Any reason why I’m staring at my daughter on the front cover of yet another popular magazine?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Dad, look, you know I haven’t been out much. I’ve been so careful after what happened last year. But this isn’t what it looks like—”

  “Save it, Savannah. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you cause me? I have three people working on this, wasting their time on this crap!”

  “Dad, please let me explain—”

  “No, Savi, we’ll discuss it tomorrow night at dinner.” The line goes dead.

  I toss the phone on the counter and rub my face with both hands. Lynn touches my back gently, giving me a few moments to process everything. I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Lynn moves in front of me, getting me to look at her.

  “Come on, Savi, let’s get out of here.”

  After a hot shower, I start to come around a little. I pull on my favorite navy blue dress with black boots and a black pea coat.

  “Okay, okay, stop fussing,” Lynn groans from my door. “You look fine.”

  “If I end up looking like I have a hangover and the media finds me, you know they’ll have a ball with the story.”

  She grabs my shoulders and looks at me in the mirror. “Who cares what anyone thinks, Savi? Anyone who knows the real you knows you have a heart of gold…and a quick tongue to put people in their place.” She grins. “What’s not to love?”

  “I am pretty great,” I joke.

  We link arms as we walk out the door. We have to sidestep two painters outside in the hall, and as I push the button on the elevator, I glance at one of the men. He’s wearing a massive belt buckle that reads ‘Texas’ with a longhorn head sticking out of the center.

  “He’s a long way from home,” I mutter.

  Lynn shakes her head. “Oh, please.” She laughs, noting the direction of my gaze. “They’re a dime a dozen at any market.” She hustles us into the elevator. I sigh, not eager to face the outdoors.

  “Ready?” She slips on her sunglasses.

  “I guess so.”

  “Stop worrying, Savannah,” Lynn says through a bite of her bagel. “Your dad will get over this. You know how he is.”

  “I know. I just hate disappointing him, especially over something like this, and I’ve been so careful.” I think about the last time I made it on the cover of a magazine. I tripped over some drunk and fell flat on my face. It made a great story for the tabloids, and made an even bigger stink with my father. Everything is about image in the public eye, and I am just plain sick of it all. The idea of another four years is enough for me to run screaming for the hills.

  “You got plans tonight?” Lynn asks as she tosses her napkin on her plate.

  “Yeah, I have a dinner thing for work I have to attend. We’re trying to win over another new client.”

  She makes a sour face. “Sounds…fun.” Lucky for Lynn, she works her own hours as an artist in her own studio, while I work for a big marketing corporation. Even though I worked my butt off in school for years, I still feel like they use me for my connection to the mayor to gain clients.

  When my mother passed away thirteen years ago after a long battle with cancer, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I changed my last name to her maiden name when my father got more involved in politics. I didn’t want people knowing who I was right off the bat. My father didn’t understand at first, but now I’m sure he’s fine with it. I just needed time and privacy to get on with my life and to get over my grief.

  Later that evening, I find myself lost in thought instead of paying attention to the conversation around me. Here I am at another fancy dinner with beyond boring executives, who are talking about nothing remotely interesting. They hardly engage me in conversation and never ask for my opinion. I sit there and try not to show what I’m thinking. Like how Mr. Roth’s tie keeps dippi
ng into his soup, and how his wife pretends not to notice. She keeps trying to hide her smirk—I take it they don’t get along very well at home. At least this is a tad amusing. I shift my gaze out the window to Central Park. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to go for a run through the snowy paths right about now.

  “Wherever you are, can I join you?” Joe Might asks, leaning over so only I can hear him.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He smiles. “You look like you were off somewhere else.”

  Oh. I am embarrassed, caught daydreaming by our hopefully soon-to-be client. This doesn’t look good for me.

  “I’m so sorry.” I wrinkle my nose, mortified to no end. Nice one, Savi!

  “Don’t be.” He pulls his hand out from under the table and shows me the phone he’s been using to play online poker. I try to hide my laugh; he grins and shrugs. “We all know it’s a done deal, right?”

  “I guess so, huh?” I say with a sigh. “I just wish I could get something stiffer.” I point to my glass of pinot grigio. I don’t drink, as a rule, but this dinner is painful. He winks at me before he clears his throat.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to have a word with Miss Miller.” Before I know what is happening, he pulls out my chair and helps me to my feet, walking me through the dining area and out the front door. He hands the valet his ticket, and moments later I’m sitting on the tan, plush seat of his red Corvette. “Now,” he grins, “let’s see about getting you something stiffer—to drink, that is.” All I can do is nod like a moron.

  After a few drinks at a Scottish pub, I decide I should get back before I get in any more trouble with the press. There is only the bartender and a lone man in the corner, but Lord knows they’ll have a field day if they find me in another pub after what happened last night.