SNEAK PEEK of Stolen Beauty By Tasha Ivey
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Sneak Peek,
Tasha Ivey
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Stolen Beauty
by Tasha Ivey
Release Date: She is shooting for End of Feb 2014
Cover will be changing as well before release.
**** This is unedited and subject to change before Publication*****
Chapter One
Kai
It’s not the musty scent of mildew or the bone-numbing cold
that I hate the most about being locked in this basement cell they call a room.
It’s not even the constant whimpering and crying that I hear from the girls in
the rooms next to mine. No, it’s the sickening, writhing fear of the unknown,
pulsing at the heart of every conscious moment. And even though sleep is rare,
the possibilities of what could happen next are at the forefront of every dream.
I don’t know who will walk in that door. I don’t know what those sick bastards
have in store for me, and it’s seriously screwing with my head.
I don’t even know how many days I’ve been here anymore, but
I’m guessing it’s been a couple of weeks now. I tried hard for the first few
days to keep track, but ever since I was thrown into this windowless, concrete
prison, it’s been impossible to know when the days begin and end. It’s just one
never-ending nightmare that I can’t wake up from. No sun to chase away the
shadows of this bad dream. No friendly faces to reassure me that it’s not real.
This is real. More
real than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
But I’m the one who made the decision that set me on the
path straight into my own personal hell. Not that I would’ve ever known at the
time. To think it all began because I took that stupid waitressing job a few
months ago at Spoons, a local dive that I’ve been frequenting since I was a
child. Not exactly a “living the dream” moment for me, but it is work and has
helped me start chipping away at my insurmountable student loans. Had I taken
my dad up on his offer to work in his CPA firm, I wouldn’t be here right now.
Wherever the hell this is.
It was the simple, innocent act of a stranger stopping in
for lunch that sent my life into this inevitable tailspin. The first time he
came into the diner, I think I had only been there two or three weeks. Caleb
wasn’t anything like the usual crowd. There was something inherently different
about him. Mysterious. Intriguing. Sinfully hot.
We made eye contact as soon as he pushed through the heavy
glass door, and he smiled pleasantly at me before choosing a booth in my
section. He didn’t say much that day, only giving me his order and pleasantly requesting
a new bottle of ketchup after he’d struggled in vain for a minute or two to
pound out the last bit stuck in the bottom of the bottle. But the thing that
made him stand out in my mind from then on was the note I found scribbled onto
the back of his receipt when I went to clean the table.
“Your smile just made my day,” it said. And underneath was a
twenty dollar bill.
He came back the next week, but that time, he had more to
say. “I hope you didn’t think I was too forward the last time I was here,” he
said as I handed him some extra napkins. “I just wanted to let you know how
much your smile meant to me. I was having a bad day.”
“Goodness, no. I thought it was sweet. You saying that made my day, so we’re even.”
His eyes flicked down to my nametag. “K-a-i. How do you
pronounce that?”
“Like ‘eye’ with a ‘k’ at the beginning. Kai.” People are
always asking me that, so it’s a question I’ve formed an easy response to.
“Unique. I really like it. I’m Caleb.” He offered his hand,
and I took it, praying that I didn’t have anything sticky on my fingers from
the armload of breakfast platters I’d just carried out. “Nice to meet you
officially.”
“Likewise.” I wasn’t used to my customers paying any real attention
to me, so that was a nice change. Most of them just yelled “Coffee!” at me as I
passed, waving their empty mug in the air with grim desperation. Not that I
blame them. Without my standard two cups to start my day, I have serious doubts
that I could restrain myself from dumping it on their heads when they barked
their orders for more.
No, Caleb wasn’t like my usual customers at all. After our
introduction, he began stopping in a few times a week, usually around my break
time, and we’d sit in the back booth and chat about our families and interests
over a plate of gooey cheese fries. With those fathomless blue eyes and
heart-melting smile, he was easy to open up to. He was always genuinely
interested in everything I had to say and seemed perfectly content to hear me
babble.
He made me feel good about myself. Like I wasn’t as
painfully awkward around men as I had always suspected. Every time he came in
to see me, it was like he convinced the confidence hidden deep beneath my
raging insecurity to make itself known. I liked who I was with him, even if it
was for only a short thirty minutes a few times a week. I looked forward to
those little pockets of time, and when he wasn’t around, I daydreamed about the
way he would peek up at me through the disheveled, blond hair that had fallen
over his brow when he looked down. The way his broad hand would cover mine in a
gentle squeeze before he left, promising to see me again soon. The way he
smirked when he caught me enjoying the perfect fit of his jeans as he walked
away.
After a month of harmless flirting over cheese fries, he
finally asked me out on an actual date. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me,
but I suppose my unhealthy amount of self-doubt never let me believe that a guy
like that would have any interest in a relationship with me. I mean, it’s not
like we looked at all like we belonged in the same species, let alone an actual
couple.
If I compare the two of us, Caleb looks like he fell right
out of a gym advertisement, and I’m a squishy, overripe pear with feet. I was
cursed with my mom’s figure: average sized breasts, a moderately thin waist,
and then all hell breaks loose when it comes down to my hips and thighs. It’s
nothing short of a small wonder when I can find jeans that are narrow enough at
the waist, but are also big enough to shimmy over my thunder thighs and
incredibly voluptuous behind. I’m convinced that some of the Kardashians’ DNA
wound up in my genetic code somewhere. For Caleb to have asked me out, he’s obviously an ass man
because I have it in spades.
I didn’t see him again for several days, but he called me
the night before the date to make sure we were still on. I was a nervous wreck
at work the next day, but I couldn’t wait to finally see him outside of the
diner. My older sister even came over to help me get ready; she not-so-secretly
lives for dressing me up like a human Barbie.
I promised to call her when I got in that night, then I was
on my way, complete with my black DKNY sheath dress (my recent
I-was-just-dumped-by-my-two-year-boyfriend splurge), studded Michael Kors pumps
(a girl needs pretty shoes when she gets dumped, too), and about 5 pounds of
makeup and hair products. Despite the fact that I rarely dress up and was
extremely uncomfortable, I actually felt like the supermodel that Caleb should
have on his arm.
“Wow. Just . . . wow.” Caleb said with an air of surprise
when I found him at the restaurant’s bar. “And I thought you were sexy in your
diner uniform, but this . . .” He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“And you look just as handsome as you always do. I couldn’t
let you put me to shame tonight.” It’s true. He always looks good. He works in
an office near the diner, so he’s usually dressed in slacks and a crisp dress
shirt. But that night, he was wearing a light charcoal suit and a thin jet
black tie, making him all the more striking.
He rolled his eyes playfully. “Baby, I have to admit that
‘shame’ is all I should be feeling right now with the thoughts that are running
through my head. Drink?”
“Sure,” I squeak out, fighting the burn of heat creeping up
my neck. “A Grey Goose and cranberry, please.”
And, unfortunately, that’s one of the last things I
remember.
I have little flashes of memory, but not enough to piece
anything together. I remember a waitress leading us to our table and Caleb
pushing my drink across the table at me when we sat down. By the time my meal
came, I felt really strange, which I chalked up to having alcohol after not
eating all day. Caleb seemed concerned that I was coming down with something,
and he offered to drive me home. I vaguely remember riding down the freeway in
his car, but I didn’t wake up at home. No, I woke up the next morning tied to a
chair, covered in my own vomit and missing a shoe. To make matters worse, as if
they weren’t bad enough already, I was missing my panties, and judging by a
familiar soreness, I was quite certain that I’d been raped.
Yeah, I definitely woke up in hell.
I screamed and cried out, hoping that anyone could hear me,
that someone would get me out of here. I knew my sister would be worried since
I didn’t call, but I also knew that she’d think that I spent the night with Caleb
and wouldn’t be too alarmed right away. All day, I sobbed, pleading for help
until my voice was gone and my body was heavy with exhaustion. By the time
night fell on that first day, I knew I was going to die at the hands of my
captors, even though I didn’t understand why they took me.
Ah, but if only that was all that has happened over the last
couple of weeks. It was my fourth day that I realized that I was being prepared
for something. After four excruciating days of waiting, four days of only
drinking water from a recycled milk jug, four days of relieving myself in a
plastic bucket while a masked man watched, four days of raw, throbbing wrists
from the constant attempt to free myself from the ropes . . . finally, I had
the slightest glimmer of hope that I was going to be let go.
The same masked man I’d been seeing every day dragged me
down the hall, his thick, callused fingertips digging into the tender flesh
under my arm as he dared me to struggle against him. His warning sent an icy
trickle down my spine. I knew he wasn’t making a threat; he fully intended to
make good on it.
“Please just tell me what you want from me. I have a little
money saved up if that’s what you want. A car. Some jewelry. It’s all yours.
Just let me go home. I swear I won’t say a word or try to press charges. All I
want is my freedom.”
He stopped just short of a dark hallway and jerked me around
to face him. His breath seeped out from a lethal smirk barely seen through the
hole in the thick mask, and I had to force down a gag from the nauseating scent
of beer and greasy meat. “Well, baby, I’m afraid your freedom would cost more
than anything you could come up with. Unless, of course, you’d like to exit in
a body bag. Those are free.”
I gasped, the reality of what a dangerous situation I was in
hit me like a freight train. “No. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Damn straight you will.” His smirk hitched up higher on one
side. “And you can start right now.” He pulled me into the first doorway and
flicked on the switch, flooding harsh florescent light all over the dirty white
tile of the bathroom. Behind me, his gun clanked against the porcelain of the
sink. “I’m going to untie your hands and feet, but don’t do anything stupid.
You won’t be the first bitch I’ve shot, and I’ve got a greedy trigger finger.”
I nodded, hesitantly. “I—I won’t. Promise.”
The thick, nylon strands scraped along the angry rope burns
circling my wrists, but just the fact that I wasn’t bound anymore gave me a
slight surge of relief. Which was short-lived.
“Now, strip,” the man ordered, reaching around me to turn
the shower on.
I watched in horror as the water sputtered in protest before
coming out in a steady stream. There wasn’t a shower curtain or door, and my
captor didn’t seem like he was about to go anywhere anytime soon. “But I—”
“Shut the hell up, you stupid whore, and do as I said. The
sooner you get this over with, the sooner you’ll be leaving here. Take your
clothes off and get yourself cleaned up. Now.” Grabbing the gun from the sink,
he put the lid down on the toilet and sat, balancing the black chunk of
stainless steel on his wide knee.
Determined to fight the quiver in my chin, I tried to make
myself forget he was watching. I reached behind my back, and my sore shoulders
strained to contort in the position needed to reach my dress zipper, but I
finally slid it all the way down, exposing my back. I kept my empty gaze on a
single tile and allowed the dress to fall from my shoulders and slump into a
pile in the floor at my feet.
“Mmm . . . keep going.” His voice snapped me back out of the
few seconds of oblivion I’d managed to hide in.
And when my eyes flicked in his direction, I knew it was an
oblivion I wouldn’t find again. His meaty hand was slipping into his open fly,
pulling out his obvious erection. The horror of that sight was nearly my
undoing. I didn’t know if he planned on joining me in the shower or if I’d make
it away from there without him forcing himself on me at some point. For a brief
moment, I considered begging him to just kill me and get it over with. My eyes
fell to the gun on his knee, and seeming to know what I was thinking, he
stopped pawing at himself long enough to pick it up and point it at me.
“I said to undress. I’d hate to have to put a hole in that
pretty little head of yours.”
My hands seemed to find purpose all on their own as they
reached around to release the clasp of my bra. My eyes, however, were locked
onto the barrel of that gun. A newly broken part of me deep down much preferred
being in the path of a bullet’s trajectory rather than knowing that man was
getting his rocks off on me showering. But I should’ve known he wouldn’t see it
my way.
“Good girl,” his gruff voice cajoled before returning the
gun to its prior resting place. “Now get in and get cleaned up. And take your
time washing that sweet ass you have.”
Sick dread expanded into overwhelming waves as I stepped
into the hot spray. I turned my back to him, determined to shower quickly and
get the hell out of there. Being tied to that damn chair was a picnic compared
to this. Stepping all the way under the shower head, I wet my hair, biting the
inside of my lip to quiet the scream threatening to escape. The stabbing pain
of the hot water hitting the open wounds around my wrists made dark spots dance
around the edge of my vision. But I fought through the pain. I fought through
the sounds of the man’s groans and the rhythmic slapping of skin. I washed my
hair and body quickly, all while tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know
what else was in store for me there, but I did know that I wouldn’t let that be
my end without trying to survive it. I deserved more than that. My family
deserved more than that.
“Not yet,” the masked man grunted when I reached down to
turn the water off. His big hand clamped over the back of my neck, keeping me
bend over.
This is it, I
thought. It’s one thing to know that I was raped while unconscious, but I
didn’t have any memory of it. But being fully aware, and knowing it was about
to happen? That is fear unlike any I’ve ever known. Deep, fierce, and
agonizing.
I scanned the shower shelves for any weapon I could use
against him. I wasn’t about to submit to him without a fight, even if it killed
me. Even if I didn’t get to walk away from there, he was about to walk away
with a couple less balls in his court.
But before I could put much more thought into it, he let out
a guttural groan just as something hot and thick shot onto my hip. He released
my neck and stepped back, trying to slow his labored breath, and I withdrew
further into the shower, silently crying with an odd sense of relief while I
washed myself again. Twice.
I didn’t say a word to him while I dressed in the clothes
he’d brought for me, and I didn’t resist when he tied my wrists and ankles
again. I shuffled back down the hallway, my stride shorted significantly by the
way the tied my feet this time. When I began to slow at the room he’d been
keeping me in, I was nearly jerked to the ground.
“Oh, you’re not going back in there. I told you that you’re
leaving here.”
“You—you’re letting me go?”
He snickered and continued to walk down the hall, finally
stopping at the door at the end. The faint glow of the exit sign was my beacon
of hope.
Until a black hood was shoved over my head.
“Hello, again, Kai,” a familiar voice uttered in my ear as
soon as the door squeaked opened ahead of me.
“Caleb.” Tears threatened to spill over my cheeks as I was
torn apart on the inside. I held out some kind of hope that Caleb had been
taken prisoner, too. That he wasn’t a part of my kidnapping. But the smug tone
and humor surrounding his greeting told me how wrong I was. He’s the one that
did this to me. “Just tell me why. Tell me what you want from me.”
One of his smooth fingertips trailed along my bare arm.
“It’s nothing personal, sweetheart. It’s just my job. You see, I’m a procurer,
of sorts, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to make me a lot of money. I already
had a little taste or two of you, and I know my boss is going to love you. Just play along, kid, and
you’ll be fine. You might even learn to enjoy the life you’ll have.”
The anger boiling up inside me finally overflowed. “You
bastard! This was all a game to you? My life isn’t a game. I have a family
who’s going to be looking for me, and I’ll make sure you rot in jail for this,
asshole. That is, if my dad doesn’t
kill you first.”
“I’m not too worried about that,” he chuckled low, clearly
amused by my outburst. “They won’t ever find you, kid. Enjoy the trip.”
The masked meathead shoved me forward again, and I heard a
set of keys jingle before a vehicle door opened and I was pushed inside. Judging
by the expanse of cheap carpet under my hands, I was in the back of a van,
making this whole kidnapping scene even more real.
“Remember.” I could hear Caleb’s muted voice outside the
van. “If you have to calm her down, keep it neat. No blows to the face. Call me
when she’s delivered and you’ve got the cash. Now, get moving . . . you’ve got
a long drive.”
And it definitely was. I was stuck back there for too many
hours to count, not that I had any sense of time anyway. It could’ve been six
hours, and it could’ve been sixty. I just know that the meathead stopped every
once in a while to let me eat a sandwich, drink a bottle of water, and pee in a
bucket in the back of the van, all while he held a gun to my ribs.
At least I thought it was water I’d been drinking. But that
last one must’ve contained something a little extra because the next thing I
remember was waking up here. No musty hood over my head. No ropes biting into
my wrists and ankles.
No, I’m not tied up anymore here, but I’m bound by a cage of
musty, sweaty concrete and a thick metal door. There are no windows to the
world outside. My only light comes from a single bulb fixed to the
water-stained ceiling, and even it is controlled by someone outside. I do, at
least, have a toilet and sink, and I have a thin mattress to sleep on with a
threadbare blanket. Three times a day, a voice barks out from the other side of
the door for me to sit on my bed, and when I do, the locks click and the door
creaks open. A hand slides a new tray of food just inside my door and picks up
the old one before the door slams again and the rasping of the locks signify
their turning. That’s all the interaction I’ve gotten for days.
But when I look up into the corner at the camera lens
staring back at me, I’m quickly reminded that I’m not as alone as I think I am.
I know there’s someone watching me every second, and I also know they’re
waiting for something. I just wish like hell that I knew what.
Does that not Entice you to want to read more NOW?
Make sure you add this one to your TBR list. You are not going to want to miss out on this gem when Tasha releases it.
I will be following & Stalking Tasha for more info to post soon !!!!!!!!!
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