Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5) Read online

  Losing Lola

  Mercy’s Angels Book 5

  Kirsty Dallas

  Copyright © 2017 by Kirsty Dallas

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and teasers.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2017 by Graphics Covered

  © Image courtesy of Shutterstock

  Editing by Ami Johnson

  I’ve written this book for every person who has had their choice taken away from them, whose bodies have been violated, whose hearts have been shattered, and whose souls have been left bleeding. Know and believe that you are better than those who have tried to break you, and under the despair, hate, and fear you may be drowning in, lays strength, coiled and ready for use. Stand tall, be proud, and take back the life those weak-willed beings tried to take from you.

  CHAPTER 1

  LOLA

  Have you ever been caught between that place of wakefulness and sleep? When your mind tries to drag you back to the world of the living, but your body refuses to follow? I was currently trapped in that sluggish void, and it was pissing me off. Even in my semi-conscious state, I knew something was wrong, so very, very wrong. My body felt too heavy, and it was arctic cold when I should have been wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. Pushing my eyelids open took considerable effort, and before I could find consciousness, I fell back into that hazy grey sub-existence once more.

  Dark eyes filled with manic lust hovered over me. A tight fist gripped my throat, and I gasped for air that eluded me.

  “You thought you were too good for me. I had to sit through months of bullshit with a psychologist because of you! You almost ruined everything!” Ben’s voice grew louder during his tirade until spittle flew into my face in his crazed rage. Black dots swam before my eyes, and my lungs burned with the need for air. Panic gripped me, and just when I thought my end was near, the tightness around my throat disappeared. I greedily gulped down the oxygen of which my body had been deprived.

  This time, when I tried to wake up, it was with a desperation that made my heart thunder like a galloping horse. Terror filled my senses, and my body jolted with the need to find wakefulness. Engulfed in a wave of pain, unconsciousness quickly lulled me to a place of safety.

  The cool, smooth blade of a knife traced patterns across my chest. Ben’s wild eyes followed the knife almost hypnotically as he glided it over my body, not piercing or slicing, simply kissing my skin with the promise of pain. My chest rose and fell rapidly, and fear left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “I’m going to leave my mark on you so you never forget who you belong to.” Ben spoke with a calm resolve that terrified me more than his mad screams. “Right across your tits, so every time I suck on them I can see my work.” His gaze left the knife and found mine. “I’m going to keep you, you know. After tonight, we’ll go home, and you’ll behave because you’ll finally be tamed. I’ll be seen as a hero, broken little Lily rescued by her brother. The voters will suck it up like a sponge. You’ll be mine, forever.”

  I’d almost forgotten about the knife; Ben’s words swept me away in a tide of fear. As the blade sliced into my skin, my body arched and I screamed, but my bruised, raw throat let nothing more than horrified gasps escape my lips before darkness claimed me.

  This time I woke with start. Third time’s a charm, they say. It shouldn’t be. Three was an odd number, and I didn’t like odd numbers. Three was supposedly the number of good fortune, harmony, and wisdom, but I hated it. However, this time when I opened my eyes, on that dreaded third attempt, my foggy brain cleared a little, and my eyes remained open.

  It’s a disconcerting feeling not being able to recognize your surroundings. Intuition told me to be afraid. My heart beat too fast and my chest heaved rapidly; however, my mind was still somewhat foggy, and I couldn’t understand why I was panicking. As I took in the room around me, my frantic heart began to calm as my familiar bedroom came into focus. It was dark, the room still full of shadows, but a moon-shaped nightlight on the wall helped me recognize the quote-a-day calendar by my bed. Tuesday: Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever. How apt, considering I had never been a quitter. I’d spent my entire damn life fighting for myself.

  The digital clock beside the calendar told me it was four in the morning, far too early for my brain to properly function, but a demanding ache from my bladder had me attempt to rise from the bed. The subtle movement shot pain through my body. Every single inch of me burned with furious agony, and to top it off, I couldn’t move my arms. That panic that had begun to recede was back with a vengeance. I wanted to toss and turn, I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but every inch of me throbbed in agony. Instead, I kept deathly still as my heart tried to thump its way from my chest. Glancing up towards the headboard with gut wrenching fear, I noticed my wrists were tied. A weak whimper escaped my lips, and I pulled on the restraints. Not finding any give, I began a frenzied jerk on my bindings while my eyes darted around the room. My terror chased all thoughts away except the most prevalent need: escape. Not being able to move created a feeling of claustrophobia; my panic at being so vulnerable and helpless tumbled into hysteria. Before I could be completely subdued by my loss of sanity, I recalled the words of one of my many therapists: “Stop, breathe, listen, see, feel.” Gasping short breaths soon became longer, controlled breaths, and eventually, I was able to calm my ass down and push back the raging fear. Looking around, I confirmed I was alone; my door was wide open, and no noise or movement caught my attention from the small living room.

  Was I alone though, or was there someone waiting for me just outside those doors? I couldn’t see into the bathroom from here so I had no idea if someone was in there. It was difficult to hear anything over the echo of my heartbeat. Lifting my head, I fought the dizziness and nausea to glance down my body. All the air left my lungs in an audible gasp. I was naked. My chest was coated in crusted dry blood, which had slid down my rib cage and seeped into the sheets. A small puddle of red had pooled in my belly button. When I glanced lower, I found more blood caked to the inside of my thighs. A raw sob tore itself free, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the sight away. This had to be a nightmare. This wasn’t real.

  When I finally found the courage to open my eyes again, reality slapped me hard. This was real, so fucking real. Glancing down my body once more, I tried desperately to ignore the bloody mess. My ankles were unbound and blood free.

  Ben had found me. The memory of him slamming by body against the kitchen door hit me hard. The ever-vigilant attention to my surroundings had waned in the comfort in which the town of Claymont had lured me. He had found me, and now he had used me and broken me, just like he always promised he would do. But was he still here? And if not, where had he gone and would he be back?

  My gaze lifted to the bindings around my wrists once more. Wrapped around my right wrist was a belt, pulled so tight it dug deeply into my skin. On the left wrist was a fluffy cotton sash that tied around the waist of my robe. Deciding I had a better chance of freeing that hand, I wriggled and pulled and wriggled some more, becoming more desperate to be free as the fabric ever so slowly loosened. Another sob tore free from my lips, and I tried to swallow. The action brought attention to the fact that my throat felt as though it were filled with razor blades. When my hand finally slipped through the soft belt, the desperate sob became a relieved cry, and I quickly tried to sit up and reach the leather belt on my other wrist. Pain shot through my stomach and ribs, my shoulder twisted in agony, and black spots danced before my vision. Don’t pass out, I commanded mysel
f. If I blacked out now, I’d be defenseless. Finally, the dizziness receded, and after a few moments of just sitting and breathing, the pain dulled to a manageable level. There was something wrong with my right shoulder; it felt . . . broken. Regardless of the pain and discomfort, instinct forced me to move, and desperation made my movements clumsy. With fumbling fingers, I released the belt from around my wrist.

  Rubbing my fingers until feeling found its way to the numb extremities, I stood slowly, taking note of every twinge and ache in my battered body. The burning agony between my thighs confirmed my fears: he’d taken the most sacred thing a woman owned, something that should be cherished and only given in love.

  Bile reached my mouth, and I didn’t even attempt to hold it back; I leaned forward and threw up. The heaving sent shooting pain through my stomach and chest, causing those retched black spots to dance in my vision once more. When my body finally regained control of itself, I stood tall, trying not to breathe too deeply for the cutting pain around my ribs. Holding my arm to keep my right shoulder as motionless as possible, I took a few hesitant steps around the bed. My foot kicked something that rolled over the hardwood floors, and I winced at the loud sound that echoed through my silent apartment. I glanced down and noticed my wooden baseball bat, the weapon I kept under my bed and within reach every night. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I stooped to pick it up, then froze when a vague vision filled my mind.

  Pain, so violent and raw, tried to invade the area between my thighs, and I struggled to move away from the intrusion.

  “Keep still!” Ben shouted as he rolled off me. The excruciating pain dimmed slowly as his body pulled away from mine. The anger in Ben’s manic gaze was terrifying as he stood beside the bed, my baseball bat in his hands. Without any hesitation, he drew the bat back and swung, connecting with the side of my thigh which burned with pain. I screamed and tried to roll away, but the restraints around my wrists prevented me from putting space between us. All the rage bled from Ben’s face as he stood over the bed and his contemplative gaze wandered over my body before settling on my face, where he continued to watch me intently. The slight lift in one corner of his mouth told me he liked the fear he saw. His mood swung like a pendulum, chaotic anger one moment, calm curiosity the next. He was naked and completely unabashed as he stood there, absent-mindedly scratching his chest, the baseball bat held limply in his hand. His manhood hung heavy between his legs, but as his vile gaze roamed over my body, it slowly hardened. “Give me a minute, baby, and I’ll be ready to go again.”

  I forced my legs together in an effort to hide my modesty, and Ben laughed before pulling the bat back and smacking it hard against my ribs. All the air left my lungs on an audible whoosh, and I grunted in pain.

  “No point in getting shy now, Lily. We’re beyond that,” he chuckled, sitting down beside me. His lecherous hands reached for my breasts, and he squeezed with an unforgiving grip.

  “Please, Ben, no more,” I begged in a raspy voice.

  He raised one perfectly arched brow. “No more? Have I not been clear with you, Lily? You don’t get a say in this. You will be available to me when I need you. You, my dear sister, will be my own personal fuck toy.” Ben stood and glanced down at his rigid cock. “See what just thinking about that does to me?”

  The bat slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor, and I listened to it roll, one, two, three, four times, before stilling somewhere under the bed. Four was a nice even number, a strong number which represented so much: the four seasons, the four phases of the moon, the four elements. Four was perfect.

  “You make me so fucking hard,” Ben growled as he rolled a condom over his length. “I can’t wait to feel you without a barrier,” he remarked as he climbed onto my body once more, tearing my thoughts away from the beautiful number four as he slammed back into me, wrenching another raspy scream from my abused throat.

  Breathing so fast I thought I might faint, tears fell as I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the baseball bat and threw it, hard. It hit the mirror sitting on top of my vanity which smashed into a thousand pieces. Seven years of bad luck, I contemplated. Seven, another awful odd number; I hated the number seven almost as much as I hated three.

  Why the hell did I do that, bad luck aside? If Ben was still in my apartment, he would have definitely heard that. Frozen in place, I waited, my ears reaching past the beat of my heart for any noise in the apartment. The silence was terrifying. Where was he?

  With a shaking hand, I reached for my robe, which hung from the doorknob, and carefully pulled it over my naked, abused body. Barefooted, I shuffled forward, pausing at the doorway of my bedroom. Part of me expected Ben to jump out from the shadows; however, the logical portion of my brain knew that if he hadn't charged in at the sound of the mirror shattering, he obviously wasn’t here. Would he come back, though? He said he was taking me home, that he was keeping me. Where did he go?

  CHAPTER 2

  My legs trembled, and I worried they would fail me at any moment. Standing in front of the door, which would lead me away from my apartment, I waited and listened, but didn't hear anything. That didn’t mean he wasn’t out there ready to grab me.

  Glancing back at the shadowed room behind me, I wondered if I should lock the door and stay, but I had no landline; my pay-as-you-go cellphone had not been sitting on my bedside table where I left it charging every night. Part of me wanted to lock the door and hide in my apartment; after all, this was my safe place, my home. Instinct told me to run. Instinct had served me well for so many years that I wasn’t about to ignore it, so I pulled the door wide open and on unsteady legs reached for the cold stair rail and descended.

  “One, two, three, four,” I counted the stairs as I stepped down, the sound a rough whisper off my lips. My gaze darted over anything and everything, searching for Ben’s shadow. My feet found the biting gravel, and desperation at how close I was to escaping made me speed up, edging around the corner of the building as I continued to watch for movement. My body moved on auto pilot, staying close to the shadows as I tiptoed my way around an empty beer can. The street was void of life. I stumbled into a ditch and almost fell to my knees as pain erupted through my body. Fighting back against the unconsciousness that teased me, I regained my balance and shuffled to the opposite side of the street. Those dozen or so steps seemed to be the longest of my life, exposed to anyone who might happen to turn onto the street. Was Ben watching from somewhere? Was this a sick game in which he wanted me to run just so he could capture me again? I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; if this was a game and Ben intended on hunting me down, I’d give him one hell of a chase.

  Moving past the shops that were locked up tight at this time of the morning, I edged around the corner and onto another street, pausing on the curb at the distant hum of an approaching vehicle. Did I try to flag the driver down? What if it was Ben? Tears continued to fall as, in a panic, I threw myself back into the shadows of the building behind me, lowering myself to my haunches as I tried to make myself as small as possible. With morbid curiosity, I peeked at the vehicle as it drew level with me and I watched my Jeep, lovingly named Jackie, or ‘J’ for short, slowly roll past me and turn into the small driveway that led behind the laundromat I lived above. Ben had been driving and just seeing his silhouette behind the wheel consumed me with dread.

  “No, no, no,” I whimpered. Having trouble catching my breath, I stood quickly and stubbed my toe on a crack in the pavement as I made my way down the street and around another corner. I lived in town but in a commercial district; there wouldn’t be anybody around at this time of the morning. My frantic gaze sought light from any one of the buildings that lined the street, finding none.

  Mercy’s! The thought made my feet move faster, and I almost lost my balance as I tried to maneuver around a large dumpster. Mercy’s Shelter was only a few blocks away. There was always someone there, a salvation to women who had been living in hell. Today it would be my salvation.

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nbsp; Keeping to the dark shadows of night that clung to the pre-dawn world, I hid, avoiding street lights, stumbling from one shop front to another. The air was crisp and cold, and I was shaking so bad my teeth were chattering. My breathing seemed to be getting more difficult, my skin felt clammy, and I wasn’t sure if it was dizziness that caused my nausea or if there was something wrong inside me.

  As I reached a small, quiet house, I paused when I heard a car engine rev angrily in the distance before it raced down the street. Scrambling, I dropped behind a small bush, trying once again to make myself invisible as my Jeep barreled past me.

  Terror saw me stumble up a cracked sidewalk and beat heavily on the front door of a stranger’s house. It was the only house on this street, an old, run-down cottage squeezed amongst small warehouses and shops. After a moment of banging on the door, I stopped and listened. There was no sign of life inside, and as I swung my skittish gaze over the front lawn, I noticed the For Sale sign and sobbed with despair. Stumbling back down the steps and over the patchy lawn, I found my way back onto the street and allowed instinct to take over. Mercy’s, I had to reach Mercy’s . . . salvation.

  I felt faint and light-headed, but the agony with every step I took helped me cling to consciousness. It seemed as if I had wandered around the back roads of Claymont for hours before the giant-like mountains that surrounded the small town began to take shape under the soft hue of light. Dawn was quickly approaching, and I couldn’t have been out in the cold morning air for more than half an hour, at most. When I reached the familiar driveway to Mercy’s, I began to sob uncontrollably. By now I was confused, not really able to recall what street I was on, and my night of terror was getting lost in jumbled thoughts. The adrenaline that had been pumping through my veins had long ago disappeared, and I moved on instinct and fear alone. There were a few cars parked behind the large industrial building, and two of them were familiar, but I couldn’t pair them with a face. My mind struggled to stay focused on what I was doing and where I was supposed to be going. It felt as though I was shutting down. The burning pain and fetid horror of what had happened to me was going to be lost to unconsciousness soon.