Wrecked Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Cassie Kay

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  Shay

  Turn back now.

  It’s the warning spray-painted in giant, capital letters across the side of the bus station. The same faded red message that taunted me when I took a bus out of this damn town five years ago.

  I would turn back if I could. If I had literally anywhere else to go.

  Tiredness seeps into my bones as I drag my garbage bag full of belongings down the bus steps, my eyes darting to watch the man that gets off at the same stop. I don’t know him, didn’t talk to anyone on the bus, but I’ve never met a man I could trust. I’m careful not to put my back to him as we both start off down the street in the same direction.

  It’s two blocks before he turns, and it’s only then that I let myself take a breath and blink slowly, trying to blink away that tiredness that’s always lingering.

  I know coming here won’t make me feel any safer than where I’ve been. This is the place that made me how I am: distrusting and desperate. But at least here, in Kings Court, I’ll be facing the devil I know instead of the devil I don’t.

  The apartments aren’t technically their own town, but they might as well be. I walk the four blocks from the bus station with as much bravado as I can muster, but I stop cold when I catch my first glimpse of the Kings Court sign in five years. The first time I’ve seen it since I watched it fade away from the back of the ambulance window.

  Back then, I swore I’d never be caught dead here again. That was before life gave me another swift kick in the teeth. And by life, I really mean Mike. Yet another man who used me up and spat me out.

  I still have a busted bottom lip as a reminder, though it’s actually mostly healed now. Just a cut—as if I could have been involved in any kind of small incident, rather than being turned into a drunk man’s punching bag.

  I swear there’s a sign on my forehead no one has told me about or something. Like those kick me signs schoolkids stick on each other’s backs. Except everyone takes mine just a little too literally, it seems.

  I didn’t come here to feel sorry for myself.

  Instead of moping at the front entrance any longer, I force my feet to carry me across the threshold, officially crossing back into Kings Court territory. I don’t have time for the anxiety that floods me, so I swallow it down the best I can. The place looks so much the same it’s like I’ve been time-warped back to when I was sixteen.

  Even though I’d like nothing more than to avoid other people, I stay on the main path through the complex toward the back apartments where I’m hoping like hell my dad is still living. There’s a back way, the path I would have taken all those years ago, but I don’t feel as brave as I did then. Especially not when it’s dark out, well enough past sundown that even the dingy street-lamps don’t seem to do much for me.

  The door to the building is barely hanging on its hinges when I finally reach number 107. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as my hand hesitates on the handle. This is the last chance I’ve got to turn and go. I’ve found places to stay before, but that always meant doing things I’d never want to admit to in the light of day.

  For once, I just want to spend a night where no one’s hands are reaching out for me in the middle of the night. Not to hit me or grope me or whatever.

  At least the one thing Dad always had going for him was that he only hit me when he thought I got in the way. I’m older now. I can be quiet and stick to my room. I’ll tiptoe around him and just maybe have myself a place to stay long enough to get my feet back under me.

  This time when I leave Kings Court, I want to take care of myself. No more picking up seedy men in bars just so I know where my next meal’s coming from.

  I turn the handle and step inside. There’s a single lightbulb lighting the hallway of the main floor. This building, the one I grew up in, has two floors with six apartments total. It’s one of the original buildings so it’s smaller than the ones up front. In worse shape, too, but a roof’s a roof right now as far as I’m concerned.

  My stomach turns with renewed dread as I stop in front of apartment C. I can hear voices coming from inside, and that means one of two things: either my dad’s moved out and someone else is living here now, or he’s got company.

  Neither of those things bodes well for me. Still, with no other real choice, I knock anyway.

  A string of curses answers and then there’s a good minute before the door flies open. It takes everything in me not to flinch as it slams open into the wall.

  My father squints.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” A grin spreads over his face—a mean one. “Your pussy finally too used up to sell? Always said you weren’t worth a damn for anything else.”

  My heart stalls. Don’t chicken out now Shay, you’ve come this damn far. I raise my chin and look him right in the eyes. “Can I stay here?”

  He barks out a laugh that gets cut short when he realizes I’m not laughing along with him.

  “Fuck, you’re for real? The last time I tried to take care of your punk ass you took off like the hounds of hell were on your heels and ain’t been back since. What the hell would I take you back in for now?”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” I’m surprised my voice doesn’t shake as I say the words. I’m trying to be calm, but this is a man that’s never liked emotional women. If I just act dead inside for him, maybe he’s got just enough parent left in him to do this. Or rather, maybe he’ll like seeing me desperate enough that he’ll feel compelled to play the hero.

  When he doesn’t answer right away, I make the mistake of getting my hopes up. Seconds later, he’s shooting them down again.

  “Nah. I got company.” He eyes the trash bag resting next to my feet. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  I’m surprised to catch myself blinking back tears. I can’t remember the last time I cried about anything. But hell, if I’m going to get teary-eyed over anything, being rejected by the man that beat me half to death the last time I saw him seems like a pretty good time to start. Giving me a place to stay is the least this asshole can do.

  I grit my teeth and then force the words out, “Yeah, tomorrow then.”

  He barely gives me time to grab my bag and turn around before he’s slamming the door behind me. The sounds of shouting start back up again, an argument clearly picking up where it left off. I have no idea who the woman might be. He didn’t have anyone hanging around before I left. Too mean
for a steady lay, I always thought. Looks like he found someone to put up with him, though. Which is more than I can say for myself right now.

  I step back out into the warm night air. I’d love nothing more than to ditch my sweatshirt in this heat, but I’ve been wearing it like a security blanket. An extra layer of protection that I desperately need if I’m going to have to brave a whole night outside in Kings Court.

  Now that I’m here, facing the reality of being back in this place, I’m flooded with regret. My instinct was to run home to lick my wounds, but now that I’m here, I’m no better off than I was in Chicago. At least there, the city was big enough for me to disappear into. Here, I stand out like a sore thumb as a woman walking alone at night. This place isn’t safe, and that means I can pretty much guarantee I’ll have to stay up all night chasing shadows away.

  Hopefully, that’s all I’ll have to chase away, but at this point, it would be just my luck to come all the way back here just to end up murdered.

  If I had any money to spare, I’d chance heading to the diner just outside the complex. Maybe they’d take pity on me and let me stay awhile if I bought a cup of coffee. I can’t even afford that, though. I’ve got one twenty-dollar bill to my name and no job prospects in sight. This place isn’t exactly a hub for employment opportunities.

  Just another reason I should have stayed in Chicago.

  Knowing I can’t just hang around right here, I make a snap decision. There are woods on one side of the complex. I could check them out, see if the place still has all those big bushes that were always perfect for hiding in. I’m not ten years old anymore, but maybe my ten-year-old hiding spot could still offer a little comfort.

  It’s got to be better than slinking around all night worried I’m going to get caught out alone by the wrong person. Or at least that’s what I convince myself. I tread carefully in that direction, ears peeled for signs of anyone approaching.

  And then I make a grave error in judgement.

  I turn the corner by the playground too quickly, wrongly assuming it’ll be abandoned this time of night. If I’d only spent a few extra seconds being cautious, I would have clearly heard the group before I saw them. It’s not like they’re making any effort to be quiet.

  Several heads turn in my direction at once. At quick glance, there’s got to be seven or eight of them, all gathered around the picnic tables on the edge of the playground. One of them stands, a guy, and my pulse goes into full-on panic mode.

  Just act like you belong here. I correct my faltering footsteps and force myself to keep walking past as if that’s what I was doing all along. It would only be a mistake to look weak now that they’ve noticed me. I can smell the liquor even from here, so maybe they’re not with it enough to even care about some random person strolling past.

  “Dude,” one of the guys says and then whistles under his breath. It doesn’t sound like he’s catcalling me, but my shoulders tense anyway because I can feel the way his word is meant to draw attention to me.

  “Where you going, Wilson?” a feminine voice calls out.

  The sound of my last name—I can’t help it—I stumble. Laughter kicks up from the group, and I curse myself for letting any of them get to me. I’m close enough now to see from the corner of my eye that these are people I vaguely recognize. Not by name, but because they were the big kids when I was a little one.

  This is so, so bad.

  I’m close enough now to hear more conversation start to stir.

  “Shit, dude. You look like you’re about to pop a blood vessel or something.”

  “Something’s about to pop, alright.” Someone giggles. “I’d say Wilson’s cherry but we all remember…” The chick’s voice trails off, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like any of these people are worried about hurting my feelings.

  The guy that’s standing starts to take long strides toward me. Stop eavesdropping and move, you idiot. Dread creeps up my spine, making goosebumps rise across my whole body. I start walking again, but the guy’s too close. I flinch away as he invades my personal space. We’re close enough to a light post that I consider reaching out and holding onto it for dear life.

  It wouldn’t help me out of here, but at least with a good grip on something no one would be able to drag me away…

  The guy grabs my arm and jerks me into the light. His face looks vaguely familiar but it doesn’t matter, I keep my eyes trained somewhere past his shoulder, hoping maybe my disinterest will be enough to encourage him to free me. A man this size, he probably likes the struggle. Likes reminding women how powerless he can make them.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  “I’ll be damned,” he says in a long drawl that makes me squirm. He sounds like a predator, a wild cat that knows exactly where its next meal is coming from. “Figured you were dead somewhere by now.”

  I cut it close a few times.

  I clear my throat to ask, “Could you let go of me, please?”

  The words come out softer than I intended, but I know he heard them because he answers by jerking me closer to him.

  “Why don’t you try asking a little nicer.”

  My eyes shoot in his direction—which I regret immediately when I see the way his lips tug up into a smirk. I couldn’t ask any nicer than I just fucking did, and this asshole knows it. He’s toying with me, and that’s really not a good position for me to be in at the moment. Not when he’s got a whole group of friends right behind him, and I’ve got no one.

  “If you’re gonna put on a show, Hayes, the least you could do is get her to show a little skin,” a voice calls, breaking his stare. Annoyance crosses over his face, as if he doesn’t appreciate the interruption, but then he grins down at me with a mean smile that would make my dad’s earlier one look downright friendly by comparison.

  That’s not the thing I’m focused on, though. No, the one thing that truly penetrates my fear right now is the name.

  Hayes. There’s only ever been one Hayes family in Kings Court, and I can’t imagine that will ever change.

  “Hayes? Like Jenna Hayes?”

  That smirk of his gets wiped clear off his face. “Don’t remember who I am, huh?”

  It’s a trick question, I know it is. I’d probably be better off pretending I do since he’s obviously so worked up over it, but I can’t seem to make the lie leave my lips. That moment of hesitation is a big mistake.

  “Don’t worry,” he growls, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  He lets go of my wrist finally—but only to yank my bag out of my hand and drop it out of reach. “Hey,” I protest lightly. I’m too scared to do much more than that. I’ve gotten okay at taking care of myself over the years, but right now I’m severely outnumbered and it’s me against the home team.

  Hayes puts his hand on my back to manhandle me towards the playground as I glance back helplessly at my discarded bag. I don’t have much. I can’t afford to lose anything.

  “No one cares about your shit,” he mumbles as he gives me another shove forward. Easy for him to say; he’s probably never had to shove a few precious belongings into a garbage bag while making a middle-of-the-night escape from a fucking monster.

  We’re close enough now to have really piqued his friends’ interest. One of the other guys stands up and gives me a long once over. The whistler, I realize, when he lets out another one. I turn away in disgust, but Hayes steps up to my other side so that my choices are looking at him or his friend.

  Right now, only one of them has actually put his hands on me, so I go with facing the friend. It’s absolutely the wrong choice, but I don’t realize that until I feel the hand gripping the back of my sweatshirt.

  “Don’t.” I try to get a grip to stop him, but he’s a lot stronger than me. He yanks the sweatshirt up until I’m tangled in it. For a second, I can’t breathe as I lose any ability to see what’s going on around me.

  Hayes’ low voice snaps at me, “Move your fucking arms.”

&nb
sp; My arms are in the way of him pulling my sweatshirt the rest of the way off. I weigh my options quickly. Right now, he can’t get it over my head, but if I keep resisting, he might decide he likes it better that I can’t see. And that comes with a whole other set of risks that I’m not ready to take.

  I raise my arms.

  He chuckles as he tosses my sweatshirt away—the opposite direction of my bag, of course. Now even if I get a chance to make a break for it, I’ll be forced to make the choice between my only warm, non-revealing piece of clothing and literally everything else I own. I’ve got a feeling he knows that.

  “I don’t want problems,” I say.

  He steps closer. “The only problem I see is that now you’re looking a little cold.”

  I’m not cold. Of course, I’m not cold. It’s warm enough I would have liked to have ditched the sweatshirt myself if I’d been somewhere safer. I open my mouth to protest, but only a strangled sound comes out when he reaches for my hips to tug me closer, my back ending up plastered to his front.

  “Don’t worry, little Shay. I can help you with that.”

  The feel of his breath on the back of my neck makes me shudder. But not nearly as much as the feel of his hand when he runs a path across my stomach and, then dips his fingers into the edge of the waistband of my jeans.

  “Get your hands off of me.” I forget all about my plan to not fight back since it clearly isn’t helping me any. I try to pull away, but he just laughs at my pathetic attempt and holds me tighter to him.

  He lowers his head to put his mouth against my bare shoulder then turns his head to whisper in my ear, “I don’t think you’re really in a position to be making demands right now.”