Prologue
SAMANTHA
The light inside is broken, but I still work. I read those words on a one of those Internet memes once, printed over a picture of a dark vending machine. They sum up my existence perfectly.
Just insert money, could be added now, after I spent a year as a sex slave, being offered to anyone who could pay, and to some just for fun.
I was freed and got my life back. But I was dead inside even before being trafficked, and it’s worse now. A year of therapy and easy living didn’t cure it, because nothing can cure it.
I was certain of that fact. In my mind, it was as inerasable as my name.
But I was wrong.
I’m not one for rehashing the past, but this story deserves to be told from the beginning.
Chapter One
SAMANTHA
The trial starts in two weeks. The public prosecutor delivered those words triumphantly when she called me this morning. I haven’t been able to un-hear them all day. They’ve laced every thought I’ve had since. I have no intention of testifying, no intention of yet again going over all that’s happened in the year I spent as a sex slave, being forced into prostitution by Shade, the former president of Viper’s Bite Motorcycle Club. At least I guess he’s still the president, only there’s no MC left. I’m the star witness against him. That’s what they’re calling me. But I’m not gonna do it.
No one knows I won’t be testifying yet. Not even my sister Tara, even though I’ve dropped so many hints when we talk that anyone even remotely listening would’ve picked up on it by now. However, she’s still too in love and can’t really focus on anything else. I’m not jealous, I wish her all the happiness in the world, God knows she deserves it. I just wish I could have some of my own happiness back too. And achieving that starts with not testifying against Shade.
I’m leaving LA later tonight, heading to Mexico, so no one can force me to do it.
The screen door of my balcony hisses open, and I turn to see Randy’s blonde head poking through.
“There you are, Samantha,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
That’s simply not true. I came out to the balcony to watch the sunset, but that was hours ago. I’ve spent those hours sitting here alone in the darkness. I’ve been doing a lot of that since I was freed, and I kind of hoped hooking up with Randy would change that, but it hasn’t. He was in bed all this time watching a football game or something. He’s only wearing a pair of pajama pants, his chest and arms bare, the light from the living room hitting him from behind and sharply outlining his well-defined muscles. The half smile on his lips is very inviting.
“I’ll be right in,” I say and smile back at him. “Why don’t you go warm the bed for us?”
He grins wider and retreats back into my new beachside condo. The one they forced me to move into, because it was apparently too hard to keep me safe and protected in my downtown LA penthouse. I still miss that place. Randy’s the textbook example of the all-American boy next door. He’s blond, blue-eyed, tall, wide and buff, and he even has some very pretty tats. Not too many, and not in visible places. That wouldn’t do for a professional, high-end bodyguard that he is. He’s older than he looks, and he’s actually the leader of the group of bodyguards that have been trailing me for the last year, protecting me from the threat of retaliation by the MC whose leader I’m supposed to help put behind bars. I’ve been in no danger yet, and I highly doubt anyone’s coming after me.
Randy’s the only bodyguard here tonight. Has been every night since I seduced him a couple of months ago. A girl can have some fun, can’t she? Especially if she’s spends her days so heavily guarded, she can’t even go shopping without two hunks with earpieces looking over her shoulder. Or breathing down my neck, more like. At least the rest of my escort hangs back now that Randy’s sharing my bed, so that part of my plan worked.
I wish Randy was enough, that he was the one who could keep me safe forever. But he isn’t. No man is and never will be. I don’t have the ability to fall in love, hence I probably can’t be loved either. I lost all that during the long years of abuse by my father and his pedophile buddies. The sex slave stuff didn’t even make it worse, it just reaffirmed it. But with Randy, I’ve found I can actually fake a relationship too. He even moved some of his stuff in here last week. But that’s not what I want.
