Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3 (45 page)

Lucca Caruso.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Christ. I fucking knew it. Lexi is the woman I bumped into at Casey’s clinic on that horrendous December day. Breath-stealer. Instant attraction. Love at first sight. My gut instinct told me that I had met Lexi before. I would never forget her beauty. It was her. It was me. There, together, blissfully unaware of our future.

Fate. It was our destiny to meet.

I now believe in it more than ever.

Providence. God is watching over us both. He had a plan after all.

Stunned and intrigued, I begin to read on.

Life before my life.

Shed … house on stilts … Australia … bush … spiders … snakes … dingoes …grass … heat … sun … thirsty … dirty … hungry … scared … dark.

My jaw ticks. My muscles seize and my ironclad body feels like it is detained by a leaded weight of steel like I am held in a vice. My stomach twists in knots faster than a tornado ripping through me at rapid pace and swallowing me up into the dark pits of Hell.

My gums ache because I crunch my teeth so harshly while the veins surface in my neck and arms from my clenching grip. I can imagine my veins breaking my skin wrapping around my throat, and strangling me, because that is how I feel.

Breathless.

Choking.

Gagging.

The next page begins with
Dark
and a serious set of words. I flick through the next page, and the next, they are all the same. My jaw now falls lax as an icy numbness penetrates me. Reluctantly, I go back to the second page.

I need something stronger. I place the journal down and find a decanter of expensive single malt, a crystal glass, and fill it half way. Throwing it back, trying to take the edge off my racing mind, I screw my face when it sears my throat. I know I promised Lexi I would not drink whiskey, but there is no way I will be able to get through this book otherwise.

I take the bottle and glass back to the sofa and bow my head, sigh, and grab my nape fiercely before picking up the journal again. I brace myself.

Page two.

Dark … lonely … upset … scared … crying … hiding … running … unsafe … petrified … desperate … panicking … hurt … worried … screaming … trembling.

Bile rises in my throat. I place my hand over my jaw in disbelief, already filling in the gaps in my mind. My baby girl. My poor baby girl.

Mum … crying … bruised … cut … crawling … sick … bleeding … red … black … blue … purple … grass … burnt … drugged … sleeping … begging … crying … shaking … needy … scared … thirsty … sore … dizzy.

Fuck! I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat with another glass full of whiskey.

Cameron … crying … angry … screaming … kicking … banging … shed … dark … locked … trapped … breaking … shattered … trembling … sick … thirsty … dizzy … spinning … falling … crashing … cold.

Was she kept in a fucking shed in a garden? What the fuck? Like an animal, she was imprisoned in a fucking shed … for fuck’s sake.

Page three.

Dark … dragged … hair … cut … bleeding … sore … beaten ... tree … tied … fire … belts … ashes … burning … hot … screaming … crying … begging … petrified … back … whipped … lashed … lacerated … sliced … raw … painful … ripped … raw … burnt … raw … open … raw … bleeding … raw … Mary … watching … smiling … satisfied … suffering … scarred … numb … dizzy … spinning … blackness.

“No, the fucking evil motherfucking son of a bitch,” I yell into the emptiness of the library, surrounded only by the darkness scribbled in Lexi’s journal. I hope to God the fucker is dead because I will go down in the death sentence just for the sweet revenge of torturing the fucker and killing him.

My pupils dilate wide with fear, fear for what my girl experienced and went through. The torture she endured sickens me to the core. I throw more malt down my throat, hoping it will anaesthetise this mind-fucking realisation and pain burning inside me. I begin to shake and tremble.

Dark … Mum … beaten … dragged … screaming … missing … away … hours? … days? … house on stilts … hungry … thirsty … sore … bleeding … desperate … crying … Cameron … safe … cuddling … holding … calming … pacifying … angry … nightfall … cold … sleepy … alone.

Jesus, her mum was dragged away from them and hauled up in this house probably tortured and abused while she and Cameron were left on their own locked up in that shed.

Page four.

Dark … Mum … mattress … ground … drugged … sleepy … bleeding … nighty … ripped … stained … wrists … cut … scarred … bruised … swollen … lifeless … shouting … shaking … sleeping … wake up … wake up … wake up.

Shit. I immediately think of Lexi and her fractured wrist and how it must have brought back horrible memories for her. I hiss through gritted teeth. The fear I saw in her eyes when she witnessed the cuts and bruises on me after my brawl with David in Tasa. She wanted to tend to them, clean me up, and look after me. This is what she had to do for her mother.

Cameron … working … timber … truck … firewood … privileges … food … Simon … Michael … gun …threaten … force … work … away … shed … me … alone … crying … hungry … scared … thirsty … hot … dirty … shaking … nervous … Mum … sleeping.

Cameron, he was forced to work for them in return for food. The twisted, wicked, fucking bastards. Just in case I am missing something, I re-read the paragraph. She mentions two men …
Simon … Michael.
She previously mentioned the name Mary too.

Who is that?

Was someone else involved?

Was Mary another victim, a prisoner?

Was Michael her attacker, her abuser?

So many things go through my mind. I do not want to know anymore because I am finding it hard to stomach, but at the time I want to know everything. I need to understand this. Not even appreciating the velvetiness of the smooth malt in my throat, I gulp another huge mouthful and quickly turn the page.

Page five.

Her style of writing changes on this page. I imagine she is anxious, scribbling quickly, breathless while she relives these repulsive events, desperately trying to find words to formulate the tragic ordeals.

I’m trying to escape. I’m running through the Australian bush.

He’s chasing me … he’s shouting at me … my bare feet are hurting and bleeding.

It’s dark … it’s hot.

I’m scared.

I can’t get away.

I need to get away.

Dark … tortured … scared … crying … angry … defiant … impulsive … panicked … opportunity … escape … running … breathless … wire … fence … bush … trees … barefoot … spider … snake … blood … captured … crushed … wire … fence … thrown … sore … threatened … crying … begging … trembling … screaming … dragged … hair.

House on stilts … warning … threatened … tossed … bed … scurrying … crying … shaking … protecting … fighting … scratching … dress … ripped … naked …

I suck in a huge, sharp breath and bolt upright, clenching my fist while holding the journal. I can barely continue. My eyes prick with tears, knees feel weak, the room closing in on me. My body is heavy, insides inflamed, skin cold, eyes stinging, hairs erect.

Falling to my knees, I am petrified and disgusted about what I am going to read. The only reason I am still reading is because I want to know who these three people are and what happened to them afterwards.

Please no. Please no. Please no.

Naked … begging … afraid … Michael … stripping … jeans … belt … dropped … naked … hands … tied … smacked … beaten … hair … pulled … legs … parted … screaming … thrashing … kicking … heavy … pushed … pressure … gripping … cursing … swearing … biting … shoving … pain … inside … pain … inside … eyes … closed … screaming … frail … sore … sore … grunting … sweating … breaking … ripping … tearing … cracking … shattering … suffocating … silenced … biting … pain … grunting … cursing … skin … bruising … ripping … silenced … stilling … numbness … heaviness … sore … sore … sore … bleeding … silenced … trembling … numb … tarnished … Michael … Simon’s son … crooked … happy … smiling … dressed … object … curses … orders … camera … photographed … flash … naked … spread eagle … open … ruined.

Hell.

Taken.

Innocence.

Taken.

Life.

Taken.

Dead … inside … dead … dirty … shocked … traumatised … afraid … dragged … hair … bleeding … thrown … shed … locked … corner … curling … shaking … wordless … empty … numb … lost.

I cannot read anymore. Barely comprehending, I scramble to the nearest bathroom and vomit my guts up. I do not care to know the rest. It is too hard to get my head around. I am trembling, shaking … sobbing … hair dishevelled. I cannot breathe. I cannot get air.

The cold tingle running down my spine has been replaced by a flush of fire and intense heat. My heart … I am sure is on the fucking floor somewhere. Standing up, I stare at myself in the mirror expecting to get some answers, some reasoning.

He raped her. He took her fucking innocence, her virginity. A child for Christ sake, just a child. A little girl. My girl. It is barbaric.

Why did she lead me to believe she was a virgin? I understand why she feels ashamed and embarrassed, but why did she not be honest with me? Nothing will ever change the way I feel about her. Shit, the thought of him being inside her makes my skin crawl and ignites a fuming madness in me. HE. WAS. INSIDE. MY. GIRL.

Rage boils inside me. My jaw twitches with the wrath of my temper. If I thought I was pissed about David manhandling Lexi, this is on another level entirely. I am worried I will fucking kill someone I am that angry. I am ready to erupt. The evil monster sexually abused my girl and the thought stirs a crazy fucking vengeance inside me.

Needing to get out my frustration, I fist the tiles in anger, cracking my knuckles and sending a shooting pain up my arm, but I barely feel anything other than this pain in my heart. The possession and unconditional love I feel for my girl is stronger than ever. I want to hold her and tell her I love her and that nothing bad will ever happen to her again, but I am too worked up. I would scare her.

I am worried about my actions. I could toss this whole fucking suite upside down to vent my fury. Snapping back to reality, I know I cannot. I promised Lexi, I promised her I would contain my anger and I would not drink like this, but shit, I need it.

Splashing my face and rinsing my mouth, I square myself up. Pacing the floor, I take a seat again on the sofa in the library, looking at the journal. My lips press in a hard line. Raw eyes narrow on the journal that just confessed a life of darkness and shattered my heart. It unleashes an inferno inside me, a combustion of blazing fire in a man so desperately in love it makes me want to spread my flames.

I fear for my actions.

Picking up the glass, I top the whiskey and sip it slowly, resting my head back and closing my eyes. After emptying the previous consumption of malt from my stomach, I plan to refill my aching gut with more, this time appreciating the actual blend and flavour. If that is what helps me get through this tonight, then so be it.

I stare into nothingness. I am not sure how much time has passed, but I come out of my reverie with new found courage to read the rest of the journal for Lexi because I promised her. Page after page explains some of her memories, some bullet pointed, some more descriptive.

She writes about being drugged, photographed, raped, and brutally tortured by her half-brother, about his mother, Mary, watching and encouraging it. It details her feelings, emotions, fears, and thoughts. It is obvious that as she becomes more confident in expressing herself as it becomes more detailed.

Nearing the end, she also writes about her mum disappearing for days on end, being sexually abused by Simon, the cunt who fathered her, before crawling back into their shed. How it took days to nurse her mum back from her pain and drugged comas.

Lexi continues by mentioning that she was angry and confused because her mum submitted, begged for drugs, and worked and helped Simon. She could not comprehend it.

I only feel like I can breathe properly again when I read the page that mentions their escape, when they finally got away and were rescued.
New life.

Shutting the book, I rub my head, depleted and distressed. Fuck, I am exhausted and emotionally zapped. Every muscle, joint, and tendon is worn and worked from my overwrought tension. My mind reels, heart splinters, and eyes are tainted.

Lexi startles me on her return. One look and she is begging, pleading, and scolding me. I cannot speak. I am seething inside about what that fucking monster did to her. I am afraid to mention it to her because I will break down, and I know she will break down with me.

I cannot put her through that again. She is too fragile and sensitive and does not deserve to see me angry like this. I do not want to cause her anymore pain. I need to cool off. I need to calm down. I need fresh air to help me think.

“Lucca, I need you to talk. I can’t go through this again. You’re scaring me,” she yells.

Fuck, this is such a mess. Standing up, I do not even make eye contact with her. I do not want her to see the fire in my eyes, and one look at her beautiful face and I will lose it. Trying to keep myself together, I stand up, swaying a little, and tell her I cannot. I cannot talk about this right now; it is still too raw and painful to digest.

Grabbing my suit jacket, I storm through the grand gallery and into the foyer. I am tempted to tell Lexi I just need time to clear my head, but I worry that any words I say right now sound violent or hateful.

The heavy gilded door swings and slams shut behind me. Turning to the doorman, I warn him to stay here until I am back, that she does not get to leave. As I am in no fit state to drive, I switch my phone off and I walk. I have no idea where I am going, but I just need to walk.