Authors: Suzanne Steele
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Kidnapping, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Crime Fiction
His Captive Bride
His Captive Bride:
©2014 Copyright by:
Suzanne Steele
Dark Romance
Series:
©2014 Copyright by:
Suzanne Steele
KDP EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
Suzanne
Steele on kindle direct publishing
His Captive Bride:
Copyright © 2013 by Suzanne Steele
This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.
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All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated
17+
Stalk Me…
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Table of Contents:
Prologue:
I remember the memory as though it were yesterday. I know that it is forever seared in my consciousness. I awoke to a darkened room and immediately knew that something was wrong.
“Where
is Mommy?” I asked the man who stood in front of me, the latest step father in a long line of men who would come and go throughout my lifetime.
“Go back to sleep,” he answered.
“I’m thirsty” I lied, knowing instinctively that Mommy was gone and would not be returning.
I needed to see for myself
to confirm the worst of my fears.
My little feet padded behind the large man that I had to strain my neck to look up at.
What happened next was also something that would be etched in my psyche for the rest of my life.
The large man reached over and turned the li
ght on and I watched horrified as the roaches scattered.
They had been so numerous that the oven that was supposed to have the appearance of white
, had the appearance of roaches and the color could not be seen.
I am still to this day ho
rrified of roaches, for to me—they signify the brutality of abandonment…
There he is again. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he watches me. He stares through me as if he knows all of my dirty little secrets. He looks at me as if he can read all of my emotions, but yet for some reason, I can’t seem to get ‘a read’ on him.
“Come on, there is that weird kid again,” my volunteer for the day states, not even trying to speak low enough for the ‘weirdo’ that watches me to not hear him.
I wouldn’t call him a kid. I would gauge him at thirty years old which far exceeds being a kid…
I think to myself. I steal a glance at the young man leaned against the building in the black leather jacket, I try to size him up. His face is granite. There really is no other way to describe the bone structure of it. His skin is white—not pale—but white, and yet he appears to be of Latin descent. Suddenly it hits me, he is Spaniard. His tousled black wavy hair and black eyes, along with his stance against the building exude an attitude of not giving a shit. He simply couldn’t care less. He couldn’t care less that I’m fully aware of him. I am also aware of the fact that he stalks me. I don’t know what to feel, all that I do know: is that when he is near……..I feel……………
I balance the box of food on my knee as I knock on the door. I never know what to expect when the door opens
, but today my heart wrenches as I view a young woman who has clearly been up all night tweaking. My eyes glance over at the small child seated on the bed and a smile crosses over my whole being. I reach into the box setting it on the floor and hide the doll behind my back, making my way towards her lit up eyes.
“I have something for you Preciosa. Now close your eyes and hold out your hands.”She giggles as I place the doll in her hand. I silently wish that I could scoop her up and take her home with me; home to my clean, modern apartment, in my upper echelon, historical district neighborhood. What did the social worker call it? Functioning drug addict? Yes, that was it. Preciosa’s Mother is not unfit because she is a functioning drug addict. Seriously? Bullshit! It was just a way of saying that they have nowhere to place Preciosa. It was just another way to say—that she was just another kid who has fallen through the cracks.
“Has she eaten today?” I ask, as I turn towards her Mother who is busy scratching her arms and eyeing the box on the floor. I try to keep the edge of disdain that I feel towards this situation from my voice. After all, I’m not here to judge.
“Oh yes, she had a toaster treat.”
My mind immediately begins to assess the vitamin contents and even though it isn’t the hot meal that I would prefer, there is a standard of nutrition within ‘toaster treats.’
“Ok, well, I think that we are done here.” I state, as I rise. I don’t make it to my feet before Preciosa jumps up grabbing me. She is telling me how much that she loves her doll and that she is going to name it Mandissa—just like me. “Mandissa’s Midway, after your TV show,” she proudly hugs me. It’s a ‘stage name’ but it’s what everyone knows me by, so it’s my name.
I’m hearing her, but I’m really trying to keep tears from streaming down my face. I make my way towards the door just wanting to escape and her Mother brings me back to reality when she whispers, “We ain’t got rent; maybe you could help?”
I cut my eyes at her causing her to look down. She knows—that I know—that she is lying to me. I don’t even answer her. I just make my way out the door, almost cringing as I watch a cockroach make its way up the baseboard.
Ros
a’s demeanor totally changes as she shuts the door and glares at her three year old daughter. “Yeah, you just keep hugging her and being nice, so that we got groceries coming in. I ain’t got time, or money, to be buying you all of the fancy stuff that she brings. Bitch ain’t no better than nobody else! Miss high and mighty ain’t no better than me, or nobody else living up in here.”
The sting of Precio
sa’s Mother’s words hurt less, as she grips the doll that has quickly become her new friend…
“The guy is weird! I mean seriously, you need to report him.”
That got my attention! “Back off Gus, I’m a big girl!”
I mean seriously, how do I condone the fact that this ’stalker’ is getting to me? I can’t help but wonder who would protect a man that was stalking them? I can’t shake the way that he makes me feel. Just the way that he looks at me as if he knows something about me; something that even I don’t know. Maybe he does, maybe he sees something deep inside of me. Something that is so deep within the core of my being that I can’t even see it. Maybe it’s something that hasn’t risen to the surface yet. Maybe I’m just letting my imagination get the best of me.
Gus sighed as he watched Mandissa go back to going through e-mails on her tablet. Most of his colleagues did that on their cell phones but Mandissa, was all about the tablet. The rest of the ride back to the station would be carried on in silence.