Relinquished Read online

  Copyright © 2015 Kimi Flores

  Photography by

  MH Photography

  Cover Design by

  Cover to Cover Designs

  Cover Model

  Rainey Wilson

  Critiquing/Content Editing by

  Tbird London

  Editing by

  Megan Hand at Story Girl Editing

  Proofreading by

  Claire Allmendinger at Bare Naked Words

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales, and persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Every single person listed below played a pivotal role in getting Relinquished published. This section is unedited so please forgive grammatical mistakes.

  I have to start with my incredibly gifted critique partner, Tbird London who walks with me through every step. Not only does she listen to my initial ideas, then helps when I get stuck but she reads my document over and over again looking for loose ends and things that don’t flow. I’m thankful to have her in my life and I love chatting with her on the phone daily. T, that ; is for you.

  Tons of thanks go to Glorya Hidalgo who runs the book blog, Book-friends, is an author event planner as well as the organizer of the Pink Shades of Words anthology which benefits the AVON 39 - The Walk to End Breast Cancer. She gave me the chance to include the first 4 condensed chapters of this story in the anthology that published in February 2015. I was also lucky enough to have her beta read the full novel of Relinquished.

  Just like with my other books, my editor Megan Hand at Story Girl Editing pushed me even further, making me evaluate each word I used to ensure that readers felt exactly what my characters were feeling. She teaches me how to grow as a writer with each book. I can’t imagine publishing a novel unless it passes her eyes beforehand.

  Like most authors, I tend to tweak my document to death so this time, I decided to have two rounds of proofreading done. Thank you so much to Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words and Heidi Ryan for catching and cleaning up my errors.

  Thank you to Nichele Fabrizio for her awesome beta suggestions and she as well as Karrie Puskas for constantly encouraging me to keep this story going.

  Thanks to Kari Ayasha at Cover to Cover Designs for creating another jaw dropping book cover for me. I freaking love this cover!

  I’ve got to thank my girls, Nikki Boligitz and Christina Teel. Professionally, they are my table assistants at most signings, beta readers, and encouragers. Personally, they are my bad ass, no drama-mama friends. Love my birches <3

  Last but definitely not least, thank you to my family who often get stuck with cold meals, no clean clothes, and a messy house in order for me to write and publish my books. My husband and sons are my happily ever after.

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Books by Kimi Flores

  About the Author

  Playlist

  A rusted, moldy smell permeated the air, and the muscles in my throat constricted as I fought the urge to gag. I fucking hated that stench. My fingers gripped the sides of the filthy, yellow-stained bathroom sink as I looked up at the cracked, disfigured mirror. The kaleidoscope image of my pale face was a reminder that, just like this glass, my life was a shattered mess. And no matter how hard I tried to change things, my fucked up fate seemed to be sealed.

  I still didn’t want to believe that, though. No matter how bad things got, there had to be something better. Something worth living for. If I didn’t hold on to that sliver of hope, then I wouldn’t have a reason to keep going.

  Another night had come and gone, leaving me sleep deprived with large bags under my dull, blue eyes. I’d never get used to sleeping in these repulsive motel rooms. Even the residential facilities I’d spent most of my childhood in were less run down.

  I took a deep breath and looked away from my fractured image, unable to fight the powerful wave of dark thoughts engulfing me. It didn’t matter that six years had passed, my mind would still take me back to the day that finally sent me over the edge. When her lifeless, decomposing body was found, buried in our backyard. My foster sister had been gone for six fucking months before she was even discovered.

  That thought always infuriated me, and I could feel a familiar anger rising. I slammed my hands down on the porcelain basin, shaking the sides. “I should’ve known,” I growled.

  Every night after her disappearance, I’d go to bed with a sick feeling festering in the pit of my stomach. And as much as I had hoped she’d found a safe place to escape to, I’d known better. As I’d cry myself to sleep each night, I’d wonder if she was okay, where she’d run off to, and why she hadn’t taken me with her. I figured she’d finally reached her breaking point, and on some level, blamed me for her pain. Or worse, blamed herself for mine.

  I’d even had the balls to be angry that she didn’t think I was worth taking with her. It was easier to be pissed than accept the fact that I was too weak and afraid to get away myself.

  But if I’d stopped to face reality, I would’ve seen that I was slowly killing myself with bitterness.

  While I’d been counting down the days until I was eighteen and free of that hellhole of a foster home, Casey’s body had been slowly decaying in the flowerbed just outside my bedroom window. Travis had done that on purpose. He’d known how close she and I had become. Initially, he’d seemed disappointed when we didn’t turn on each other, but then he used it against us. We did everything we could to protect each other, and that was our biggest downfall. Had we fought him together instead, she might have still been alive today.

  That sick fuck thrived on torturing his “playthings” in pairs. I was placed in that foster home at sixteen, and Casey came within the same week. We hit it off right away since she was only two years younger than me. From the get go, Travis had lurked around, creeping us out with his intense stares. If I’d realized in the beginning that he was sizing us up, looking for our vulnerabilities, I wouldn’t have let my guard down. It didn’t take long before he’d pinned my emotional imbalance and Casey's physical reaction to quick movements, then he used those weaknesses against us.

  Our worthless foster mother had kept her lard ass
planted on the couch, collecting government checks from the foster care system and let that demented psycho do whatever the fuck he wanted to us. Come to find out, she didn’t even know Travis before we were assigned to live in her house. He was just some sick asshole who offered to pay her to look the other way.

  It still amazes me what people are willing to do for money. We were so thankful he didn’t live there. As it was, we could barely handle those few random times a week when he’d show up. I couldn’t even imagine what it would’ve been like to actually live in the same household.

  Other than the very last time he abused us, he’d only laid his hands on me to shackle my wrists after making me take off all my clothes. He saved the touching for Casey. The nights he came over to ‘play’ with us, as he called it, I was forced to decide her fate and watch while she endured the physical abuse. If I chose incorrectly, his cruelty toward Casey was far worse than anything I would pick. If only he would’ve let me take her pain. I could’ve handled that better than watching someone I cared about suffer. But he knew that.

  I still don’t understand how the police knew to look back there. She’d been written off as another runaway. They’d brought the other foster kids and myself into the station, asking us questions about Travis. I was scared shitless, thinking if I said anything and he found out, he’d start on me all over again. Except this time, I’d be the one bearing the brunt.

  There was no way I would’ve survived a second round with him.

  What I hadn’t known at the time was, while officers had been interviewing me, field evidence techs were digging up our backyard. I’ll never forget what the detective said right before I threw up all over him. “Casey's body was just found under the flowerbed in the yard.” Once my hysteria subsided, all bets were off, and I told them every horrid detail that deranged animal had done to us.

  Not today, I told myself. It was too much. Remembering. Reliving.

  Before I registered what I was doing, my fingernails were digging into the thighs of my yoga pants, seeking relief. I’d gotten better at using the breathing exercises that worthless, state-funded psychologist taught me, but my memories were too strong this morning, and old habits die hard.

  To this day, I can still feel the excitement vibrating off Travis’s body when he watched me plant my favorite flowers under my bedroom window, shortly after Casey had gone missing. I’d thought nothing of the soft, loose soil as I ran my fingers through it. At the time, I hadn’t understood why he’d allow me to do something that I enjoyed. He hadn’t made me participate in any of his sick games since she wasn’t around anymore, and I’d figured it was his way of trying to buy my silence.

  Of course I was wrong. Again.

  During most of the trial, I’d kept my head down in hopes of fading into the background, but I made the mistake of looking up at him when the planted flowers came out in the testimony. I felt my stomach curdle when a sinister smile had crept up on his face. That was when I realized it had just been another way he’d mind-fucked me.

  You’d think having everything on full display for the court would’ve been the worst part at that point, but it wasn’t. Those vultures in the media had smeared every gritty detail of our abuse all over the news. They’d quickly nicknamed us The Malcolm Foster Kids. Thankfully, the other girls and I were still minors, so we weren’t supposed to be photographed, and our names had to stay out of the news reports.

  The media being who they are, though, found a way around that. The sleaziest of our local papers slipped a picture of my profile on the front page. I wish I’d known at the time that I could’ve sued those assholes, but there was nobody in my life to fight for me, and no way in hell was I bringing this shit to light again. That was the last fucking thing I needed.

  One of the best days of my life, though, was when Travis Malcolm was indicted for killing Casey and abusing the other three of us girls.

  I didn’t know anything about his home life, but I’d later read that the day his arraignment came out, his wife was found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. How she’d lived with him up to that point was beyond me. Too bad her death couldn’t have been added to his charges.

  I practically jumped for fucking joy when our foster mother was convicted as an accessory. Although justice was served that day in court, the system had failed me so many times I’d lost faith they’d ever do anything right by me. I’d heard other foster kids brag about having one of those child advocates who kept track and fought for them, but the only social worker I could even remember having was scared of her own shadow, just a pawn in the system. Didn’t surprise me. I’d been fighting my own battles for as long as I could remember.

  “Dammit! That’s enough!” I shouted into the dingy bathroom. I had to put this away for today. My heart was already racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins like a wild fire. I couldn’t afford to lose myself in this today.

  I pressed my palm to my chest in an attempt to calm myself, and wondered if the pain and horrid memories would ever go away. After all these years, the vice continued to tighten around my heart.

  Doesn’t matter.

  It was time for me to get the hell out of this motel room for the day. I rubbed my temples before forcing myself to leave the bathroom.

  My long, mousy brown hair was haphazardly pulled up in a ponytail, and I already had my faded leggings, tank top, and second-hand tennis shoes on. There was no reason to fuss, it didn’t matter how I looked anyway. I just needed to get away from the silence that allowed my thoughts to wreak havoc on me.

  Shuffling across the stiff, dirty carpet, I stepped over to the dresser where two business cards lay. Both had been given to me by regular customers at A Shot Above, the bar where I waitressed.

  The first was made of black cardstock with white lettering—Alex O'Connor, Film Producer.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what kind of movies Alex made. He offered me his card every time he came in, promising I could make more money than I would know what to do with. I should’ve been offended, but he’d probably seen the ratty ass clothes I wore to work and figured I could use the money.

  I still couldn’t believe I took it from him last night. Had I really gotten to that point?

  Picking up the second card, I ran my fingers across the embossed lettering of the Fit Lyfe Gym’s logo.

  Dante Riley.

  It was a little strange that Dante left his card since his brother, Holden, was the one I’d been hanging out with outside of work. Still, I was curious. I flipped it over to make sure it really did say Free Pass, along with his signature. The brothers owned a popular chain of gyms, and even though Holden was traveling this week, scoping out a new location in the Bay area, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

  Holden was such a nice, caring guy, and I’d really enjoyed hanging out with him lately. The one bright spot in my otherwise bland life. Though it might hurt his feelings if he knew I was going without him today. He’d already asked me several times to work out with him, but I hadn’t been able to accept. Holden was sweet, but he was always trying to find a way to solve my problems without fully understanding them. He could probably tell I had a past, though he had no clue how horrific. It frustrated the hell out of him that I wouldn’t let him help, but I wasn’t a charity case.

  As close as Dante and Holden were, I imagined that they’d talked about me. But for my own sanity, and from what I’d seen of his character, I chose to believe that Dante was not the kind of guy to give someone something out of pity. The calculated moves I’d seen him make did, however, have me wondering if his offer came with strings attached.

  Bending over, I grabbed my battered duffle bag that had a few of my dirty work clothes in it and headed out the door, making sure the lock clicked behind me. I rolled my eyes when I noticed a few advertisements for pizza and Chinese food hanging from the handle. It seemed like every time I touched any of the door knobs of the places I stayed in there was something new hangi
ng from them. I couldn’t complain, though. That was how I found my waitressing job. I’d wondered what kind of business advertised job openings that way, but once I got the position, I couldn’t have cared less.

  Peering over the railing, I noticed the parking lot was fairly empty this morning. Probably because all the johns had already left my neighbors’ rooms.

  My gut grumbled as I made my way down the stairs, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since work last night. But that would have to wait until lunchtime when the Baptist Church fed the homeless. Although I technically wasn’t homeless, they were always nice enough to let me eat. And I wouldn’t exactly call this shitty place a home.

  One of the few benefits of my job was that I got one free meal during my shift, so dinner was covered most nights unless, like tonight, I wasn’t working. Food was definitely not part of my budget, so I ate quite a bit of greasy fast food off the dollar menu. It was a good thing I walked everywhere or my ass would probably be the size of a house by now.

  The only meals I did enjoy were with Holden, but his company had more to do with it than anything else. At first, I’d avoided going out with him because I couldn’t afford much, but I finally caved and let him pay when he’d assured me it made him happy, and it was the gentlemanly thing to do. I chose to believe he was being truthful since he was the first gentleman I’d ever met. Coincidentally, we’d started going to nicer places once I let him start paying.

  Yanking open the motel’s office door, I prayed that Maggie was working the front desk and not her perverted son. No such luck. I could smell his strong BO before I even saw him. If I hadn’t trained myself not to throw up when I smelled something rank, I would’ve puked last night’s meatloaf sandwich right on the dingy green carpet.

  Grimacing, I pushed forward. It was either deal with him now or carry my cash all over town. It made me nervous as hell walking around with money in my pockets. I still looked over my shoulders, suspicious of everyone around me, and the last thing I needed was to wind up sleeping behind a dumpster in an alley.