REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER ONE

PRESENT-DAY

I ran across the pavement full pelt, the frayed rucksack over one shoulder, the unusable laptop tucked under my arm, dodging commuters and tourists alike, and then, as if the windswept hair and ruined makeup weren't enough reason to turn around, rain-filled potholes seeped into the second-hand daps on my feet. I saw the coffee shop, double-checked the busy road for oncoming vehicles, and dashed to the entrance in time to avoid incoming Bentley vehicles.

The smell of strong coffee permeated the air. I skipped the queue, as cheeky as ever, apologised to customers and, emptying change on the counter, ordered a regular latte. With the beverage in hand, I rushed to my favourite booth, the one by the window with mismatched fabrics and random scatter cushions, and set everything on the rustic table. Two pens and a notepad are laid next to the broken laptop. I twirled the biro between pinched fingers and scribbled my sister's name across the lined paper. It's my go-to method to look busy, write, doodle, and draw.

I checked the time on the wall-mounted clock.

He will be here any moment.

I sipped coffee, unlocked my phone and utilised the camera to inspect the dire state of my appearance. Gale force winds wreaked havoc on the mane. I removed the bobble from my wrist, dragged my hair into a messy bun atop my head, leaving a few loose strands by the ears, and used a napkin to efface the smudged mascara under my eyes.

I spotted the first black Bentley outside and felt a thrill of nervousness. Pretending to type on the laptop, I lowered my head and got a handle on my erratic breathing.

You can do it, I thought, reaching for another sip of coffee.

No, I had to do this.

Walking away was not even an option.

Kathy Haines. My sister. My best friend. My keeper.

I am doing it for her.

Tears saturated my eyes. I blinked them back and concentrated on the task. After all, if it weren't for my past behaviour, Kathy would still be here. It's my fault she's gone. I am responsible for her disappearance.

Kathy and I are the product of child abduction. We are also survivors who outlived gruesomeness, which sounds very poetic and somewhat inspiring, but it's more complicated than that. Doctors, nurses, therapists, psychologists and detectives forget to highlight the severity of post-captivity, the restoration of the human mind and how the encumberment of traumatisation leaves permanent indelible scars.

For many years, I have battled nightmares, voices inside my head, memory lapses, unpleasant flashbacks and panic attacks, which both debilitate and humiliate, and Kathy, having to be strong and brave for her younger sister, saved her tears for the pillow at night.

At least, the above-mentioned occurred before my sister's forbearance snapped under too much stress and frustration. I recall the night like it was yesterday. I had roused to disembodied voices and hallucinatory shadows in the bedroom, and, in my mind, he was there, taunting me, watching me, touching me. I screamed, the loud, ear-splitting shriek tearing my voice box, impermanently damaging my ears, and Kathy, having only been in the room next door, rushed to my side, wrapped me in her arms and whispered our mother's song until I was sweaty yet calm.