Debt Read online

  Debt

  Dedication

  A Note from Nina

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty- Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More from Nina

  DEBT

  Copyright © 2014 Nina G. Jones

  All rights reserved.

  Interior Design and Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants 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 owners.

  Dear reader,

  As I wrote this novel, so many of the scenes in my head had specific songs as a backtrack. I wanted to give the reader the opportunity to experience the novel in this way, if they so choose.

  You will notice a song title at the top of certain chapters or sections. If you click on the song title, it will take you Spotify page for that song. I am aware not all countries have access to Spotify, but it was the only way I could ensure that proper credit be given to the artists and that they are paid for the play.

  If you would rather just peruse through the entire playlist, you can do so here. The playlist has a few extra songs included that did not make it into the book.

  Please also note that this book deals with some difficult themes of abuse, including graphic descriptions. If you are sensitive to these issues or if they are a trigger, this may not be the book for you.

  Kindest regards,

  Nina G. Jones

  14 Years Earlier

  The Smashing Pumpkins – To Forgive

  Pressure. Unrelenting pressure. That is the first sensation I am aware of as I regain consciousness. My head feels like it might explode. As I try to open my eyes the fluorescent light sears my pupils. I pinch them shut again so they can adjust.

  I try and lift my arm to shield my eyes from the glare, and that’s when I feel the throbbing. Like some sort of domino effect, everything else begins to hurt. My entire body aches.

  “Sil? Sil? You up?” It’s my father’s voice. Shit.

  I open my mouth to respond, but choke on the dryness in my throat.

  “Hold on. Have some water,” he says kindly. Shit must be really bad if he’s being nice.

  I feel a straw poke at my lips and I suck. The lukewarm water coating my mouth might be the best thing I have ever tasted.

  Through blurry eyes, I look at him, trying to recall what got me here, and then I remember: the letter, the forest, and Jude...Jude!

  “Where’s Jude?” I ask, panicked. I try to sit up but collapse, wincing.

  “Calm down, Silvio,” he says sternly. My eyes focus on his swollen cheek and the stitches under his left eye. “She’s fine. Now just keep your mouth shut for a second and listen.” I knew he couldn’t keep up the sympathetic act for long.

  I fall back onto the pillow, exhausted and woozy from the sedation.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  I hesitate. I have never felt like he has had my best interests in mind, and even here, lying in a hospital bed, I still don’t.

  “Yeah. Well, most of it.”

  “Well, now you don’t.”

  “What?” I ask, trying to focus my cloudy thoughts. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t fucking question me.”

  This doesn’t make any sense. Yeah, he’s a piece of shit, but why wouldn’t he care? We’re still his kids.

  “I don’t understand—“

  He grips my throat and squeezes forcefully. “You don’t remember a fucking thing, you little shit,” he hisses. “Neither does Jude. Case closed. After what you pulled the other night, you’re lucky I don’t kill you myself. Some things just need to be forgotten.”

  When he lets go, I cough and gasp for air. With every inhale and exhale it feels like a bat is being taken to my ribcage. I must have some broken ribs. And then I realize it: Tripp’s father must have paid mine off to cover up what happened.

  “Did they pay you?”

  “That’s none of your goddamn business. It’s about time I got paid. Having to raise you and your sister ain’t cheap.”

  This fucking town. This piece of shit town and everyone in it. I swear I’ll burn it to the ground one day.

  “Now, I’m going to tell Sheriff Tibbett you’re up. And he’s gonna to ask you what happened. You’re going to say you don’t remember. And we are all gonna move on. And if you don’t, you are gonna have more broken bones than you do already. And your sister, everyone will know what happened to her. She’ll be damaged goods. Understand?”

  “Any plans this weekend?” Laney asks from the adjacent cubicle.

  “Uhhh, not really. I might catch up with a friend. Other than that, I think I’ll loaf. How about you?”

  “Well...Luke is taking me out to a fancy restaurant on Saturday,” she says, popping her head over the wall. “I don’t know, I have a feeling...this is it!”

  I pull off my headphones, which are supposed to be a universal signal that I don’t want to chat, but she’s got my attention. “You mean, you think he’s going to propose?”

  “Yup!” She says gleefully.

  “Well that’s great!” I say. I really mean that, but there’s a little knot that forms in my stomach. Laney is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but she’s one of those girls whose life revolves around the end game of marriage. It’s always, Luke this and Luke that. A year and a half ago, it was Matt this and Matt that until they broke up. And if I get too deep into this chat with her, it’ll turn around to me, and she’ll start asking if I am seeing anyone, and then she’ll try to set me up. Laney seems to be absolutely terrified that I will be alone.
Me, I am okay with that. Well, maybe not okay, but I am tired of defending my quiet love life to her. “Good luck!” I say, telegraphing my hands to my earphones so that she sees I am ending the conversation.

  “Tonight though...” damn, she’s pulling me in, “me and Luke are going to hang out with some of his old college friends. And guess what? A few of them are siiiiiingle!”

  There’s that knot in my stomach, getting tighter. I just told her I have no set plans. She fucking trapped me.

  Just then, Dewey stops at our desks. Dewey is our boss and the owner of Alea Intimate Toys for Women. Basically, we make sex toys; beautiful, high-end, designer sex toys for women. That might be why I find myself alone. I have access to the best toys on the market. Most guys can’t keep my interest when I have the Aphrodite with “rotating feature” in my nightstand drawer. Okay, that’s not true. I am really alone because most men bore me. Not just in the bedroom, but outside of it. Now, I’m putting my energy into building my career. I am independent, perhaps to a fault. From what I’ve seen — and dated — I just don’t feel like most men have anything to offer that I can’t do for myself. Trudging through the endless droves of bros and bankers got old fast, so I declared a hiatus. A nine-month hiatus so far.

  “Dewey!” I call out, happy to see him, especially since he just saved me from one of Laney’s hookups.

  He glances at his watch. “I’m feeling generous today. I’m thinking you all can go home an hour early.”

  “That’s why we love you,” I smile.

  Just as I say that, my phone pings.

  Want to hang out tonight?

  Oh thank god! The friend I might have plans with just came through, bless her soul!

  Sure! Want to come over around 6?

  It’s on, I’ll bring the booze!

  I lounge on my sofa, comfy in a tank and sweats, already sipping on some wine when my doorbell rings.

  I have known Tiff long enough to recognize the look on her face as soon as I open the door. She’s trying to play it cool, but she’s about to burst. She really wants to tell me something. It also explains why she is uncharacteristically prompt this evening.

  “I brought snacks!” she says, making a beeline to my kitchen and dumping the grocery bags on the counter.

  “Thank you. How’s it going?” I ask, giving her a tight hug. “You saved me from Laney, by the way.”

  “Oh god, that girl...” Tiff replies. I would say Tiffany is the antithesis of Laney. Laney probably looks out of her window every night and wishes on a star that some Prince Charming would come and sweep her off of her feet. Tiff is a blue, or purple, or green-haired, tatted, combat-boot wearing owner of a popular bar. She inherited it from her dad, along with her no-nonsense personality. I met her when I graduated from Marquette University eight years ago. I rented one of the two shitty apartments above her bar, and she lived in the other one. We quickly became fast friends. “Why don’t you tell her to fuck off?”

  “Because she’s nice, and I work with her. It’s not a bar, I can’t tell my co-workers to go fuck themselves.”

  “You sell dildos, not stocks and bonds.”

  “All the more reason to be professional, Tiff. We surround ourselves with sex all day, so we have to make sure we exude professionalism. And again, I know I bitch about her, but she’s trying to help, she just doesn’t understand I don’t want or need it.”

  “Don’t you just love unsolicited advice from people who don’t have their own shit together? She’s trying to get you hitched and she can’t keep a guy to save her life.”

  We bring a large bottle of Moscato, a couple of glasses, and plates of food over to the sofa, cozying up under some blankets as we catch up on our lives. An hour goes by and we kill the Moscato, but I can tell there is something Tiff’s still not telling me.

  “So...what’s on your mind?” I ask.

  “Hmmm?” she innocently asks, reaching for a piece of cheese and a cracker.

  “I could tell as soon as you walked in the door, there was something you wanted to tell me. So tell me.”

  “I hate you sometimes. You know me too well.”

  “Tell me!” I insist, pulling a blanket away from her as she fights to keep it on her side of the couch.

  “Okay...” she lingers, half because she’s thinking about how to phrase it and half because she’s tipsy. She takes a big sigh, slapping a hand on her thigh. “Okay. Remember we talked a long time ago about like our biggest fantasies?”

  “Yeeeeesss...” I reply hesitantly, wondering where she could possibly be going with this.

  “Okay, we both agreed that it would like be hot to have a guy like role play that he was a stranger that like, broke into our house or something and then like fucks the shit out of us.”

  The number of likes in her sentence is directly proportional to the level of discomfort I am beginning to feel.

  “Yeah, I remember that.”

  “And you know I’m a kinky bitch, and you’re a closet kinky bitch.”

  “Maybe not the exact words I would use, but yes, I enjoy a variety of bedroom activities.”

  “Okay, so hear me out: I did it!” she blurts.

  “Wait. Wait. Wait,” I reply, shaking my head as I try to digest her words. “What do you mean, you did it? You broke into someone’s house and fucked them?”

  “No!” she says, as if I am the crazy one. “I hired someone to attack me.”

  “What?” I ask, still not comprehending what she’s saying. “Tiff, just spell this out for me because either I am just too stupid to understand this or too drunk.”

  She laughs. Clearly, whatever nervousness she felt about telling me has dissolved. “Okay, so I have a regular that comes into the bar. Over time I got to know her — turns out she’s a high-priced call girl. Well, one night she starts telling me about this service and she gives me this card.”

  Tiff pulls out a black card that simply says: www.happykitty.onion

  “What the hell...?” I ask, picking it up and looking it over.

  “She told me they specialize in rape and attack fantasies. You go online and fill out a survey, and they send someone. All the guys are supposed to be fucking hot, clean, and have gorgeous dicks.”

  I listen to her with my mouth agape.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s a totally professional operation. The website is probably like proxied a bajillion times and it’s in the deep web. It’s a lot like the card, black background, no info, just a survey, and then you pay. And then you wait.”

  “Woah, woah...you are making this sound way too simple. So how do you know when to expect him? How do you know you are not actually being attacked? And are you saying you actually went through with this?”

  “You don’t know exactly when to expect him. You fill out a survey about times and locations you would like to be ‘accosted.’ So there is a window of time, but you don’t know exactly when. And they always wear suits. It’s like an invisible uniform. ‘Cause they’re well-dressed, so the odds of an actual rapist wearing Hugo Boss is slim. You need to be alone; otherwise they’ll bail and try one more time. But there are fail-safes. There is a question you can ask that only he would know the answer to, and a safeword to make him stop.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “It’s all referral based, the site doesn’t hold any info. So the chick that gave me the card answered all my questions. She does some kinky shit herself. She gets paid a fuck-ton to tie up and spank old CEOs and shit.”

  “Tell me you didn’t do this!” I ask with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity.

  “I did,” she says, like someone who was busted stealing leftovers from the fridge.

  “I cannot believe you!” I scold, trying to muster up disapproval, but somehow her crazy is rubbing off on me, because I want to know more.

  “Mia, it was fucking incredible. I mean, wild, animalistic, brutal!” She raises her palms up and then clenches them into fists as she closes her eyes. �
�I came like three times! Hard! The guy was gorgeous. His cock, oh god!” she says, as if she is reliving the entire thing again.

  “How? Where?”

  “As I was closing up the bar,” she says slyly. “I made plans to close it alone one night and put it as an available time slot. Bingo,” she says, pointing to an invisible button in the air.

  Again, I am speechless, and now, oddly envious.

  “He came up behind me and covered my mouth. My first reaction was to scream, panic. I flailed. But he was so big and strong, there was no way I could fight back. It’s like even though I knew it was set up by me, my nervous system freaked the fuck out. He pushed me into the bar and locked the door behind me. Then he dragged me to the office in the back. That’s when I got a look at him. Fucking gorgeous. Tanned, his face, his eyes. Everything,” she swoons.

  “I cannot believe what I am hearing.” My heart races as I wait for her to continue. “This is insane!”

  “He pushes me to my knees and I can’t even—he’s pulling my hair, biting, just roughing me around. Talking dirty. I was still scared, but so aroused. I kept thinking I should stop it, but I didn’t want to.”

  “You’re nuts!” I yell, but a smile is plastered across my face.

  “His dick. Oh my god. You need to plaster mold that shit and use it for your next dildo at Alea. He fucked me every which way. I came so hard, the hardest I have ever come in my life. I was seeing stars!”

  By this time, I am pacing around the couch. This is just too much.

  Then she pauses, takes a breath, and looks me in the eyes. “Mia, you have to do this.”

  “Me? What? You’ve lost your fuckin’ mind!”

  “As your best friend, and someone you confessed having this fantasy to, I am telling you, you will never have sex like this. It’s like fight or flight sex, the adrenaline is so strong. I am telling you, you have got to try it.”

  “Listen, I’m not judging, but you’re crazy. I am not nearly as ballsy as you. I mean what if the police bust them or something and our names come out?” The fact that my first concern is getting caught, and not the morality of the arrangement itself, makes me distrustful of myself.