Damaged

Damaged

by 

Indigo Sin

Copyright © 2014 Indigo Sin

ISBN
978-0-9916497-0-9

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Damaged Copyright © 2014 Indigo Sin

Edited by Kasi Alexander and Tracy Roelle

Cover art by Dee Allen (www.deeallencoverart.com)

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express wri
tten permission of the author (Indigo Sin) except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is greatly appreciated.

This book is work of fiction.
The names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Dedication

To my wonderful editors, Kasi and Tracy, thank you so much for your hard work on Damaged. I appreciate it more than you will ever know.

To L
eah, Alicia, and Diana, thank you so much for BETA reading my story for me, sometimes more than once. You’ve helped it to be amazing.

To Pearl, Sophie, Amanda,
Rachel, Leah and LaVerne, your constant guidance and encouragement has helped me to grow, not only as a writer, but as a person. I can’t thank you enough, and I’m honored to count you among my friends.

And finally, to my husband…You are my rock, my soul
, and my everything. Thank you for being you, and accepting me as I am.

Chapter One

Slipping in and out of the shadows was nothing new to Monica Cassidy. Every evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, her nightly routine commenced. There was no definite pattern to her work, but she was usually able to slink through the crowd undetected, gathering enough merchandise to get by for a short time.

The activity never completely died down in the big city
of Detroit. People still crowded the sidewalks, rushing to get to the nightclubs and bars that lined the streets. It was just the cover Monica needed. Emerging unnoticed from the mouth of a dark alley, Monica blended in with the others flawlessly, keeping pace with the crowd. Head bowed and face hidden behind the heavy hood of her jacket, she was a ghost among the masses as she took inventory.

Like a moth to the flame, Monica’s eyes were drawn to every shimmer of gold—every flash of diamond. The sight made her heart race with anticipation…and more than a little anxiety. It was a warped high every time she hit the streets. The sick disgust for her actions would set in later. For now, she had a job to do.

Pungent perfume assailed her nose and the click of stilettos on the pavement was like a hammer pounding in her ears. The myriad of voices, lights and commotion was overwhelming to Monica, mixing in her head like a symphony of madness. Hard rock pumped through the glass doors of every establishment, polluting the air around with a twisted cacophony. The farther she walked, keeping concentration and a keen eye out for trouble became increasingly difficult. One slip up was all it took to get busted. One fraction of a second could change her life forever. Gambling her life and freedom for that mere heartbeat of time was formidable, but it was necessary. It was, now, second nature to Monica.

This time of night the
drunken co-eds were headed to their favorite hangouts—their pockets stuffed with cash. The pretty jewelry the girls wore would get her a good amount at the pawn shop. They were all sitting ducks in Monica’s eyes, and she treated them as such. She had no other choice. Giving your victim a face or name made it personal. In reality, watching the spoiled kids spend their parents’ money made her physically sick. They would probably never know what it was to struggle—never know what it was like to be desperate.

Did she like stealing? Hell no, but it was the only way to get by at the moment. With two other mouths to feed, she did what was necessary.
Losing her job hadn’t been in the plans either. It had been a devastating blow that threatened to destroy the last little bit of sanity she had, but Monica was a survivor.

Shrill laughter pierced her ear from the left, making her wince as a group of young women stumbled past, chattering incessantly.
Snatching the bracelet from the wrist of the one closest was effortless. An ‘accidental’ bump was all it took, and her nimble fingers did the rest. The blonde bimbo never stood a chance.

Stuffing
the new prize into her pocket, Monica chewed the inside of her cheek and waited for her next opportunity. The weight of the baubles in her coat felt like a ton of rocks, weighing her down.

Stealing is wrong
.
You’re better than this
.

Pushing
back that familiar voice in her head was becoming increasingly more difficult as time went on. Yes, it was wrong, but what the fuck was she supposed to do? Jobs were practically nonexistent, and the ones she did manage to land were only temporary. Once it was discovered that she was working under a fake name and background, it was time to move on to the next. No way was she going to risk having the only thing she had left taken away.

With a sigh, Monica’s eyes flitted to the people around her. If
pick-pocketing from the street didn’t pay off tonight, she’d have to resort to looking for unlocked cars, and she hated having to go there. It was demeaning enough to lower herself to the rank of the thieves. She didn’t want to add breaking and entering to her laundry list of criminal offenses, but providing for the only family she had left meant that she could and would go there, if absolutely necessary. Even if it meant breaking more laws.

At twenty-four
years old, Monica should have been living it up and having fun just like the people bustling around her, dancing and drinking until the sun came up. But life had dealt her a hand that no one would want, forcing her to grow up well before her time. The choice had been her own, however. The night she’d left her mother’s home at the age of eighteen with her younger siblings in tow, she had given up on being a kid. Growing up was the only option. She knew that, but there were times she longed to just be young—carefree. But in doing so, thus began her life of deceit.

Moving constantly, hiding out, and trusting no one. She didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, or if they’d even get one at all, but they scraped by.
It was far better than what Sarah and Jack would have been subjected to if they were still at home.

Dating was unimaginable, and friends were out of the question. People who got close asked questions, and she didn’t have the time
or the energy to answer them. Being a nobody was comforting in a sick way. Nobodies went unnoticed, and she was okay with that.

Three more
successful nabs, and Monica decided she’d tested her luck enough for one night. Her pockets laden with loot, Monica slipped into the nearest alley, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, even if it was a strained one. She was good at what she did, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up with her. The thought made her sick as hell. If she was picked up, Jack and Sarah would be on their own, or worse…returned home. Shaking that thought from her head, she pushed her unruly black bangs from her eyes and tugged the hood a little lower over her face. Moving swiftly among the shadows, she was a wraith. There was comfort in darkness. In the darkness, she was untouchable.

Monica
deemed the night a success, eager to return home. Exiting one alley, she slipped into another, her boots sloshing in the rancid puddles that dotted the path. Doing her best to not think about what those puddles were comprised of, Monica was caught off guard as a hand latched onto her forearm, squeezing so hard she felt her pulse in her fingertips. With her breath strangled in her throat, she strained to see her attacker in the pitch black, but only a shadowed form was visible. It was a man, a very large man, and with every second that passed, sheer panic painted an icy shroud over her body. Terror had a scream bubbling at the surface, threatening to break free, but if it was just another crack head looking for a hand out, there was no reason to attract attention to herself or her crimes.

“Look, asshole, I don’t have any money or cigarettes, and I’m not sucking your dick. Go beg from someone else,” she hissed, tugging at the hand that had a death grip on her arm.
He didn’t relent.

The scent of cologne drifted past her, giving her nose a reprieve from the piss
-soaked concrete below.
Guess that crosses crack head off the list
. Junkies didn’t sport the ‘clean’ thing very often.

Without saying a word, the man pushed his hand into her jacket
, searching her inner pockets.
Oh hell no
.

Monica clawed at the offending
appendage, desperate to break free. “Fuck you, buddy. Go steal your own shit!” If she lost what little she’d had managed to snag she was screwed.

Fight
or flight took over, and a well-placed kick to the man’s shin was enough to make him release her with a pained grunt. The second she pulled free…Monica ran. She ran with everything she had in her, breath huffing in strangled pants as the brick pattern of the buildings turned to a blur in her vision. He was behind her, pursuing her quietly, methodically. His ominous footsteps echoed in the confined space, mocking her.
What the fuck does he want
?

Hopping over crates
and garbage, Monica resisted the urge to glance back at the man chasing her. She couldn’t lose focus now. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed in protest, but he didn’t fall back for even a second. It had probably only been a few blocks, but it felt like miles. A ball of dread sat in her throat like a lead weight, but she refused to let tears fall.

You’r
e stronger than this. Keep going, Monica…

The mouth of the alley spit her out into a dimly lit parking lot
behind a bar. Eyes wide, scanning wildly for a hiding place, Monica spotted an area of brush behind a rusted dumpster and pushed on.

“Stop!” The deep voice rang out in the darkness, sending a shiver down her spine.

Fat chance, buddy
. It’d be a cold day in hell before she answered to any man. Branches sliced at her face and hands as she entered the tangled mess of limbs, desperate for cover. If she could just lose him for a second, she’d be home free. All hopes of that ended when her foot was caught, tripping her and costing her precious headway. Pain blazed through her body as her knee connected with a cinder block, making her cry out. If she could just get to her feet. If she could just…

And then he was on her.

Strong hands gripped her wrists, pushing them over her head, as muscled thighs straddled her hips. Struggling only managed to tear her exposed flesh open on the broken glass and rocks under her. Agony exploded in her nerve endings, spreading the fire throughout her body.

“Stop fighting,” the man growled, lowering his face
until it was only inches from hers. His breath was warm on her chin, sweet with a hint of smoky liquor.

Monica held her scream back, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Not tears for her, but for Sarah and Jack. If she was
arrested, or…worse, they’d have no one. She couldn’t look at the man. She didn’t want to see what was coming. If he was going to hurt her, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It had become a part of survival, but she didn’t want to know it was coming.

“Please let me go,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out past the fear that
choked her windpipe. “Take what’s in my pockets, just please…let me go.” The last word came out a sob as the dam broke, setting the flow of salty tears free. Monica despised how weak she sounded. She wasn’t weak, dammit. She was a fighter, but this time she was helpless against the strength of the man looming over her.

He
shifted but remained silent, his hold on her firm as ever. She could feel his eyes on her, but why the fuck wasn’t he saying anything? After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled her eyes open a crack, wondering why he wasn’t hitting her, yelling at her…raping her.

The low light streaming through the branches barely lit his face, keeping his features a mystery. But his eyes
…they had her breath catching in her throat. They were vivid blue, clear and keen, and they were locked with hers.

“You calm now?” he asked carefully, a hint of concern in his voice.

Monica swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m sorry if I took something of yours. You can have it back.” She glanced toward her coat pocket with only her eyes. “In my pocket, take it. Just…please don’t call the police.”

He shook his head.
“I’m not going to call the police. I’ve seen you on the street, picking pockets. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

Monica
winced. She hated being that person, the one who preyed on others. Hearing it from someone else made it seem even worse. Then disappointment set in. She hadn’t gone undetected. After all her diligence to be invisible, she had ultimately failed.

Laughter drifted across the concrete lot causing them both to go still. Despite being shrouded in the brush, voices carried
, and it only reminded her of how close to prying ears they really were.

“Look, I don’t know what you want,” she whispered
, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep your mouth shut about my little hobby.” What she was about to do made her fucking sick, but it was all she knew—a method that was tried and true. Lifting slightly under him, she rolled her hips, rubbing against his crotch suggestively. He sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. “Anything, you name it,” she suggested, hating herself more by the second.

The man went still, watch
ing her intently. “That’s not what I want,” he said, his eyes darting to the parking lot, looking very nervous all of a sudden. “Look, I’m going to let you up, okay?”

Monica
just stared at him, shocked that he hadn’t taken her up on her offer. “Are you serious?”

He started to move
, but halted, tightening his hold on her wrists once more. “Promise you won’t run on me?”

Nope
. “Yes.”

“Okay, easy now.”

He released her wrists, and her hands tingled as the blood rushed back into the starved flesh. Slowly he rose, stepping back enough to allow her to sit up. She didn’t take her eyes off him as she pulled herself to her elbows, and then to her feet. What was his deal anyway? He went to all the trouble of chasing her down just to let her go? Dusting her rear, she flinched at the raw cuts on her lower back from where her shirt had ridden up in the struggle. She’d tend to those later. Right now, her main thought was how she was going to get the hell away from this guy.