Prologue
“Come out, little girl.”
Seamus’s voice slid through the trees, oily and patient. Too patient.
“We were just having some fun. Everything’s all right. No harm done.”
Leaves crunched beneath his boots. Slow. Unhurried.
“Let’s go inside and get you a cup of warm milk,” he coaxed. “And if you behave, sweet girl, I’ll add some dark chocolate. Just the way you like it.”
Closer.
“I can smell you, you know.” His voice dropped. “Your tears. The dirt on you.” A pause, thick with disgust. “A pretty little thing like you should clean yourself up.”
She curled tighter, dragging her knees into her chest until it hurt, hands clamped over her ears. Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut as if that might erase him, pressed herself into the tree, the bark tearing at her skin.
Please. Please. Please.
“Charlotte!”
Her name cracked like a whip.
“Get the f**k up. NOW.”
A hand closed around her arm.
Pain exploded as he yanked her upright. The world tipped, spun. For one horrible second she forgot how to breathe. His fingers burned where they dug into her skin.
She looked up.
His eyes were black. Empty. Teeth bared in something that wasn’t a smile. The stink of alcohol and cigarettes rolled off him, sour and suffocating.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop being a coward, you stupid little b***h?” he snarled. “Stop running away and get the f**k in that house.”
He threw her down.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Warmth spread between her legs before she could stop it. She wet herself.
“GET UP!”
She ran.
Bare feet slapping dirt, lungs screaming, heart trying to claw its way out of her chest. She ran until the trees blurred, until she thought she might split open—
Behind her, he laughed.
Drunk. Giddy. Mean.
The sound followed her everywhere.
Charlie woke choking on air.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, sweat slicking her skin, sheets twisted around her legs like restraints.
“Shit.”
She dragged shaking hands through her hair. “Just a dream,” she whispered. “Just a dream.”
Lie.
It wasn’t a dream.
It never was.
It was a memory her body remembered better than her mind ever could.
She forced herself out of bed and into the kitchen, downed a glass of water, then another, swallowing until her throat burned. In the bathroom she splashed her face and stared at the woman in the mirror.
Bloodshot blue eyes.
Skin too tight.
Blonde hair hanging in limp, tangled ropes.
Still trapped.
“Still cute, b***h,” she muttered.
She tried to wink. Failed.
A breathy laugh escaped her, sharp and humorless. She rolled her eyes at her reflection.
“Let’s kick this day in the nuts.”
