Famished (The Broken Series) Read online

  FAMISHED

  - Book one -

  Ellie Messe

  First Edition

  © 2018 L. E. Messenger

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. This book or parts thereof may not be stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are used fictitiously to give the sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons living or deceased, events, or locales is coincidental.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact the author at, [email protected]

  Cover art: © 2017 Messenger Art Gallery

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  Dedication

  To you.

  For being so insanely patient and understanding with me.

  This book has seen many, many endings as I tried to find my feet again and I truly appreciate the fact you all allowed me time to do his story justice.

  Note from the author

  Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so freaking patient with me.

  I have written this book a total of FOUR TIMES. Every story just didn’t accomplish what was necessary. I went through more life changes this year alone than I think I have in the last twenty years. It was a lot to juggle and I cannot express how thankful I am to you for waiting and staying loyal to the story. So, from the bottom of my heart; thank you.

  Love, Ellie

  Chapter One

  EMMA

  Nine Months Ago

  My head's heavy and my jaw hurts; I can't see anything and it's freaking freezing in here, goosebumps pucker painfully under my jeans as I shift on the hard cement floor. I feel the restraints dig deeper into my wrists and judging by how dead my arms are, I think it's safe to assume I'm still tied to whatever rusty object is protruding from the damp wall. Peachy.

  Working my tongue, I slowly wet the tape that's basically super-glued to my chapped lips until it weakens the adhesive. My jaw throbs and my tongue aches from the tedious task, but I push through the pain. A sliver of hope blooms when I feel a line of drool slide down my chin. I work up and down, then side to side until I'm breathing cold air through my mouth. At least now I can scream if needed. Though if we're going to be completely honest with one another, I doubt anyone will hear and if they did, they'd mind their own business. Mom's friends are shady mother fuckers and what a joy it is being related to the fucking junkie. Now, I'm not saying I don't shove a line up my nose now and then, but I don't get in debt. I'm not hooked to the point I'd suck some dudes dick right there on the sidewalk for ten bucks- I wish I were kidding, I rounded the corner just as the kid was getting his happy ending right down dear mother's throat.

  I feel like I'm getting off topic, where was I? Oh, right. Why am I tied up in some druggie’s lair? Yes, that would be Ricky; dude, don't even fucking start, I'm well aware that's the worst drug lord name in the history of ever, told him that the last time we had this little get together, it's how I earned the scar through my eyebrow, Ricky wasn't impressed. Anyways, Ricky, the drug lord, takes me as collateral when mom owes too much money. Un-fucking-fortunately the junkie cares about me so, in turn, I'm used, to bringing her in. It's bullshit, I know.

  The screech of metal on metal makes my teeth ache as the door slides open.

  "I see that tape did its job." A familiar gruff voice says while approaching me. After his feet stop, what feels like just an inch from my knee a slight sting takes over my cheek as he rips the remaining tape off. "How much does she owe this time?"

  "Who the fuck knows." I groan out as I work my sore jaw back and forth.

  "You gotta piss?"

  Now that he mentions it, my bladder cramps, "Bad."

  I hear the chains slap against whatever I'm chained to before my arms fall to the ground with a loud smack. If they weren't so numb, I'm sure that would have hurt like a bitch. Ricky’s side man, T-Bo, helps me to my feet and escorts me to the foul-smelling bathroom in the corner that I’ve become all too familiar with.

  Once the door shuts behind me, I use my shoulder and dead arms to pull the blindfold off. Tossing it in the sink to my left, I move over to the 'toilet.' I'm sure it was a fine throne in its day, but this poor thing has been through hell. Rust, shit, and years of neglect have caked all over it. If there's ever a day my ass touches that thing, I'm pretty sure I'll need a tetanus shot and a full STD scan.

  It takes me a minute to get my fingers working enough to pop my jeans and shuffle them down. I piss quick and go through the frustrating process of getting them back up. Why do they always snatch me when I'm wearing tight clothes? Would it kill them to wait ‘til I'm in sweats? Maybe just grab me from bed?

  "Come on, Em, let's go." T-Bo calls through the plywood door.

  "It’s not my fault my arms are as limp as your dick." He lets out a gruff chuckle as the stupid denim finally slips over my ass.

  Opening the door, that's not much cleaner than the toilet, I let him escort me to a metal folding chair near a broken workbench. This room scared the shit out of me the first time I was here, but this is basically my second home now.

  "Have a seat." T-Bo nods to the chair, and I park my ass with a loud thud.

  Used to this routine, I hold my wrists out to him while he fishes two zip ties from the side of his black cargo pants and watch as he fashions a pair of ghetto handcuffs.

  "You'd think Ricky would start charging me rent by now."

  Another gruff chuckle passes through his beard covered lips as he slips my numb fingers through the white rings, zipping them enough to keep me in place but not tight enough to cause any discomfort. "You'd think you woulda have left her to fix her own problems by now."

  "Yeah and go where? I haven't talked to her in over a month and yet here I am."

  "As long as you stay in California, they'll pick you up."

  I shrug, leaning back into the chair, letting my knees fall apart as I look around the room. I don't know where the hell I am; it's built like a basement but looks like a warehouse. Three out of the four walls are metal, the other is brick and always wet. The floor is stained concrete, and apart from the tiny bathroom, there are no other rooms. There’s one other door, and it's a sliding metal door, no other exits, no windows. I'm always blindfolded coming in and out, but I know it's thirteen steps to the stairs, eighteen steps to the top floor. Then it's two rights and a left before entering into a kitchen, six steps to the exit and then we walk down a set of four steps to gravel. From there I'm loaded into a vehicle and driven forty minutes into town and dumped at whatever location they deem fit.

  "How long have you been here?" He asks, pulling my attention back to him. I meet his gray eyes for a moment before my gaze settles on the black ring hanging off the corner of his lip.

  "Depends. What day is it?"

  "Tuesday."

  "Christ." I sigh, pulling my feet back to rest against the legs of the chair. "They snatched me Saturday night." His overgrown hair falls in brown locks covering most of his expression, but I can see enough to know his eyebrows pull up. “No wonder I'm so bitchy, I need a smoke."

  Leaning forward, he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and holds the opened pack to me. I grab one and hold it to my mouth while he lights it with a neon green BIC. "Thanks."
/>
  He nods shoving everything back into his pockets. "Think she'll come?"

  I shrug, not willing to waste the effects of the first pull of nicotine. It's the best part about smoking, the taste and instant satisfaction you feel as your body responds to the poison.

  After I exhale, I answer, "Depends how much she owes and how much dick she's gotta suck to come up with the money."

  Staring at his hands, his head bobs for a moment before he looks up at the wall to my right. "Hungry?"

  "Nah, not really."

  "Have they fed you?"

  "The kid that looks like he's still on the tit brought me something at some point."

  "The kid that looks like he's still on the tit.." He echoes, his eyes travelling the floor while he thinks.

  "Short, blonde, he's got maybe four pubes on his chin.."

  He sits back with a chuckle, "Jay."

  "Sure."

  "He's still pretty green, good kid."

  "Then why's he hanging out with you?"

  "His choice, Em. I don't call the shots, and I'm not on the hiring board."

  "Nope, just the babysitter."

  His shoulders rock with another chuckle, "Just the babysitter."

  "So, how long do I gotta stay in this cage before he moves a couch down here for me?"

  "You've only been here a couple of days."

  "Tell that to my ass." I shift in my seat and cringe as the muscles tighten in protest. "He should work on his hospitality skills."

  "And here I thought allowing you to keep all your fingers was generous," Ricky says entering the room.

  His gray Armani suit is tailored perfectly across his frame. He's not attractive, but he's not ugly either, dark eyes, dark hair, clean shaven. He's not thin, but not buff, I don't know- I don't see anything special.

  "Rick! How the hell are you?" I ask, taking another drag. "How's business? Any plans for the holidays? Senators to blackmail? Hookers to whack?"

  He doesn't look amused, "That mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days."

  "Well, it's a good thing that day's not today."

  "And what makes you so sure?" His pompous head cocks to side.

  "You only bless me with your presence for one of two reasons. I've been in your cage for the last three days, so I don't know where she is, which means you're down here ‘cause you got paid."

  "Smart girl." He nods, looking around the room.

  "Peachy! So, let's get the blindfold and skedaddle."

  T-Bo tries to hide the smirk, but the hair on his face raises with the action, giving him away.

  "I seem to have a problem, Miss Jameson."

  "I'm not a psychologist nor a doctor."

  "No, you most certainly are not. However, it appears your mother has made a habit of not paying what is owed. Not only to me but to my competition as well."

  "That is unfortunate.” I give him a sympathetic nod, “Buuut, I am not my mother's keeper. Therefore I fail to see how this interferes with my discharge from your lovely establishment."

  "You, my dear, need to send a message."

  "Verbal, voicemail, or SMS name it cowboy so that we can be on our way."

  "More of a physical message. She assumes I will not hurt you because it is she who has wronged me, not you. So, in turn, she does not fear, do you see where I'm going with this?"

  My heart is literally stuck in my throat, unable to beat, it's why my body is as cold as ice. Still, I wear a brave face; my eyes never waver from his. "It appears we're on the same page, yes."

  "Good." He slaps his gloved hands before rubbing them together. "T-Bo?"

  T-Bo stands and takes my arm, right above the elbow and hoists me to my feet. I walk with him willingly. I know there is no fighting what's coming. Also, the second I fight back all my courage will abandon me, and I need that more than the air in my lungs right now.

  "We're not looking for broken bones, just rough her up a bit."

  T-Bo stands in front of me with pain etched into his every feature as he pulls a leather glove over his meaty fingers, "I'm sorry," he mouths.

  I give him a small nod to tell him it's okay. It's not, but T-Bo's not a bad guy. In any other situation, I think we'd be friends. That's about as far as that thought goes before blinding pain strikes across my face, then everything goes fuzzy.I feel pressure in my stomach and pain radiating through my ribs and a throbbing in my jaw. My ears are ringing and my heart is beating too fast to fully register what’s happening where. Thankfully, my adrenaline acts as a pain reliever, numbing the worst of it.

  I hear Ricky say something and then large arms slide behind my neck and under my knees before I'm lifted into the air. I don't try to open my eyes. I don't even try to breathe. I didn't cry; I didn’t make a sound, I don’t plan on doing it now. I will keep my shit together until I'm away from prying eyes, then and only then will I allow my weakness to show.

  "Please, forgive me." T-Bo whispers into my hair as his boots bounce off the rickety steps.

  Forty minutes.

  Forty minutes and I'm free.

  Fuck that junkie; I'm done.

  Chapter Two

  EMMA

  I wasn't blindfolded on the way out of wherever I was, at least I don't think I was, hell, I can't remember. I barely remember climbing out of the SUV. I know I told Ricky to get a couch down there for my next slumber party but apart from that, it's all very fuzzy.

  I somehow managed to unlock the door, with what keys I couldn't tell you, got up the stairs and down the hall to my apartment door and magically unlocked that door as well. Here, this will be easier, let me just tell you what I do know; I know I got my ass kicked and was dropped off at my house. I know I got inside and passed out on the couch. I woke up with a headache the size of Texas over my right eye and have been sitting on the kitchen counter for almost an hour now while the Advil, Tylenol, and tequila cocktail I downed morph together to form one super pain reliever.

  Once the urge to puke subsides, I slowly inch myself off the counter and into my bedroom. The sun and I are not friends today in case you were at all curious. Squinting through the pain residing behind my eyes, my fingers search for the cord, once I find it, I crank it hard to the left then let the blinds fall, it's still bright but not nearly as blinding. As I pass through my room, I shed articles of clothing on the way to my bathroom.

  What a fucking prick.

  It's odd that that was my first thought upon seeing my reflection in the mirror, and not the discoloration or swelling of my face or noticing the dried blood caked into my bleached hair. Nope, my first thought was that T-Bo and I are definitely not friends right now.

  Taking a washcloth off the shelf above the toilet I wet it and gently wipe at the crusted blood. I'm not completely sure where it's from so it's a neat little guessing game each time I swipe over an area. Fuck it; I give up.

  Cranking the faucet as hot as it will go; which is a little over lukewarm, I strip my remaining clothes and climb in. My muscles tense under the chilly spray making everything hurt all over again. I power through it, washing my body a few times and then tackling my hair until the water runs clear and I get out. I wrap a towel around my waist and approach the mirror once again. Interesting, the blood must have been from my nose because I don't have any cuts or abrasions as far as I can see, just a lot of bruising. My right eye is black and swollen and my jaw has shadow blooming against the bone. Apart from my wrists, my body shows no other signs of abuse, though I can feel it with every breath.

  Dressing in loose sweats and a t-shirt, I veto all undergarments and head back into the living room. I give out a yelp and jump back when a man stands from his spot on my couch. I glance at the front door where another man stands, almost like he's guarding it. I've never seen these men before, and I don't know how the hell they ended up in my apartment. Please God, don't let her owe money to Ricky's competition. I can only handle being kidnapped by one drug lord at a time.

  "Lost, friend?" I ask, pulling
a mask over my features.

  "Emma Jameson?" The man from the couch is standing now and he's the size of a fucking truck; tight jeans, thick leather boots, a black hoodie, and a leather vest complete his outfit. Oh, right. I forgot- as accessories, Goliath over here has a pistol on one hip, a chain attached to the other and three rings in his lower lip. His twin is standing by the door, though he might be lacking the piercings.

  "Try the apartment across the hall, Biker Bill."

  "We're not here to harm you." He says, his hands raising in surrender, "We're here to protect you."

  "From what?" I ask, stepping casually into my kitchen where my knife block resides. I stay within reaching distance while pulling a mug from the cabinet. "From big bad bikers breaking in? Cause you’re kinda doing a shit job so far."

  "From the men after your mother."

  "Okay, Biker Bill-"

  "Moose." He interrupts, before nodding at the dude leaning against my door, "That's Bass."

  "For real? Your names are Moose and Bass? What, were Giraffe and Beaver busy?" He gives me a long, hard look from his spot in front of my couch. "Glare all you want mountain goat, the point is, I'm clearly not the girl you're looking for. Like I said, try across the hall. Now, get the hell out of my house before I call the police."

  "You're free to call the police. Are you willing to explain the events of last night when they arrive?"

  "Liking rough sex isn’t a crime. You breaking in, however, is. Get out."

  "The door was unlocked." Dude at the door adds.

  "Nemo, was it?" I don't give him a chance to correct me, though his neck starts to redden at my insult, "Why don't you take your biker ass and park it outside. You’re not welcome here."

  Bass and Moose stare at each other in a silent conversation for a moment before Moose sits back down on my couch and Bass exits into the hall.

  "Hey, Princess, you got any beer?"

  "Shucks, Caribou, I sure don't. Buh-bye, now."

  "You can stomp your foot all you want. We both know you ain't calling the cops, and it's best you realize I'm not leaving."