You Own Me (Owned Book 1) Read online

  Work was a bust. I spent the better part of the day trying not vomit slash lose my job. Lissie didn’t look much better than me. However, unlike Lissie, I had to have this job—I had to keep this job. Lissie was just using this job as a distraction while finishing up school.

  I knew Bethany could tell something was off with me. She was the kind of freak who didn’t drink, do drugs, or do any type of fun on the weekend. She worked all day, went home, and worked some more. So, when I came in to the office unsuccessfully trying to hide the aftereffects of a fun night, I may as well have slapped her in the fucking face.

  I slugged through work. I didn’t do a bad job; in fact, by most people’s standards, I was good. I just wasn’t able to be completely anal retentive like Bethany demands, therefore I was terrible. The clock couldn’t strike five fast enough. When it did, I was out of there by six o’clock. (Yeah, because even though we’re off at five, if you leave, you’re a slacker.)

  I went home, ready to kiss my apartment door. My laptop was perched on my chair, right where I left it last night. Its LED power light eyed me—I eyed it back. I knew eventually I would have to open it and check my email. Sooner would be better than later. I only had one email address, and I had to check that for work. I thought it would be easier to only have the one email address, but boy, was I wrong.

  Before I left Seattle, I’d deleted all of my other email accounts. What a waste of time. Dean had still found me. I shook my head. It was useless to fear him. His emails couldn’t touch me. He couldn’t touch me, and he knew it. He was just trying to scare me. I opened my laptop and the email notification popped up.

  Four new emails. All from him. I slammed the laptop closed. This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be afraid to open my computer. Before I knew it, I was out of my apartment and running to Zoe’s, laptop in hand. My fist collided with her door.

  Zoe opened her door, mildly surprised.

  “I need your help,” I stated bluntly.

  Zoe opened the door wider, and gestured for me to sit down. “Sure…” Zoe said, a hint of sarcasm playing at her voice. “Do you want anything? Tea? Redbull? I think I have filtered water.”

  I shook my head, ignoring her sarcasm.

  “No, just your help please.”

  I placed my hands over my laptop, preparing to tell my story. I hadn’t told anyone save Bethany why I was here in Santa Barbara. And I hadn’t had a choice but to tell Bethany if I wanted her to hire me. Part of me didn’t want to put anyone in danger—including Bethany. But the bigger part, the selfish part, didn’t want to put me in danger. The more people who knew me and about my story, the more people they could tell, and the more likely Dean could find me.

  Zoe sat patiently across from me, waiting for me to explain. I clenched and unclenched my fists, futilely waiting for a big dose of courage.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. It all tumbled out: The beginning with Dean, the middle, and the end. The now. Why I was here. His emails. His constant, unrelenting, stalking.

  I asked Zoe if there was anything she could do to make his emails stop coming.

  Zoe nodded slowly, processing. “I can’t stop the emails, but I can block them so you don’t see them anymore.”

  “That’s perfect!” I exclaimed, so excited to have freedom from Dean’s emails.

  “But,” Zoe said, “are you sure you don’t want to go to the police?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve tried that route before.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, her tone betraying her hesitation. I handed her my laptop, but Zoe shook her head. “I don’t need your laptop. I just need your email address and password.”

  Zoe wrote down the information and went into her computer room. Ten minutes later, Zoe came back out.

  “Done!”

  “That’s it?” I asked incredulously.

  Zoe nodded. “It’s a pretty simple process. I can show you how to do it.”

  “Yeah, okay, but not today. I’m about ready to fall asleep.”

  “Okay, just tell me when. It only takes like ten minutes to learn. It’s just a setting on your email service.”

  I nodded. “Thank you so much.”

  As I got up to leave, Zoe took my arm.

  “If you need anything, please come to me,” Zoe said, all hint of earlier sarcasm gone.

  I hugged her. I hadn’t hugged anyone in over a decade, since before my mom died. It felt strange, awkward, vulnerable, but really, really, necessary.

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  Zoe walked me out into the hallway. The lights were flickering and casting long shadows on the walls. In all the emotion, I didn’t notice a man walking up to us.

  “What are you girls up to?”

  I jumped so high someone may as well have placed fire under my butt. Nerves, I tell you. When someone is actively stalking you, your nerves only exist to alert you of threats. Even if the threats don’t exist.

  I looked to see who had spoken and what did I see? Vic’s cocky, smiling face. I glowered. Zoe looked at me, unsure if she should say anything.

  “Ex-boyfriend trauma,” I said as a way of explanation.

  Vic nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about then continued down the hall, an amused expression still on his face.

  “That was odd,” Zoe remarked. “That’s the first time Vic has said anything to me except for when my sink explodes.”

  I pursed my lips, deciding not to tell Zoe that Vic and I had danced together . . . among other things. It felt too intimate to share as if it was idle gossip.

  “Nox?” Zoe started at me. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing. Just . . . everything. I’m really tired. Thanks again for your help. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Zoe said, waving me off. “It’s not like I hacked the N.S.A. or anything.”

  I smiled weakly. “I’m going to head back to my apartment now.”

  Zoe nodded and, with one more quick hug, she went back inside.

  Okay, I didn’t need a drink, but I wanted one. Call me impulsive (everyone else does), but having to block my ex-boyfriend’s terrifying and threatening emails put me a little on edge. Having to ask my friend to do it, well, that just threw me over the edge. Making my way back to my apartment, a drink was all I could think about.

  I wasn’t going for anything hard, just a little wine to soothe my frayed nerves. I wanted to chill out with a glass of wine and watch some mind-numbing TV. Maybe the alcohol would let me sleep without nightmares. Maybe.

  I poured a glass of wine, turned on the TV, and relaxed as Netflix slashed across the screen. Perhaps things were going to start looking up for me.

  I woke up screaming. Full-on, Friday the 13th type of screaming. I may as well have seen Freddy Krueger in my dreams, that’s how loud I was screaming. Well, I basically did see Freddy in my nightmares: Dean.

  Rigidly, I sat up in my bed as remnants of my nightmare danced in the shadows. I was sweating cold, vicious sweats while trying to tell my brain that Dean wasn’t in my apartment. All of his emails were starting to get to me.

  I dreamed that he had found me and was going to make true on his promise. “You’re mine,” Dean said, “and tonight I’m going to show you.” That was the last thing he said to me before I ran away. He’d left me bruised and bloody presumably to go fuck some random girl, but he had made sure to threaten me beforehand. It didn’t take a freaking engineer to deduce what he meant: he was going to rape me.

  I heaved, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I’d stopped screaming. My brain was spinning as I tried to assure myself that the nightmare hadn’t been real.

  Everything spun around in my head. The emails . . . Dean . . . the emails . . . his threats. I felt so out of control. For the third time in my life, it felt like my life didn’t belong to me. I grabbed the bedside porcelain lamp and threw it at the wall, watching it shatter. I screamed in frustration this time, not fear.

/>   “Fuck!” I yelled. How shitty was it to be a woman sometimes? I could train like a triathlete and the bastard would still have an edge on me. Fucking testosterone. I had to rely on instincts and cunning, and sometimes that simply wasn’t enough. If he wanted to, he could overpower me. Easily. And he wanted to. Dean was fucking planning on overpowering me.

  As I hugged my knees to my chest, throwing my own personal pity party, there was a knock at the door. I jumped and scampered to the head of my bed like a scared mouse. I cursed in my head, pissed at myself for being such a wimp. The chance of it being Dean . . . well the chance of it being Dean was actually pretty high. I held my breath, because that’s what you do in these situations, you hold your breath. That way the person on the other side can’t hear you.

  “Lenny?”

  Was that Vic?

  “Lenny, are you in there?”

  Holy shit! It was Vic. But then, who else called me Lenny? What was he doing outside my door at 3:46 in the morning? Yes, that’s what time my glaring blue clock said. I really should replace it; it fucks with my sleep.

  “Lenny,” Vic said a little louder. “Lenny, if you don’t answer me I’m coming in.”

  How would he come in? Oh right, he’s the landlord.

  “I’m fine,” Was that my voice? It sounded really shallow and weak. Get it together, Moore! I cleared my throat and, like a bad actor portraying a tough guy on TV, lowered my voice: “I’m fine!”

  There was no response from the other side of the door. I wondered if Vic had believed me, but then I heard the door unlocking. Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I scrambled to cover myself with sheets.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. I wasn’t wearing anything save my bra and underwear. “This is totally illegal!”

  Vic entered my apartment; the hallway light behind him made him look like some dark, fallen angel. “It’s not illegal if I have probable cause to suspect some kind of an emergency. Your screaming, coupled with the sound of breaking glass, gives me plenty,” Vic said, barking the words. He didn’t enter farther than the doorway, but swung his head around looking.

  I had no idea if he was correct. I didn’t know enough about landlord-tenant laws, but you could bet your ass I was going to look up it up in the morning.

  “Well I’m fine, see?” I motioned from underneath my covers, refusing to give any leeway.

  “Hmmm.” Vic sounded unconvinced.

  “Hey,” I said, suddenly very suspicious, “How did you even hear me? Are you like, spying on me?”

  Folding his arms, Vic stared at me. “Hardly. I was walking down the hall when I heard you screaming bloody murder.”

  “I wouldn’t say bloody murder,” I protested.

  “I would.”

  I glared at him. “I think you should go.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced everything’s as it should be,” Vic said, looking around from his post at the doorway.

  The apartment was smaller than I was used to living in. I had to downgrade because I wasn’t exactly expecting to go on the run. Most of my money had been invested in the condo Dean and I shared. The furniture we’d bought together, the car we’d been paying off, and all that stupid grown-up stuff. When I left, I left all that behind. Luckily for me, it was all in Dean’s name, so I didn’t have to worry about defaulting on any loans. Yay me. Still, that meant downgrading to a small studio in Santa Barbara. California is expensive living, man.

  “Well, it’s not my job to convince you. Nor is it your job to be convinced,” I shot back at Vic.

  Vic stalked over to me like a panther on the prowl.

  Suddenly, I was aware that I had sat up, exposing myself. Sure, it was more coverage than I wore at the beach . . . but still I felt vulnerable. I was vulnerable. To be truthful, Vic was only looking at my eyes.

  Vic leaned over, his face inches from mine. A rational voice in my head told me to cover up, but that voice was quickly smothered by what I saw in Vic’s eyes. They were black and demanding. Without warning, my lips parted as if he were sucking the oxygen out of my body. I gave it willingly.

  “What happened, Lennox?” Vic said in a low and soft voice.

  “I had a nightmare.” What the fuck? I replied almost instantly. I could feel my body inching toward him, as if he held a magnet only I responded to. I wanted to say fuck off, I wanted to bite my tongue, but he had an undeniable pull.

  Vic didn’t change his tone, asking, “What kind of nightmare?” I knew I would do anything for him if only he asked in that voice. It was soothing but at the same time completely powerful.

  “The kind with memories.” I looked away. Even Vic’s intense, mesmerizing gaze couldn’t captivate me as the nightmare washed over me again. I could feel my heart beat faster. Dean’s face started to flood my brain. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I so didn’t want to lose it in front of Vic. He was always so composed.

  Too late, shit lost.

  I buried my head in my knees so hard that I saw white. Better I felt pain than fear. I heard the door close and figured Vic had left. Guess he was satisfied. Either that or he didn’t want to deal with an emotional train wreck. Then I heard a squeak, as if someone were sitting in a chair. I jumped again. God, my nerves were frayed.

  “It’s just me.” Vic’s voice ghosted through the darkness.

  I blinked a couple times, my eyes readjusting to the black, until I saw him. He was sitting in the corner in my favorite wingback chair.

  “Why are you still here?” I asked. There was no trace of fear or anger in my voice, just curiosity.

  He shrugged, his well-defined muscles showing themselves through his black sweater. “I guess I wanted the company.” Vic smiled.

  Oh man. If I wasn’t a complete basket case, I would have attempted to jump him. His smile was swoon-worthy. I knew he was staying for me, but I appreciated his attempt to save my dignity.

  “Look,” I said, trying to find my words. “I’m really not in the mood to talk—”

  Vic held up his palm, stopping me. “Just go to sleep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sleep.” He responded as if he’d said “duh.”

  “In that chair?” I asked, incredulous.

  “I’ve slept in worse.”

  I didn’t want to invite him into my bed. Ever since Dean, I was pretty terrified by the idea of a man in my bed. It made me feel too . . . too vulnerable. Vic in the chair though? That was okay. His presence was more like a gargoyle than a man. A stone figure to watch over me. Still, I felt like a shitty person sleeping on my mattress while he slept in a freaking chair.

  “Stop,” Vic said, interrupting my spiraling logic. “Stop thinking, just go to sleep.”

  I sighed. I barely knew this man, yet he seemed to know everything about me. How did he know I was thinking too much? I was too tired to think anymore. I’ll just lie my head down on the pillow for a minute.

  I woke with a start, sweaty and confused. Light was seeping through the window blinds, and Vic was gone. I couldn’t decide if I was glad Vic was gone or not: Seeing him in the harsh light of day would make me feel so embarrassed—me, a grown woman with nightmares that needed to be watched and protected. Yet, I wanted him to be there; I wanted to wake up and see his face. I wanted to make sure my gargoyle was still there protecting me.

  I wasn’t sure what to feel.

  “Honestly? I just sort of woke up. I saw the road I was going down and I didn't like it. I was in college, wasting away, and I decided to wake the hell up and make something of myself. I stopped sleeping around and started focusing more on my studies. The cutting was a harder habit to kick. Sometimes I still get the urge.”

  Vic and I were friends. The word still fit weirdly in my mouth, but that's what we were, friends. After the night he stayed over, something clicked between us. There was still romantic tension between us, hot and tight like an electric wire, but we ignored it. Mostly.

  We had taken to getting lunch together. Or dinner. Or breakfast. W
henever one of us was free, we hung out. Sometimes, he would come over to my place, unannounced, like Kramer in Seinfeld. He would burst the door open and act like he owned the place (which, I suppose, he did). I'd gotten used to it, and a part of me looked forward to his daily visits.

  This was one of those visits. He was sitting on my wingback chair while I put together a seating arrangement for a new party on the floor.

  “Is that when you decided to be a party planner?” he asked, stroking the side of my chair.

  Absentmindedly, I wished I was the chair and he was stroking me. I was a bad friend. Good friends don't think about their friends sexually.

  Returning my gaze to the color-coded seating, I barked a laugh at his question. “No!”

  Vic stopped stroking the chair, looking taken aback by my outburst.

  “Sorry. My degree is in mathematics, or it would have been. I dropped out junior year.” Without waiting for him to reply, I continued. “I know. Far cry from party planning.” I shrugged. “I love math. It's just a bunch of puzzles. It's so much fun. Not only is each equation its own puzzle, but each puzzle you solve somehow affects the way we view the world. It's amazing. Too bad there aren't enough jobs for math degree students. I could have done IT or something, but that's not what I wanted. I really love theoretical math. The more I went down that road, it just became filled with student loans and uncertainty. Besides, it wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do. Nah, it wasn't making me happy anymore . . . Wow, I'm rambling.” Vic had the ability to make me talk and talk until my secrets were all his. Maybe it's because he makes me nervous.

  “I don't mind your rambling,” Vic responded. His fingers had resumed stroking the chair. “Keep talking.”

  “Well.” I shrugged. “There's a lot I want to do with my life. I'm a firm believer in picking more than one path. It doesn't just have to be degree—career—death. Previously, I was a great mathematician. Right now, I'm a party planner, and I'm going to be the best damn party planner there is. Later? Who knows.”