Page 16 of Destined By Dragonblood
Perhaps a ghost followed me.
An angel?
Demon?
I shook my head at the possible scenarios, my lips pursing. My traumatic past had directed me toward atheism, and I no longer believed in spirits along with the god and book my parents had used to brainwash me. Indoctrination was the worst evil, not allowing for critical thinking and personal growth.
Both my mother and father had been part of my abuser’s faithful flock and worked in his church. When I’d returned from my weekend sleepover at a friend’s house I’d lied about going to, neither believed me when I told them about the assault. I’d begged to go to the hospital and have a rape kit done to prove I didn’t lie about having my virginity stolen from me, but they’d refused.
Sitting in my physical and emotional pain, I had accepted that I was to blame for what had happened. Our beloved pastor had been tempted and fallen into sin because I’d flirted with him, enticed him with my budding curves. Both of my parents had been employed by the church and still were last I’d heard. Speaking up to anyone else would have brought about dire consequences that probably would have left my family destitute.
I’d chosen to keep my mouth shut since I’d been taught children were meant to be seen and not heard, and I feared hell as a consequence of my supposed disobedience to that leather-bound book.
From that day forward, I’d stayed home as much as possible, sticking to my mother’s side whenever we were at church, even though something inside me insisted she wouldn’t protect me in the way she ought to if needed.
I graduated and escaped to the Christian college my parents had insisted I attend, happy to be eight hours away from home. Four years of rarely returning to visit, and I received a degree in missions, something I’d never wanted but had agreed to in order to please my parents. With indoctrination’s claws still in me, it wasn’t until a friend I’d secretly found online had asked me to come visit her in New York—fuck my religious upbringing and college education—that I realized the lies I’d been fed since birth.
I left the Bible Belt behind and began my religious deconstruction while sleeping on my friend’s couch. Two years and three base-pay jobs later, fate slammed me literally into a rich man, the coffee to-go tray in my hands smashing against his chest and emptying hot liquid down the front of his suit that probably cost more than both of my parents made in a year combined.
Elijah Tolzman had smiled rather than cussed when our gazes locked, and I immediately felt a strange connection to him, as though he was a kindred spirit. Perhaps I’d known him in another life, but he was like the older brother I always wished had been around to protect me from those in spiritual authority I’d been manipulated into submitting to.
Mr. Tolzman obviously sensed the same, because he had hired me as one of his secretaries, and my new life began. With twice the salary I’d made anywhere else, I eventually saved a small nest egg and had decent enough credit that allowed me to purchase the condo in Jersey. I finally had silence and space to just be and explore who I wanted to become.
But the trauma had continued to hold me back until the previous five months when I’d started visiting a BDSM club where I’d met another man I felt a connection with. While enjoying the warmth of the good eyes still caressing over my nape as the train clacked along toward Jersey, I considered Master Vanni.
His soothing presence never failed to make me wish I was stronger than my fear of touch. If anyone could help me break down those walls, it would be him. He had my full trust, and now more than ever, I wanted to move another step forward. Perhaps I would ask him to push me tomorrow. Or maybe I would take the initiative and put my hand on his sexy forearm and the veins I’d been dying to trace with a fingertip.
My core pulsed, and I swallowed a sudden rush of saliva. I’d found Master Vanni alluring since day one, but this was the first time desire welled over thoughts of him. Elation rose, fluttering my heartbeat.
Things were going to change.
I would hang onto this physical excitement and the positive feels from my stalker and carry them with me to Master Vanni’s club tomorrow night.
The train slowed for my stop, and I slipped out onto the platform, heading toward home, unaware of the cold.
Good eyes trailed along behind me into the quieter neighborhood, the gaze keeping my skin alive, pulse heightened, and my core just as wet as Master did once he started to hurt me with the most exquisite, stinging pain.
A few glances over my shoulder assured my vision that I walked alone, but I refused to believe the empty sidewalk that my eyes suggested.
I let myself into my condo, hating how the sixth sense shut off once the door locked behind me.
“Until tomorrow,” I murmured, already looking forward to leaving for work in the morning. While peeling off my coat and sweater, I snuck a peek past my curtained front windows. Neither glass panes afforded me an eyeful of the man I wanted to see more than the dinner of beef stew I’d put in my slow cooker earlier that morning.
Sighing, I went about my evening routine, settling in for the night.
An hour later, my belly full and dressed in fleece PJs instead of work clothes, I lounged on the couch with my e-reader. At reading about the lead character forgetting to take out the trash, I realized I’d done the same.
“Damnitalltohell,” I muttered, forcing myself to be responsible and get up.
Still grumbling at myself, I gathered every bit of refuse from the condo, emptying my fridge of leftovers too.
I stepped outside, intent on hurrying to the sidewalk where I usually left my weekly bag of trash.
The bad vibe I’d felt earlier hit me full force in the face like a slap, pulling me up short on my stoop. Heart racing, I glanced up and down the street. Too many shadows lurked, offering hiding places for whomever meant me harm.
My skin crawled, my breaths heavy and puffing in white clouds in front of my mouth.
Movement captured my attention, and I whipped my head to the left, the trash bag slipping from my grasp and tumbling down the stairs.
