Concealed Affliction
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Authors: Harlow Stone
Concealed Affliction
By
Harlow Stone
The Ugly Roses
Book Two
© 2015 by Harlow Stone
Concealed Affliction
The Ugly Roses Series
Written by
Harlow Stone
All rights reserved.
Registered Copyright through the Canadian Intellectual Property Office. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trademarks:
This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
© 2015 by Kate Kearns / Harlow Stone
Edited by Gregory Murphy
Cover knife image purchased from Shutterstock.
Cover design by Kate Kearns
To the girl with the long brown hair, beautiful chocolate eyes and sweet smile.
Your birthday pushed me to set a release date for this book, so thank you. I desperately wish you were still here to celebrate it.
For you, A.M.D.
xx
*ATTENTION READERS*
Concealed Affliction picks up where Frayed Rope ended. If you have not read
Frayed Rope - The Ugly Roses (Book One)
it is imperative you do so in order to understand
Concealed Affliction
- The Ugly Roses (Book Two).
Ryder has done his best to break my armor. It’s been a slow process but he’s reminded me what it’s like to feel again. I could never thank him enough for the toe curling and life altering experiences. He’s been my light in a hurricane-but even I know the sun can’t shine all the time. I have a big decision to make and it’s not as simple as just going left or right, forward or backward.
I’ve heard people say that when we hit a crossroad in life, the only difference is that one way is longer than the other. (Believe me when I say that these people are full of shit-don’t listen to them.) I’ve hit every fucking intersection from Canada to the USofA and no matter what direction I take, the distance is always the same. The reason for this is because it’s not about the distance, it’s about the outcome of the journey.
This journey of mine only leaves me two choices and neither satisfy me. Do I continue on my path towards retribution for my family? Or do I focus on the first man to crack my ice cold heart? He’s the only man who has ever made me feel safe at night; the first to truly accept
all of me- scars included.
I’m at a crossroad and no matter which way I turn, I’m fucked.
Ryder or retribution?
This life of mine isn’t a fairytale- I know I can’t have both.
Eleven months ago
I force my eyes to stay open as I drive. One is completely swollen shut from being hit in the face one too many times. I can barely see. Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I swerve off and on the road with this pissy little car, a clear sign my depth perception is off. The car is pathetic but it’s fast, not that I can take advantage of speed right now.
I’ve been awake for the better part of three days. The wounds on my back keep tearing open every time they touch the back of the driver’s seat. I do my best to lean forward, but the tears still manage to open, and the pain still afflicts me. I curse the sick fuck formerly known as Andrew when I feel the blood run down my back.
If I could have just found a phone, I would’ve called for help and wouldn’t have needed to drive. But then deep down inside I think—I know—I would’ve run anyway. Once the ropes were off of my wrists, come hell or high water, I was not spending another minute in that place.
I needed air.
I needed to breathe.
I needed to get out of the filthy hole that I was beaten in to remind myself that I’m still alive.
Andrew lived on a little road outside of town. I don’t know how far I’ve driven. I’ve passed a few houses since pulling out of his driveway, however I’m too afraid to stop and ask for help. What if he knows them? What if they aren’t friendly neighbors, but sick fucks like him who aided in my capture and subsequent torture? Since I have no trust in anyone but myself I’ll drive as close to civilization as I can before I pull over to get help.
I press a little harder on the gas. I know I’m minutes away from passing out. I’ve lost way too much blood and I still feel the rope around my wrists. I breathe deeply, trying to stop the phantom pain of his hands around my throat.
I press the button to lower the window, hoping the cool breeze will keep my eyes open. I know the only thing currently allowing me to move forward is the adrenaline rush from what I just did.
I need help.
I need blood.
I need a bed.
There’s a bottle of water in the cup holder. Not wanting to crash the vehicle, I ease off the accelerator before lowering my blood covered arm to grab it, using what little strength I have left to slowly twist the cap off and bring it to my lips. The first taste of cool water in my parched mouth is heaven. But when I swallow, my abused throat rejects it, causing me to cough.
The tang in my mouth tells me my throat is bleeding. A mixture of blood and water sprays out of my mouth and onto the plastic bottle making it impossible to hang onto. Not willing to try drinking again, I decide to dump what's left of the cool liquid down my face, hoping to wash some of the blood out of my eyes.
It burns.
Badly.
“Aghhhhhh!” I yelp, my abused throat sputtering out what strangled sound it can.
I grab a corner of the towel wrapped around my neck to clean my face with. I manage to clear a bit of the blood, but it comes back just as quickly. I give up, dropping the towel back into place before focusing back on the road.
When I left the basement, the tattered old towel was the first thing I found that would cover my chest. I tied the ends of the once white—now red—towel around my neck to cover the front of my body. I couldn’t put a shirt on due to the lashes Andrew left on my back. It would be far too painful.
I see lights in the distance. There are a lot of them, suggesting it must be town maybe five kilometers away. I can make it! I can get that far before passing out! I continue down the road, passing a few more houses sparsely dotting the landscape. I still don’t pull over for fear that they know Andrew; maybe the sick fuck had friends? I know it’s a ridiculous notion, but I can’t help the fear that I feel at stopping when I’ve finally found freedom.
Headlights are coming toward me so I slow down, squinting my eyes against the harsh light. I would never want to hurt someone else by causing a car accident, so I do my best to stay on my side of the road driving slower than my father used to on a Sunday.
Which was incredibly fucking slow.
My head starts to get fuzzy, sort of like tunnel vision. I only see the two headlights heading in my direction. Nothing in the scenery. Nothing else in front of me. The edges of my vision get darker and I can’t help but stare as two lights turn into four, then four into six.
The sickening sound of crunching metal is the last thing I hear before it all goes black.
Present Day
“I have to head to Chicago soon, beautiful.”
I’ve been quiet these past few days, ever since I found out a psychotic set of twins were out to ruin me.
By ruin, I more accurately mean murder.
The nightmares have flooded back in, and as much as I want to turn to Ryder to make them go away, I can’t bring myself to let him that close to me. I’ve become distant. Not even by choice, it’s simply because I’m lost in my head but too stubborn to talk about it.
It’s not so much that I’ve completely reverted into the old me that doesn’t speak much. It’s just that I have so many things to go over regarding the attack, and how the hell I don’t ever remember meeting a set of twins. No matter how much I wrack my brain, I don’t remember who ‘Andrew’ is. Nor do I remember his twin. A girl in college would certainly remember a set of twin boys. Wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t I?
Either I’m not most girls, or my memory went down the shitter along with my ability to open up to people.
“You do what you need to do Ryder, I’m not stopping you.”
I don’t say that in a rude way, more like I need time with my thoughts, and I understand he has a life and work to get back to.
No hard feelings.
We haven’t had sex again. Not that I couldn’t, I could have. I’m just in that mode where I need to be alone to process everything. I need to open up all the ugly of my casework and go through it again with a fine tooth comb now that I have this new information. I let him hold me at night, and it helps. But I haven’t made a move to take it any further and neither has he.
I would love to call Detective Miller and let him in on all I’ve learned, but for the time being I am going to keep this to myself, mull it over, see what I can do, and what should be done with it before I share with the boys in blue. I doubt it will be easy to convince them of my findings. If they look at the evidence again; they will see the obvious. Andrew’s home was only lived in by one person. It had only one bedroom, and the only belongings were that of the one person who occupied that room.
How far will they dig? How much will they want to delve into this mess again to try and figure out if there is an evil twin out there waiting to take my life? Will they even believe me and consider giving it a shot?
I’m almost positive if this case gets solved, it’ll only happen if Ryder and I commit a lot of time and determination to doing so. Aside from Detective Miller, my shot at getting any help from the rest of the police department is probably nonexistent.
A weight settles next to me on the couch. I turn to face the handsome man who’s planted himself into my life. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, but he knows it doesn’t bother me. His dark silky hair falls around his ears and brushes the collar on his dark grey shirt. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, showing the endless black lines of art that covers his skin. He begins to speak so I settle my green eyes on his beautiful black ones.
“We haven’t talked much babe, but I need to know what your plans are. I will help you in any way I can, you know that. However, in order for me to do that, you need to talk to me Elle, let me know what’s in your head.”
I don’t know how to answer that, mainly because even though it’s
my head,
I have no idea what’s going on inside it at the moment. I need more time, and I need to be alone to do that.
“I need more time Ryder, and I want that time to be alone. That’s the only way I can figure this out on my own. I do want your help, I just need some time to process before I get into it with you.”
A strong hand lands on my thigh, his tell that he not only cares, but that he wants my undivided attention.
“Told you before babe, I’m not going anywhere. As much as I may not physically be here, I’m still with you. What I need to know is if you’re coming home. And if you are, when? Because when I’m finished this job in Chicago, I want you with me, beautiful.”
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve thought a lot about when I would go home. Not if, when. I know this place in Indianapolis is not home. It’s a little ironic considering I’ve met more people here, and speak much more than I did when I was in North Carolina.
I think that has to do with growth, more so than location. I was still numb in my little cottage. I didn’t want to meet anyone so I didn’t bother to get to know anyone.
Here in Indy, I have the kind old souls on this street who’ve brought me muffin baskets, and fed my dog over-cooked pot roast. I have Brock and his kind wife Sam, who continue to show me just how amazing people truly are by checking in on me and dropping off baked goods from time to time.
I never had anyone like that in North Carolina, simply because I never put myself out there. I rented a home on a quiet lane with virtually no others, other than Ryder’s. I never joined a gym, or went to town for anything other than food and alcohol.
What more did a single, thirty-year-old woman need?
If they say it’s a family that makes a home, or the people around you that help create it, then the most logical explanation would be to stay in Indy.
If someone asked me where my cold heart wants to go, it’s North Carolina.
I can’t help but wonder if my mind and heart would still make the same choice if Ryder were not in the picture. I know I didn’t want to leave my little abode in the first place. I simply fled after Ryder saw my scars. But what about now? Will I be happy back there? Will I miss old Greta, and the other friendly senior citizens on this street?
What will I do three nights a week, without Brock as my trainer to help me sleep at night?
I’m not an idiot.
I’ll buy more wine is what I’ll do.
I also have to ask myself if this will continue to work with Ryder. The man is on my side, I know that much. Seeing as I haven’t been deported back to Canada and he’s still here with me, putting his dishes away and holding me when I sleep at night.
“I know this place is not my home, Ryder. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t met some pretty amazing people here. As much as I may not join them for tea, or meet up with Brock and Sam for drinks, it’s not going to be a quick move from here like it was from the cottage.”
I know I hit a nerve with that comment, but it’s the truth. Regardless of the fact he explained his relationship, or lack thereof, with his ex-fiancé Anna. It was still the situation that gave me a quick kick in the ass to get on the road. I was fully ready to stay until he got back from work so that I could say goodbye properly, and in the flesh.
The minute that country club whore showed up on my doorstep and declared herself Ryder’s fiancé was the exact minute I threw common courtesy out the window. I called him with little more than a ‘fuck you and your bitch of a fiancé too.’
Then I hit the road.
Looking back now I should’ve gave him the benefit of the doubt. But I’m never one to dwell on things, or have regrets. So I live, learn, and move the fuck forward.