Fractured (The Volkov Mafia Series Book 3)

Fractured

Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Harrington

Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Harrington

First publication: February 2016

Samantha Harrington

www.samanthaharringtonauthor.wordpress.com

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2015

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

This book is a work fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for third party websites or their content.

Thank you to my best friend Charlie Spence, without you the words would not flow, every time I called stuck on a part; you would help me through it.

Love you to the moon and back.

Thank you to my beta readers Anne, Karen your thoughts and words kept me grounded

Thank you to Francessca Webster
http://www.francesscas-romance-reviews.com
for a beautiful cover.

Thank you to Elisia Goodman from Dedicated Ink for editing.

Thank you to all the authors and friends that have supported me on this amazing journey.

And thank you to you the reader for buying this book.Without your constant support we would not write as your comments and reviews mean everything to us indie authors
.
  

Cami

Eight months ago I watched them say I do and get their happily ever after. Well, as happy as you can get being in the life they have. Faith is my best friend. We have been through one hell of a time together and now I’m leaving the people I love and care so much about because I can’t be in this life. It almost killed me once. I can’t risk it trying to kill me again.

Three days ago I gave birth to our sons. Malc was with me the whole time; nineteen hours of pain and prodding and poking and finally pushing. Charlie James Petrov was born weighing 5lbs 8oz, followed by Andrew Lee Petrov weighing 4lbs 13oz, but only one of our boys survived. Andrew died in his dad’s arms at twenty-six minutes old. He seemed fine at first, just small. They had just finished cleaning him and passed him to Malc. He sat in the chair with Andrew in his arms knowing that he would only have these next few days with his boys.

They said his lungs were underdeveloped and were not strong enough. They did not pick it up before because he was sustaining his life from me and his brother and by the time they noticed his colour was changing, it was too late. Our little boy was no longer with us.

There was nothing I could have done differently during the pregnancy. I ate well, I didn’t smoke or drink but still, you always have that fear that it’s your fault. My body was supposed to protect him, care for him, let him grow big and strong, prepare him for the outside world. I could not face going to see him after he had passed; they took a few pictures of him for us. Nothing will ever let me forget him. His beautiful face is forever imprinted on my mind; his bright blue eyes, the smattering of light brown hair on top of his head, his tiny little fingers and toes.
              Malc blames himself. He says his sins have come back to haunt him and the things in life that would make him happy are to be taken away as he is not allowed to feel happiness or love, hope or joy, because of what he has done and who he is. I did get a glimpse of those things a few times when we first made love and then utter happiness, however short lived it was, when both our boys came into this world; his eyes when I had both of them in my arms. Then our world imploded even more than it had before.

Sitting in this hotel, I wait to say goodbye to the man I love, yes love. But love is not enough to concur all and I don’t want that life. I want the little house in the country, to work a little job to get by and be happy, but if I stay I’m in that life, the life I don’t want for our son, and the life I don’t want for me. I don’t want him to choose, so I never let him have the choice.

The door opens and he walks in. He looks at me and walks straight towards me crouching down to where I am sat on the bed cradling Charlie.

“Everything is ready for you, cash, car and a place to stay up in Scotland. Are you sure you can make the drive? It’s only been three days, I can get another day or two off and drive you?”

The concern in his voice is present and I’m doing everything I can to stop the tears that are going to fall. There is no point in prolonging this, I already left the envelope on the side with his name on it containing a letter and a picture of me holding both boys. I want him to carry that piece of happiness with him.

              “I need to go, Malc, I can’t stay. My own best friend doesn’t even know we have had two sons, she is clueless and that is how it stays.” My look pleads with him to not say anything. I can’t risk Faith knowing, she would only talk me into staying, she almost succeeded once. No, I’m leaving but not before it breaks my heart; I will never love anyone but him.

In the past three days I have lost two pieces that make me whole; I have lost my son and now I am losing my man. I don’t think I will ever recover from the events that have transpired but I will be brave, I will be strong because Charlie needs me to be.

He reaches for Charlie and takes him from my arms, I can’t deny him his son. Walking over to the window he gently rocks him and whispers loving words into his ears, sending him off to sleep. I let the tears fall knowing he will not see us again after today, I know if I ever needed him he would come, like every time I have needed him before.

“My sweet little boy, I will love you until my dying breath. I will keep you safe from my world by keeping you away from it, never forget me, Charlie. I love you, my boy.” I watch the tears drop onto Charlie’s head as he places him in his car seat and walks me to the car.

We buried Andrew yesterday, just me, Malc and Charlie, and a priest; no one but us will ever know. Watching him being lowered into the ground brought me to my knees and I fell against Malc, sobbing for all that we lost. He will always stay close to his father being buried here. Malc promised me he would always come to see him and I don’t doubt that he will.

I watch as he puts Charlie’s car seat into the car and straps him in, then closes the door. Standing in front of him I reach up and kiss him. I don’t care if I shouldn’t, I love the very bones of this man. He brings his hands up to my cheeks and I open my mouth while he gives me a kiss that is full of loss, pain and the desperation of a man about to lose everything.

He breaks the kiss; I’m about to get into the car but the words that come next destroy me. “I’m only letting you go, Camilla, because I love you! You are it for me.”

I don’t respond. I just drive and I don’t look back because I know if I see that look on his face again I will never leave.

Cami.

Four months later…

It was supposed to get easier but how can this be better for us? I cry all the time. As soon as Charlie goes to sleep I start to cry. I miss my son and I miss Malc; I pine for him with a hunger I had never felt until I met him. He captured my heart the second he saved me.

That day still haunts my dreams and the marks that are left on my body are constant reminders of what Jake did to me. How he used my body for his satisfaction, regardless of my pleas for him not to do it, he enjoyed the power it gave him.

The act itself I don’t remember that much of; only flashes of memories, those key parts are ingrained into my mind. I remember the pain of the knife digging into my flesh, the pain as he pushed himself into my unwilling body, my screams as he beat me when I resisted.

I spent months inside that hospital trying to recover from the hell of what I went through. I refused to see anybody but Malcolm at first. I wouldn’t see Faith; it took me weeks before I could face her, for a time I hated what she had got me into. She got off with hardly a scratch while I was the one that had to spend hours in surgery, fighting for my life as I bled out on that theatre table. The blood was coming out of me just as quickly as they were pumping it in. I had taken that much between the kicks, punches, bites, knife wounds and damage from his filthy penis. I had internal bleeding in my womb, fallopian tubes with stab wounds so deep that they could only repair one, which in turn meant they had to remove the other one.

To say that I never wanted anything to do with that life was an understatement. Why would I want to stay after what I had been through? I hate recalling all this bullshit but I do it to remain strong, or I will end up caving and calling Malcolm like I want to most of the day, every day. The dream I try to hold onto when it comes is the one of the three of us happy in a little house away from all the crap that goes on in their world. Faith may have dealt with it but it’s not something I can deal with. Don’t get me wrong I am happy that she is happy with Damien and their daughter, Anya, but I can’t face that life, it robbed me of who I am - that take-no-shit journalist who didn’t give a crap about going out or being seen anywhere. She left, and in her place is this pathetic, weak, snivelling human.

The crying pulls me from my thoughts. “Ok, my little angel, mummy’s coming.” I will love this little boy for the rest of my life; no matter what has happened he is a blessing. I lost one child, I won’t lose another. I just get by now, even if looking at Charlie reminds me of Andrew. All I have wanted to do for the past four months is go to my son’s grave and cry, to sit there and tell him how much I love him. Unless you have lost a child you will never know how much it hurts to fall instantly in love then have it ripped away, that everlasting mark on your soul, that broken piece of your heart that will never heal no matter what you do.

I walk into the bedroom and stride over to his cot. It’s nothing fancy just a basic pine cot, the white coverlet and blue sheet are all that are inside his cot and the mobile that hangs above his head plays a beautiful soft version of Brahms’s lullaby. His crying stops as he looks up at me, his stunning blue eyes penetrate my soul and every time I look at him I fall more in love with him, but at the same time as it breaks my heart all over again.

“Are you hungry, little man?” I don’t expect a reply as he is only four months old, but the now smiling face and beautiful cooing is all the answer I need. I lift him out of the cot and wander across the room to the rocking chair that sits looking out of the window to the beautiful countryside, the little village that I have called my home is so far away from the hustle and bustle that is London, the busy city streets and the gridlocked roads are something I don’t miss.

I only knew of Duffus because I had a friend that went to Gordonstoun school. She told me about how, when she was attending there, it was basically in the middle of nowhere, the one shop and pub and church with some houses surrounding it. It sounded like my escape. When I thought back over the memories of Jenny from work, now she was the opposite and loved the city and never wanted to leave. But from the day we sat in the office at work and she was telling me about Duffus, I had made it my mission to live there one day.

I fell in love with the village as soon as we arrived, pulling up to the house I was renting after the ten-hour drive, well it was longer as I had to stop a couple of times to feed Charlie, but pulling into the stone driveway and looking up at the house, I knew then that this was the place I could start to heal.

The wooden columns that support the porch of the sand coloured house and the dark wooden door up the steps felt like home straight away. The estate agent was waiting for me to arrive; he had the keys to my new home.

I sit in the rocking chair looking out of my bedroom window, the tree line that I can see settles me. I wince a little as Charlie latches onto me, nestling him closer to me so that I can have one of the most enjoyable times spent with my son, but at the same time I wonder what it would have been like to sit here with both of my sons feeding from me and Malc lay sleeping on the bed as I feed our boys. I quickly banish the thought from my mind as I feel the tears start to build again. They say that a mother’s love is unconditional and it is, no parent should have to bury their own child, which is a day I will never forget.

I start the rocking motion in the chair as he finishes feeding, quite content to sit with him in my arms keeping him safe and protected. Looking around the bedroom, the huge kingsize bed fills the room, apart from the chair and cot that’s all I have bought to go in the house as it came fully furnished. The white walls give the illusion of more space and the little en suite is perfect; it has a shower and sink and toilet so I more or less just use that room for me. I have to bath Charlie in the downstairs bathroom which houses the bath. I like the idea of getting up after dinner and running a bath, not having to run upstairs to do it.

I get up now that I can see Charlie’s sleeping soundly. I place him down in his cot, switch the baby monitor on and head downstairs to have my dinner and apply for some more jobs in the towns that are a few miles away.

The worst part of every day is when Charlie has been settled down for his nap, this is when the memories start flooding back to me and I haven’t got Malc here to get me through it.

I stalk over to the fridge, pull out the homemade lemonade I have chilling and pour myself a huge glass. It would seem that I have replaced one addiction for another. That’s the trouble with coping mechanisms, you tend to latch on and come to depend on it, well, that was me until four months ago. I thought that it would just fade away after what I went through but it never does. I close my eyes trying to gather my thoughts before taking anther sip of the tangy goodness that I have come to crave; one of the ladies in the village makes and sells it.

Dinner was bland, I don’t think I even tasted the pasta salad I had; it’s like a void. Just running through the motions of life, living but not feeling, that is what I’ve become now.

The tapping of the laptop keys is a welcome sight. I haven’t really done much in months, it’s like the feeling you get when you write that story on a deadline and make sure it’s submitted in time, that sense of pride when the editor puts your work into print. I search the online job sites for this area even though it is stunningly peaceful and jobs in my field are a little few and far between, but at this point I need to work. It’s not that I have to work, I have the money that Malc puts into my account every month but I won’t touch it. I want what money I use to come from a hard day’s work and not off the back of some poor family that have had a beat down because they didn’t pay on time. That’s the bane of it right there, the reason why he’s not next to me right now getting ready to snuggle in front of the open fire in the living room with a glass of lemonade before bed. I just can’t get past it, I don’t want to fear that the police will be lurking around every corner, waiting to catch them and take him away from me, or have another child taken from me, I wouldn’t survive, my heart would be destroyed.

I’m going to have to look into different fields if I want to get a job. I look through the ads and I see that there is a waitress job opening at a small café in Elgin, only eight miles away. I click on the ad and take note of the address, tomorrow I will travel into town and apply for the job, I need to pick up some nappies and clothes for Charlie anyway, the little man keeps having growth spurts, well, I don’t mean that to sound like I’m complaining because I’m not. It just seems you buy them and they’re too big, then the next day they’re too small. I love that he is growing well and is going to grow to be big and strong like his dad, I will be sure to keep him on the right path in life.

As I crawl into bed later that night I manage to blank out the worst of the memories, but it has left behind the need that I feel for Malc. I slide in between the sheets and I let my hand wander to all the delicious stolen moments that we had and there were a lot of them. I depended on him to bring me back from the dark and he did. Ever since the day I left that mental hospital with the PTSD they diagnosed me with, they said I had suffered a severe trauma and as a result I had attended counselling, group sessions and taken lots of medication, which I stopped as soon as I found out I was pregnant. The worst was the desensitising treatment that made me relive the experience in a controlled environment. I hated every second, well, until one day, I went in and I could cope a little better. The feelings are still there, the memories still fresh in my mind. I can think about it now and not withdraw into myself, I think having the boys helped with that. I could still get lost in them, though, if I let myself.

The room is white and sterile. I’m sat in a chair in the corner looking out of the window, my arms wrapped around myself like a protective blanket. All I do is wait, wait for the pain, wait for the hatred of reliving each moment of the attack, but most of all I wait for Malc. He comes everyday to see me, some days I sit in silence, other days I try to talk slowly but surely, he is reliving it through my depraved words.

I return my thoughts to Malc and of happier times. I just want to forget, I want to fall asleep dreaming of him, not Jake, never Jake. He doesn’t deserve any part of me, he has taken too much already.

Closing my eyes I search for the memory I want. Most of our days were fast and full of need but the one I cherish the most is the one in which he made love to me. He would not crave what I wanted he said, “Y
ou will at least remember all of the times we have sex, Camilla. I will not fuck you now, I am going to savour you in the way I want to. You are going to feel every part of my mind, body and soul. You are mine and if this is the only time you submit to me then fine, I have been doing it your way for weeks, but not tonight I need this, Camilla, please.”

I had just nodded my head knowing that he needed this and for the first time in weeks I felt something more than anger or hatred, I felt loved. The way he placed tender kisses to each one of my scars, the tears that streamed down my face as he did; how could anyone find this attractive? But he said that for every mark I had he had the same on his heart every time I used him, so he said we were a perfect match. The way his body loomed over mine you would think after what I’d been through that I would hate it, but I never could, not with Malc. He loved me that night, slow, sweet, tender and that was the only time I let him. He worked his way deeper into my heart that night.

I let my hand wander with the thought of feeling him again. I rub slowly at first savouring the feeling and the memory. As the need gets deeper I begin to rub harder and faster, the need to reach the crescendo taking over and blocking out the memories, only leaving behind the anticipation of release. As soon as I slip two fingers inside, curling them forwards to find my g-spot, it’s electric. The memory fades and release takes over. I come, using my pillow to muffle the noise of my release. Then I fall into a dreamless sleep, just what I needed, a few hours to recharge without bad memories.

I awake to the soft babbling noises coming from the cot. Pulling back the cover I realise it’s eight am. I can’t remember the last time I slept so long. I pad over to the cot where my little man is and look over the top to see his huge gummy smile looking up at me. Picking him I up it’s time to go and start our day. Starting with a feed for this little one, then a shower for me.