The precipice a dark par.., p.1
The Precipice: A Dark Paranormal Romance Adventure, page 1
The Precipice
Eluding Destiny
Book IV
Charlie Nottingham
Acknowledgements:
Thank you so much for amazing edits, Sam.
I don’t know what I would do without you.
Cover Designed by Miblart
Eluding Destiny Book 6
The Precipice
Copyright 2021 Charlie Nottingham
All rights reserved.
This work may not be duplicated, redistributed or exchanged without permission granted by author Charlie Nottingham.
This work is entirely fiction. Characters, names, places, media, brands and incidents are purely a product of the author’s imagination.
Author Charlie Nottingham acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of products and brands mentioned in this fictional story.
The author is in no way associated with nor sponsored by any brand mentioned within this book.
Dedication:
For everyone that’s wanted a baby and hasn’t been lucky enough to have one.
Content Warning:
This book contains detailed sex, drug abuse, addiction, captivity, adult language and situations, mentions of rape and suicide, extensive gore, violence, torture, and detailed homicide.
It is intended only for mature audiences.
Reader discretion is advised.
Prologue
December 22nd, 2020
“Oh, would you stop?” the man murmured to the crying child in his arms. He blew out a slow sigh. His eyes met those big, glowing blue irises. Such a beautiful thing, how their eyes lit up that way. One of the few things he enjoyed about the Fae. “You liked me once. Don’t you remember, Micah?”
He tickled his armpit. Micah giggled, pulling back and rubbing his fist against his big eyes. The man smiled. “There we are, esiasch. Will you please hush for just a few minutes now?”
Micah pointed to his uncle unconscious on the ground. “Cis.”
“Chris, I know.” He fought an eyeroll. “He’ll be back soon, it’s alright.”
He pointed still. “Huwt.”
The man shook his head. “He’s not hurt, he’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.” He lifted his finger over his lips. “Let Uncle Chris sleep, esiasch.”
Micah rubbed his eye again. The glow in them receded. Then he nodded.
The man smiled. “Good job.” He lowered him back into the crib. “I’m glad you can talk a bit now. You can tell me what you want to bring the most.”
Still, for a child of his age, he could verbalize remarkably well. Not full sentences just yet, but he was sure he’d get there soon. All the time he and his uncle had together, surely they had nothing to do but talk.
If Micah were anything like the first version of him had been, he’d never shut up once he did. The man smiled at the memory. That child. Sweeter than a bee’s nectar, that’s what he’d always said. With a soul like his, he supposed he’d have to be. All that power in there.
But always so chatty. His mother had been too. Never knew how to keep her damn mouth shut. Not then, not now. In any life, that bitch didn’t know a damn thing about being quiet.
He doubted he would get his father’s silence. If there was anything to say about that child’s father, it was that he knew how to keep a secret.
The man clenched his jaw at the memory. He dropped the bag onto the changing table. Diapers, they’d surely need those. The next place wouldn’t have a toilet;, they might need some for Chris over there too.
He tossed some into the bag. Then he pulled open the drawer below, tossing the bathing necessities into the sack. Didn’t want to have to make any stops at grocery stores. He supposed he could—they didn’t have his face set up on any facial recognition algorithms—but he had no desire. It was time he got back to the few years he had left to enjoy in this place.
His mission here was simple. Pack the child’s bag, take him to the next location, watch over him until Peterson was done with Chris, and then get back to his life. Let his three miniscule cohorts handle the rest.
He picked up a yellow onesie and held it out in front of the child. “Do you like this one?”
Micah smiled, nodding fast.
The man gave a smile back. He dropped it to the bag. Most of this wouldn’t fit the boy for much longer. But—now that he thought about it—he’d better take it all. Perhaps if they had enough of the child’s possessions, they’d finally get one of those locator spells to work.
He dumped them all inside.
Couldn’t have that.
Micah pointed to a photo on the wall. “Mama?”
The man glanced up.
His jaw tightened again. “We’ll get some more.”
The child clutched the bar of the crib. He bounced, lips pouting down. He pointed with his other hand. “Mama!”
His teeth gritted together. He huffed. Then he leaned over the bag and took the photo off the wall. He stared down at it for a moment.
Those bright green eyes. So similar to what they’d been all those years ago. Her face was prettier now too. Those plump lips perfectly proportioned beneath her small nose, the dainty roundness of her cheeks, the dark locks against her fair skin. So pretty.
His hand tightened on the frame.
But then he looked down at her neck. That scar. That big, ugly scar.
He smiled. His hand released slightly.
He wondered what the boy’s father thought of her now. Not as beautifully iconic as she’d once been. He hoped he’d ruined that attraction for him.
Then again. Knowing the lighthearted little fuck he’d always been, probably not. But at least it knocked down her omnipresent ego. Surely, she didn’t find herself as beautiful as she’d been, even if he did. That was enough. She was the one he resented most, after all.
The man passed Micah the photo. The child smiled big. He pointed to the picture and looked up. “Mama.”
He sighed. “Yes, esiasch. Your fucking mother.”
But the child just smiled and looked down at the photo.
Chapter One
July 10th, 2020
Laila
Fuck, I hated it here. Not the women, they were all nice. I just didn’t like it. Doctor Williams, my therapist, insisted it would be good for me. I was trying to give it a chance, but it hadn’t helped a damn thing. In fact, it did the opposite.
A sexual assault survivor’s support group.
Her other advice hadn’t been so bad. Journaling was soothing. Meditation was okay. I liked the hot baths. And her blessing on covering my scars with tattoos had been best of all, part of why I liked her so much, in fact.
But this sucked.
Listening to all of these women cry over the men we should have killed before they had the chance to hold us down and stick their dicks inside of us fueled a fire inside of me, I was desperately trying to extinguish. Each time I heard another woman tell their story, my heart hurt for a moment, then it ignited aflame.
My ass throbbed against the freezing, fold-up metal chair. I sipped my iced Irish coffee—the only thing that made this bearable—and enjoyed the burn as it settled in my stomach. My gaze shifted over the circle of women murmuring amongst themselves. It smelled old. There was no really other word I could think of to describe it, just old. It wasn’t that it smelled like old people, it just had an odd, elder scent to it. Although, I supposed the church above us probably was.
“Hi, everyone.” A young girl wrung her hands together and gazed between us, cutting off the conversations around the room. She pushed a long, curly lock of blond behind her ear. Her light brown eyes were bloodshot, standing out from the dark circles beneath them. She struggled to steady her trembling hands as she spoke. And judging by her round cheeks and jaw, she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “My name’s Tori. This is my first time here so I’m not really sure where to start.”
The side of my neck stung a bit when I craned up to look at her. My tattoo there was fresh, I just had it done this afternoon. But I sipped my spiked coffee. It helped to lighten the sting.
“Just talk about whatever you’re comfortable with.” The therapist gave a reassuring smile.
“Well, um.” She cleared her throat. “I just turned sixteen two months ago. That was exciting.” She licked her tiny pink lips and swallowed hard. Then she twirled a piece of hair beside her face around her fingers. “My friend told me I should try coming to one of these groups because I don’t really feel like I can talk to anyone else. And I just really need someone to talk to.”
Looking up at her, all that I saw was a baby. Just a little girl.
“You came to the right place,” a girl beside me said.
Tori strained a smile, nodding. “Well, um. About three months ago, I... I, um...” She paused. Then she shook her head and wiped the corner of her eye. “I was raped. And two weeks ago, I went to Planned Parenthood. Monday, I got my test results back. Thankfully, I’m not pregnant. And that’s good.” She gave a sad smile, tears forming in her eyes. Then she bit her lower lip before pressing them together. “But now I’m HIV positive.”
Others moved their hand to their mouths. Some even got tears in their eyes.
But me? That fire ignited. I felt it burn in my chest then slide down to the pit of my stomach. I had to chug a few sips of my coffee just to put it out and keep my eyes from glowing like traffic lights.
&n bsp; “And that’s not so good.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. After a moment, she regained her composure. “Now I have to tell my parents about what happened, and I know they aren’t going to believe me. I’m really scared they’re going to hate me because they’re super strict. And they’re... They’re friends with him. I, um…” She blinked some tears away. “I don’t know what to do.”
I wanted to kill the fucker that hurt her. I wanted to chop off his dick and shove it down his throat.
Come to think of it, not just him. I wanted to kill her parents too. They were blessed enough to have a baby, and she couldn’t even confide the worst thing that had happened to her in them? To protect a rapist? They didn’t deserve a kid.
“Are you looking for advice?” the therapist asked.
Tori nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Well, maybe a good idea would be to talk to your school guidance counselor,” the therapist said. “Maybe they could sit down with you when you tell your parents.”
“I’m home schooled,” she muttered.
“Would your parents be willing to take you to a counselor?” she asked.
Tori shook her head. “They say therapy is pseudoscience. They’re strict protestants, it’s hard to get them to hear a word unless it’s in the bible. My dad’s the senior pastor at our church. He says that there isn’t a problem that God can’t solve.”
Ah, so they were probably the same type of people that would say it was her fault. That she seduced him with her wilding beauty. That she was the one to blame, not the man who’d done it.
A huff of a laugh left my lips, and I sipped my spiked coffee. The therapist turned to me with creased brows. “Is there some advice you’d like to give, Laila?”
“I’m sorry, hon, I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said quickly. “Just the God comment.”
She let out a slow sigh. “Yeah, God doesn’t seem to have an answer for this one.”
“Because there isn’t one. God wasn’t watching over you when the bastard hurt you, he surely isn’t watching over you now.” I felt darting gazes on me but held Tori’s. “I take it you didn’t get a rape kit.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t really have the opportunity.”
“Do you have any dirt on the guy?” I asked.
“Laila,” the therapist interjected.
“Hey, I’m just saying. If you can’t get him for the rape, get him for something else.” I shrugged. “Probably get a longer sentence anyway.”
“No,” Tori muttered. “No, he’s clean as a whistle. A pillar in the community.”
Damn. I thought for a moment. “But is it known that he’s HIV positive? That might be enough evidence in court.”
“You don’t understand. He’ll never be charged.” She bit her lip. “My parents wouldn’t let me go to the police if I wanted to.”
“We’ll go over some options after the meeting, Tori,” the therapist said before turning to me. “You seem pretty chatty today, Laila. Would you like to share something with the group?”
“Sure,” I muttered. As Tori sat, I stood.
“Good afternoon again, everyone. How are we all today?” I said in my typical ironic fashion. There were a few shrugs and chuckles as I went on. “Well, good I hope. My life’s pretty good right now. Got the bite scar on my neck covered today so that’s cool. I like that you see the art and not the assault now, ya know?” I shrugged. “But life’s kind of weird too. I went on a date last week. It didn’t go well.”
“What happened?” the therapist asked.
Well, he’d been a prick. He was a ‘social media influencer;’ he’d announced that with pride. Then he kept asking when we were gonna go back to his place. My final straw had been when our server spilled his drink on the table, and he called her a cunt.
Then I told him to go fuck himself and ate dinner on my own. He was human anyway.
“I don’t know. Just wasn’t my type.” I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “The only guy I’ve been with since I was raped was my husband. And he was super careful, and he asked me if I was okay all the time. He didn’t squeeze too hard, he didn’t try to hold me down, he was gentle. I haven’t been with anyone since he left and now, even just going out with a guy I don’t know makes me kind of uncomfortable. What if he grabs me too hard? What if he doesn’t know how to be with someone who’s been raped? What if things start getting heavy and he doesn’t stop when I tell him to?” I let out a long sigh.
Of course, I knew what would happen if a guy did anything like that to me. I’d kill him. I wouldn’t even give him the chance to hurt me. But those thoughts did linger.
Still, I did want to get back out there. Jeremy had. I’d felt another bitch’s nails sliding down his back the week before.
Okay, that’s not fair, I shouldn’t call her a bitch. She probably didn’t know he was married. And even so, I told him it was okay for him to see other people. At least he hadn’t brought any girls back to the family.
The fact remained though. I’d gone the last seven months without sex. And I missed it. Not that I wanted a relationship or anything, but I missed fucking.
Really, I missed fucking my husband. But I wasn’t ready to go down that road.
I just wanted sex.
“It’s just weird. Like, I know my husband’s out there fucking other girls, so I shouldn’t feel guilty for considering it with someone else. But like, I don’t know how to go out. I don’t know how to date any more. I was in a monogamous relationship all of my adult life. I don’t know how this shit works. And I don’t even really want to date. I don’t know. I’m a mess. End rant.” I sighed and plopped back into my seat.
Daisy—one of the girls I’d formed something of a friendship with over the past few weeks in this group—laughed and shook her head. Then she lifted my coffee to her lips. She took a sip from the straw and quickly widened her eyes. I chuckled as she swallowed with a shiver and handed it back to me. “Damn, girl.”
“It’s medicinal,” I muttered. “This tattoo hurts like a bitch.”
It didn’t. Well, as it was getting done, it had. But now, it was barely a dull throb. I sure did feel that whiskey burning in my belly though.
***
Once the group ended, everyone sat around talking for a while. There was a snack table by the back door. I usually booked it the second everyone stopped talking, but I felt bad. I wasn’t exactly as kind as I could have been to that young girl. I owed her an apology.
That, and I wanted more information. I wanted to help her in any way that I could.
“Tori, right?” I asked.
She looked up from the cookie tray. A sweet smile lifted into her round cheeks. “And you’re... Laila?”
I gave a nod and a friendly grin. “That’s me.”
“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.
“Yeah, you too.” I shook it. “Hey, I’m sorry about laughing. It really wasn’t about you, just the irony. As girls, we’re constantly told to stay pure and be careful. We’re continually told that every man in our life is going to want to rape us, and then when they do, everyone says we’re liars. And if you tell someone in a church, they’ll say, ‘What were you wearing? Did you lead him on? Did you even say no? Maybe he didn’t hear you.’” I shook my head. “It’s just ironic.”
She licked her teeth and let out a bare laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. The funny thing is that before this, my entire life was dedicated to the church. I thought God loved me. But if he does, why would he put me through something like this?” She shook her head and chewed her lower lip. “I don’t even think he’s real anymore. And if he is, he’s a dick.”
“If he’s real, he’s a fucking asshole.”
Boy, was I right about that.
She laughed.
“Do you have a ride home?” I asked.
She shook her head. “We’re a few blocks from my house. My parents think I’m at the park with my friends.”
“I’m walking too.” I nodded. “Mind if I keep you company?”
She smiled. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Thanks.”
I smiled and gave a nod. Then I lifted my purse over my other shoulder so it laid across my body like a postal bag. “Yeah, I could use the company too.”
