Finders Keepers Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About Jessica Collins

  Dear Reader

  Don't Miss These Hot Titles From Deep Desires Press

  Finders Keepers

  A Fairy Tales After Dark Novel

  Jessica Collins

  Copyright © 2018 by Jessica Collins

  Cover design copyright © 2018 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

  All characters are age 18 and over.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Visit http://www.deepdesirespress.com for more scorching hot erotica and erotic romance.

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  Prologue

  The pain from the needle on her raised skin was excruciating, yet not nearly as painful as the cause of the scar in the first place.

  “Sorry, hon. I know it hurts.” Nico, her tattoo artist, added ink to the already tender skin. “It’ll be over soon,” she added, nodding her head in determination.

  Jayla nodded, her breath catching in her throat as the tattoo gun drifted over a particularly raw area. “Mother fucker,” she hissed, gritting her teeth. Turning her head into the padded table, her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms, trying to focus her mind away from the pain.

  “I know, I know, I’m so sorry. If it helps, this part of the scar is nearly camouflaged entirely by this stripe. Choosing a tiger was a great idea.”

  “Then it’s worth it,” Jayla answered, working to regulate her breathing.

  She turned again, her eyes catching the glances Nico snuck between her side and her face. Taking a breath, she answered the unasked question. “Stab wound. Courtesy of my asshole ex.”

  “What a scumbag.”

  The laugh escaping Jayla’s mouth wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You have no idea.”

  Closing her eyes, Jayla again attempted to block out the pain. What she couldn’t block out were the flood of memories. Images of the rope burns around her wrists from being tied to a concrete beam in the basement, of trying to walk on her severely swollen ankles from being thrown down the stairs. Flashes of other hard-to-forget memories, like the dog bowl she was given to eat from and the — literal — pot to piss in.

  She bit the inner corner of her cheek as the needle continued to move over her skin. It was a technique she had mastered, required to keep from crying out as his hands repeatedly slapped her across the face, when his boot hit her legs, her ribcage.

  For a while, he was careful not to leave a mark where anyone could see, but as time went on, he stopped caring. Her face was rarely without a bruise — not that he’d let her out of the house, anyway. The one time she did try to run away, he’d found her in less than three hours. Her punishment? A three-day stint in a chastity belt. He refused to unlock her, even to allow her to use the restroom.

  The small taste of freedom, fleeting as it had been, had reminded her that she was more than just his property. She knew it was only a matter of time before she escaped again. For good.

  As the tattoo gun glided over the large scar on her side, she took a breath. Surprisingly, the stab wound was one of the least painful punishments he’d inflicted on her. Although, by that point, perhaps she was too numb to care.

  The look in his eyes, the cruel smirk on his face, the careless goodbye he bade her before plunging the knife into her side, leaving only the handle sticking out of her skin — the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. His attempt to kill me saved my life.

  Regardless of this current knowledge, it didn’t stop her anxiety from rearing its ugly head. The number of flashbacks had waned in the past years, yet the horrific images, physical recollections, could seemingly appear out of nowhere.

  Especially at times like these, when she was forced to confront her past.

  Her breathing hitched, her chest tightening at the memory of the growing pool of her blood on the kitchen floor, the scarlet thickness of it on her fingertips. Jayla cleared her throat, attempting to stop the crushing constriction of it.

  Breathe, Jayla. Not real. Just a memory.

  Inhaling slowly, she held the breath, trying to regulate her heart rate. Her carotid artery throbbed — the tell-tale pulsing of blood the final sign before the oncoming panic attack. Not here. Not now, she begged herself, exhaling raggedly, struggling to maintain control. The images refused to stop flashing across her memory, as a movie reel having spun out of control. White floor … crimson blood … the glimmering hint of metal…

  Squeezing her eyes tightly, she focused instead on the realness of the needles digging into her skin. The pain, this time, grounding her. If she could feel pain, she was here — in the present moment, not stuck in the loop of her past memories. With seconds to spare, she pulled from the list of coping skills her therapist had taught her.

  Five. Five sounds: Tattoo gun. Cars on the street. Music. Nico’s gum popping. Customers talking.

  Four. Four sights…

  It took a few moments, but she warded off the full-blown panic attack. This time, at least. There were plenty of instances when the memories had left her struggling for breath and curled up in her closet.

  “All right, babe,” Nico spoke, drawing out the last word as her hand wiped at her skin. “Take a peek,” she said with a smile.

  Standing, Jayla stretched, groaning at the burning of her tender skin. Shaking out her head and arms, she walked to the full-length mirror. Staring at her body, at the new design caressing her skin, a smile creeped across her face. Turning to see the entire piece, tears formed in her eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, choking on the words. For the first time in a very long time, she was thankful for her taller frame. It had given the artist more canvas to complete her masterpiece.

  “Not as beautiful as you, hon, but close enough.”

  Is this really me?

  The tattoo covered a sizable portion of her left side: a full-bodied tiger stalking its prey. The fierce cat’s head and shoulders hovered near her hip and its powerful striped torso stretched up along the curves of her body, the tail curling gently up to her left breast.

  Nico’s design turned out better than Jayla could ever have imagined, capturing the realism of its face — the features both delicate and sharp. She could picture this very scene in the wild, just a moment before the large beast pounced. The bright oranges, whites, and blacks of the tiger, combined with the variegated jungle grass looked like a photograph superimposed on her skin.

  But, Nico’s true magic shone through the bright yellow-green eyes that stared at her in the mirror, piercing into her very soul. It was as if it was telling her everything would be all right. She would be all right.

  Her fingertips trailed over the delicate pink and yellow flowers woven into the background. Jasmine. The last small reminder of my old self.

  “It fits you,” Nico commented, watching Jayla through the mirror.

  Jayla’s gaze rose to Nico’s in the reflection. “He’ll be my constant reminder of how strong I am.”

  Jeffrey’s face — her traitorous ex — flashed through her mind. In the mirror, her features changed. Eyes narrowing, fingers curling into fists, all her muscles tightening at the reminders of how he treated her.

  Back then, and with her father’s help, she’d secured a new name and a new identity. But he’d warned her not to get too complacent. To stay mobile and to trust her instincts.

  Instinct taught her how to fight, to do what she needed to survive. Never again would she allow a man to control her. To hold her down. To tie her up.

  Never again would she submit to a man.

  Never. Again.

  Chapter One

  February, six months later

  Pulling the thin jacket tighter against her form, Jayla trudged on. She dipped her head against the biting wind. Manhattan in the middle of winter? Great idea, Jayla. br />
  Shaking her head, she laughed at herself. Normally, she’d chalk it up to another poor decision under her belt. But something called to her here. The moment her feet hit the concrete, fresh off the bus from sunny Florida, she felt … right.

  Pulling her coat even tighter against the blowing snow, her gloved hands reached into her pocket, pulling out the job ad. The address was only one more block away.

  Pushing forward, wiggling her toes in her worn-out boots, icy water from the snowstorm entered through the hole in the side seam. Days like this made her miss her home in California, her real home, with its sunny skies and warm beach. And her father.

  Shaking her head, she pushed his memory aside. Lingering in the past and drudging up things she could no longer have would do her no good. Instead, she focused on her need for money — for rent, for food, for … new boots. At least in Manhattan there’s no shortage of under-the-table work.

  In the five years she’d been on the run, she’d bounced around city to city, always looking over her shoulder. She’d stayed in Florida longer than most places, but after a particularity haunting run-in with a man who looked too much like her ex, she’d done what had become natural to her — packed her bags and set off to some place new. Jeffrey had frequently shared his disgust for New York, criticizing the busy streets and exorbitant pricing. His disdain for the city couldn’t have done more to persuade her to move here than a travel brochure swearing it was Bora Bora.

  Granted, Manhattan — especially late at night — was gorgeous. Artists showing off their portraits littered the streets of Times Square. The neon billboards never turned off, keeping one in a perpetual cocoon of light.

  The height of the skyscrapers was staggering. Craning her neck upwards on her first day, she couldn’t contain the smile at how insignificant she was in a city this large. The constant noise — the car horns, bike bells, chatter from pedestrians — was comforting. She was both surrounded by others, and alone, and it was perfect. No one cared to give her a second glance, a fact she was thankful for.

  One of the most surprising things were the smells. It seemed each area — hell, even each block — had its own distinct scent. Roasted nuts, bacon, bus fumes, chocolate, and the oh-so-pungent wafts of garbage which would randomly float through the streets — each unique and wonderful in its own way. And it was winter. She couldn’t wait for the weather to turn — according to locals, that’s when you could really smell Manhattan.

  The city, she reminded herself. They all call it “the city” here. Reading the printed job description again, that feeling crashed upon her. The same one she’d felt from the moment getting off the bus. The feeling of being … home.

  Are you a reliable, intelligent, independent woman? Do you want to hold all the cards? Are you daring enough to be interested in a new business venture? Then call Madame Lily’s today.

  Applicants must be over 21 years old. Ability to dance and/or sing preferred, but not required.

  Admittedly, she was wary. Madame Lily’s sounded like the name of a brothel. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling it was where she was supposed to be.

  A gust of freezing wind pulled the paper from her hand. She reached out to catch it, but it danced on the frigid breeze, twisting and flipping. Chasing after it, she turned at the corner, and nearly had it in her grasp when she collided with a man. In one smooth motion, he’d snatched the paper — and her, helping her stay on her feet rather than fall backwards from the impact.

  “First day on your new feet?” The man’s voice, low and husky, radiated through her. An unwelcome warmth against the blistering temperature.

  How original. She rolled her eyes and looked up at him. She was late, lost, and now she would have to make nice with some stranger who probably fancied himself some kind of hero for saving her. If he’d just watched where he was going, she wouldn’t have needed him at all.

  At her eye-level she discovered a well-defined chest, the shape visible under the T-shirt of his open jacket. Looking higher, she met a pair of deep chocolate eyes, black lashes, and dark, thick eyebrows. Dark roots of his hair peeked out of a wool beanie; the scruff on his face matching the color of his hair.

  Not bad.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he’d stopped himself from smiling. From her angle below him, she could admire the chiseled outline of his jawbone.

  Not bad at all.

  Wait, what the hell are you thinking, Jayla? Get a grip.

  “I’m fine. You can let me go now,” she responded flatly, shifting her weight back.

  He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, but his steadying grip on her arm released. “No problem on that whole ‘helping to keep your ass off the pavement’ thing. Glad I could be of service.”

  The low timber of his voice sent a rush through her. But his arrogant tone was more than a little irritating.

  “If you weren’t acting like a roadblock, maybe I wouldn’t have walked into you. Unless you purposefully run into women on the street. Some sick ploy to get them in your arms?”

  “Not my style, Princess.” He brushed her off with a shake of his head, handing her the job ad. “You know, not many people in this city would have offered a helping hand. They’d just as soon have let you fall on your ass. Way to be self-absorbed.”

  Self-absorbed? Jeffrey had often claimed she only cared about herself. She’d endured his insults for years, but from a complete stranger and for absolutely no reason? Hell no!

  Looking up, her lips lifted into a smile dripping with sarcasm. “If there were anything in front of me worth paying attention to, perhaps I would have.”

  Her lips parted to speak again, but he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back, her back now pressed against the side of the building.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at not just his intensity, but the closeness of his body. She should be outraged, ready to lash out, but his gaze held her in place.

  “You know, this feral cat routine you’ve got going on comes off a little desperate.”

  “Me? I’m not the one running people over then pretending to save them.”

  “Fuck me sideways,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “I was just trying to be nice."

  “Classy. Kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  An amused smirk appeared on his lips.

  “Now you’re desperate to find out what I can do with my mouth?”

  The comment caught her off guard, the innuendo making her heart skip a beat. Not that she’d let him realize that. “Not even if you were the last man on earth.”

  His lips pursed, giving her a once-over before stepping back. “Whatever, Princess. You’re welcome, by the way. Next time, tell the pavement I said hello.”

  With those parting words, he moved passed her, around the corner, and out of her line of sight.

  Standing frozen for a moment, mouth still agape, she shook her head. What an ass.

  Ten minutes later, still flustered from her recent run in, she stood in front of a glass double door with large windows on each side. Jayla re-checked the street number. Twice. This can’t be right.

  Madame Lily’s was … a bookstore?

  Printing on the windows labeled the space “Belle’s Corner”. Looking up, the space above appeared to be owned by an accountant — definitely not the place she needed. Stopping a stranger walking down the block, however, confirmed this was, in fact, the location.

  Shrugging, she opened the front door, jumping at the loud jingle of a bell announcing her entrance.

  “Hello,” she called out as she stepped inside.

  Instead of an answer, Jayla was met with complete silence. Raising her brows, she looked around the space, not expecting at all what was in front of her.

  Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the side walls, and part of the back. A sign on the large table that occupied the middle of the store read “New Releases.” It was flanked by a dozen stacks of both hard and soft cover titles, all appearing to be romance novels. At the back of the store, behind another table of books, a cashier’s desk stood against a half-wall, adorned with a lamp, computer, and some trinkets. On the wall above it, another sign read: Entrance for Madame Lily’s, with a large red arrow pointing to the left. Walking around the desk, Jayla noticed a gold railing, with stairs leading down, half hidden by the desk itself.