Where the Ivy Hides

Where The Ivy Hides

Roman Book 3

By

Kimber S. Dawn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Kimber S. Dawn: 2015 [email protected]

Cover Designed by Raising Kane Photo Co.

*** This book contains explicit descriptions of violence and sex, obscene language, torture, rape, assault. This book is intended for MATURE AUDIENCE MEMBERS ONLY, and NOT intended for the weak at heart, nor persons with any triggers.***

For my sweet Megan

I love you to the moon and back, baby girl…

Prologue

Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Ivy Payne. I don't know where I came from, and even at the age twenty-two, I still have no idea whose loins I derive from either.

Not that it matters.

At least, not anymore…not after tonight.

I was raised by my Aunt Blythe, and after her father's death five years ago, I learned that I'd been calling the wrong man Grandpa for as long as I could remember.

And it’s this ill prepared epiphany that has been at the root of what has plagued me since.

Leaving me not only left wondering where I came from, but who I am, and lastly where I belong.

Blythe is...different. I knew that very early on. She’s never been one to coddle or soothe. Comparing Aunt Blythe to the other mothers I met in school was like comparing apples to oranges…Or fairy god mothers to the wicked step ones. Chastising tones, clipped words, and stern lectures? Now those, I’m familiar with and that’s cool, because it’s all I know.

I’m uncertain exactly how I came into Aunt Blythe’s care, but the certainty of her not having to take on a kid as a single, thirty something with no children of her own, spoke loud enough to prevent me from asking questions or complaining about anything.

The way I saw it, my parents fornicated and bolted, and if it weren’t for Blythe I’d be both parentless and homeless and probably pretty fucking hungry.

As a child, I learned it was best not to ask questions and I stuck to that lesson, carrying it into my adulthood because of how much the truth hurt. Well, that and also out of respect for the phrase, ‘Blood isn’t always thicker than water.’

If I had to say whether or not I’ve had a good life at this moment in time, I’d say , yeah, it’s been as good as I could’ve hoped and a whole hell of a lot better than if Blythe wouldn’t have been there.

I’ve loved.

I’ve also hated.

I’ve been high and felt the thrill.

I’ve crashed and burned, and I have the pale pink scars on my inner wrists to prove it.

I’ve felt joy.

I’ve been weighted down with pain to the point of screaming and crying.

But I’ve lived.

Oh, I have lived.

And no matter how small my existence has been or how seemingly pathetic my life is, it has been mine, and I’ve done with it what I could.

The ear-splitting screams pierce my subconscious musings at the exact moment the fierce pain lances through what’s left of my reserve before it dulls and darkness ebbs everything around me.

I guess I should probably clarify, that while yes, I have lived a life where both bitter and sweet were afforded, I did do the best with what I had. But, I should have pushed more, I should have loved harder. I should’ve carpe’d the FUCK out of this diem, but I didn’t.

As my red Mini Cooper spins mid-air, the seat belt I forgot to buckle in my drunken, stoned stupor connects with my left temple, disorienting me enough so I don’t realize I’m crashing through the windshield until I feel my body slam against the asphalt on the side of the road.

I should’ve carpe’d the FUCK out of this diem.

I should’ve lived my life to the fullest.

I should’ve fought harder. For all of it. For everything.

For him.

And for her.

It’s fucking sad really that until right now, this very moment, I never realized just how far I’ve fallen for Ryker David Killian.

An Irishman in Holley, Florida.

When whoever asks what I would’ve done over in this life, what wrong I would right, my answer will always be the dark, handsome, Irishman with eyes the color of a stormy, dark sky.

But it’ll be the way his eyes scanned over my face again and again tonight before he kissed me goodbye that’ll replay in my mind until the end of time.

“Stay, Ivy, goddammit, just stay, love. It doesn’t have to be like this. I love you.” His eyes are filled with so much pain. If I was a good person, I’d stay. If I was a good person, I’d tell him that I love him, too. I’d tell him the truth.

“Don’t. Don’t say that.” I shake my head as I try to turn away from him. “You don’t love me.” And every word I mutter slices through me, yet somehow, my resolve remains strong. “I can’t, Ry. I can’t do this. I can’t stay somewhere I don’t belong, not with someone I don’t love. Not anymore.”

As I turn to leave, his grip tightens around my left bicep and his voice rumbles, “No! I can love you enough for the both of us. I’ve done it for this fucking long!”

I jerk from him and slip, but my stumble forward helps me maneuver from his grasp, and I quicken my steps towards my car. I yell out over my shoulder before slipping in the driver’s seat and cutting his words off with the car door, “No, Ryker, you’re wrong, you haven’t. When will you learn you can't catch what doesn't want to be caught?” The silence after the door slams is so loud it’s deafening.

But I lied to him—just like I always do. I lie and I hide.

Because he had. From the moment he first laid eyes on me, Ryker Killian had loved me harder and stronger than I’d ever been loved in my pathetic, indifferent, short life.

And those earsplitting screams piercing the hot summer night, still faintly heard even in the darkness, abruptly cease just before the bright light…simply…goes…out.

Had I known I would die today, I would’ve made sure Ryker Killian knew I loved him. That I always have and I always would, in this form and the next, be something he'd never
have
to catch.

I'd always be his.

Part 1

Before Death

Chapter 1

I’m barely three.

I see her, and I know from what Daddy has said that I should be happy she’s home, but honestly as far as I’m concerned she’s a figment of my dreamlike imagination. I don’t remember any other mother besides my imaginary mother.

She is really beautiful.

And she looks a lot like my imaginary mother.

She smiles at the same time her eyes do, my daddy says that’s an important thing to look for when you need to know if someone is being sincere.

I see her at the same time she sees me, and I can’t stop the burst of joy that blooms behind the smile dimpling my cheeks. I like her. Realization strikes.

I do. I like her.

I know I told Daddy I thought she looked broken, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe she’s getting better, or maybe she never was broke.

And even if she isn’t my imaginary mother, I think she looks just enough like her that I can give my daddy what it is he so wants…

If my happiness is the only reason we can’t do this forever and have it as our ending, then I think I can be happy...

I remember being happy and feeling like I was on top of the world as we walked hand in hand from Baby Co. in my new shoes to the car. I remember being excited to show my daddy how pretty they were and how much faster they helped me run.

Then I remember Nana D crying and saying how sorry she was as a woman named Lizbeth told me I would be staying with her for a little while until my daddy could make my mommy feel better. Knowing my daddy was the best doctor in the world, what this red headed woman told me made perfect sense at the time.

And as Aunt Blythe asked me to call her mommy and the mean man who shoved me in the box, daddy, she promised if I was a good girl, she’d make sure I’d see my real daddy again.

That promise was what I held on to night after night in the box. When I screamed and cried and clawed at the raw wood of the locked door, I screamed my daddy’s name, I cried for him, begging him to hurry and find me and bring me home, as I tried to claw my nails through the door.

But my daddy never came.

He never saved me.

And neither did my poor, sick mommy.

After a while, I stopped crying for them.

Then after another while, I stopped hoping they’d come.

And with that hope, a small vital part of me and who I would have become quietly died.

When I ask for my daddy, and it’s very rare I do, Aunt Blythe doesn’t answer. She just keeps reminding me over and over that if I’m a good girl, and I remember to always do as I’m told, she’ll take me to Disney World, and I like Disney World. I’m really excited to go. My daddy promised once Mommy was better he’d take me to Disney Land, so Disney World has to be better. It’s a whole world, not just the land. Right?

“Is Disney World bigger than Disney Land? My daddy never talked about Disney World, only the Disney Land, do you think that maybe somehow he knows we’re going?”

“No, Winter, I don’t. I do know your daddy is still trying very hard to get your mommy better, though. You want your mommy to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do. Sorry, I just…sometimes I forget you don’t want me talking about them.” I mutter, but in my heart of hearts I wonder why she isn’t better yet. I wonder why Mommy’s sick lasts eons compared to my few days long cold.

“You can’t keep forgetting, not around Daddy Sebastian. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But I don’t understand. I never understand anything. Probably because I’m just a kid.

This morning Reese and I finished the fort he and I have been building since the beginning of  summer, and neither of us are willing to be the first to leave as the sun starts to set. Both of us are starving and dragging our feet home when brilliance strikes.

“Hey! I know. We can eat supper, bathe, and meet back at the fort later. We’ll have our first sleep over at the fort! It’ll be like when we were kids, ya know, before, when they still considered us kids and not a boy and a girl.” Our friendship hasn’t been the same since we turned ten and I hate it.

“I would, but Ry is coming over and spending the night. Our moms have a book club meeting tonight at my house and we are going to be watching slasher movies all night!” I can tell he’s amped up about his boy’s night and it irks the crap out of me.

I hate Ry. I don’t know why he had to move here and ruin mine and Reese’s lives. Okay, not Reese’s life. My life. This question plagues me through the night until morning.

I start school next week. Reese told Jaci I’d be laughed out of gym, which means nothing to me, seeing as I’ve never been to school before.

I’m mostly excited to meet new friends. This last year has to be the slowest year I will ever live through. If I am not by myself then I’m staring at Aunt Blythe, and oh, how tired I am of looking at her! As I scarf down spoonful after spoonful of Frosted Flakes, I watch the interaction between Aunt Blythe and her father and I’m thankful last night is over.

The first night he comes home is always the worst. His aggression and abuse are amplified.

When I notice the distain mixed with mild interest on Aunt Blythe’s face, I know she knows it’s happened again and I wonder why she doesn’t stop it from happening. Not that she ever has.

I learned a long time ago to blend. Stay quiet. And never draw attention to myself. Any attention will inevitably turn bad, leaving me to bear the brunt of his aggression. Be it another lashing or spanking, or the pathetic prey of a sick bastard.

I always miss my daddy the most on mornings like these. I don’t remember my mother, but my father. I more than remember him, I miss him.

As Aunt Blythe, Reese, and I walk into Walmart for my school supplies, I concede that tonight, once again, I’ll have to pretend my daddy is here, rocking me to sleep to help block out last night.

I’ve been waiting for this day all year. My first school dance. I can’t believe Aunt Blythe is actually letting me go. I spent the evening after school, in Jaci’s closet, and I finally settled on one dress. It’s tight and short, but it’s perfect for my plan. As soon as Miss Michelle Peyton started flirting with Reese Bonacci, I knew it was time to either step up and claim what is mine, or let it go. And I’m not letting Reese go.

As Jaci and I walk into the gym, the bass thrums through me and causes my inhibitions to fall away at the door. With my hips swaying back and forth to the music, I make my way behind Jaci through the throng of people on the dance floor. As soon as I see Reese, it’s as if the crowd parts and he and I are the only two on the dance floor.

“Wow. You look hot. Like, seriously, Ives, you’re freaking smoking hot in that dress.” I laugh though the disappointment still stings.

“Really, Reese? Hot? When a girl tries this hard, the word ‘hot’ is not the descriptive word she’s going for, ever,”Jaci laughs before turning away and Reese shrugs.

Then he loops his arm around my neck and pulls me towards him, before laying it on thick, “Yeah, you look hot. What’s wrong with what I said?”

Ryker’s voice pulls my attention towards where he stands hidden in the shadows of the folded bleachers, his words are as soft yet stagnant as the marijuana smoke he exhales around the joint in his mouth. “I wouldn’t use ‘hot’. Stunning, absolutely. Breathtaking? Obviously, everyone heard me gasp when I saw you walk in. But, no, neither of those words suffice. See, love…, if you were mine, I’d study foreign languages until I could whisper them to you in the darkness. And I’d make sure you’d never want me to stop.”

I hope my glare is as lethal as it feels when I settle my eyes on his. “Ryker Killian, why won’t you just die? Why are you always lurking around?”

Ugh! It never fails. Never! Ry has been messing up our plans, my plans, for as long as I can remember with snide comments and backhanded compliments.

In an effort to ignore him, I look towards Jaci, “You bring those cigarettes?” She nods. “Let’s go split one, come on.” I grab her wrist and drag her towards the locker room.

Once she and I are facing the mirror in the girl’s locker room I ask her around smearing on more unnecessary lip gloss, “What the hell is that guy’s problem!? Did you hear him?”

She chuckles as she sprays more Bath and Body Works perfume on, practically choking the both of us, “Who, Ryker? Oh, he’s
had
it bad for you, you know that, Ivy. What do you expect? A guy like him isn’t going to take it well when the girl he wants is dressing up for another guy.”

I roll my eyes at her reflection. “He doesn’t want me, Jaci, he’s being an asshole.  Besides, he is not what tonight is about. Reese is.”