Prologue
Jade awoke in her apartment, immediately realizing something was terribly wrong. First, she was in her bed. She usually crashed on the couch. Second, she was completely nude. And third, her abdominal muscles were sore and her thighs, sticky. She frantically tried to piece together the events of the previous night but remembered nothing subsequent to saying goodbye to Jeremy.
The scent of sex lingered on her flesh. Her tender insides churned as wooziness had her stomach rising and falling with strange cramping. An excruciating ache resonated between her temples, threatening enough that she had to focus on not vomiting. Had she been in a car accident?
After staggering out of bed, she scanned her surroundings for any explanation as to how she got there. Had Jeremy come home with her? No, she specifically remembered him leaving the bar. And sleeping with Jeremy was something she’d never forget. Right?
They’d eaten dinner at Paprika’s after the wedding rehearsal. Jeremy sat with her the majority of the evening and when the dinner ended, they met at The Pink Lounge for another drink. Subtly flirting, she made every attempt to let Jeremy know it could be his lucky night. But, always the gentleman, he politely ignored the implication of an open invitation to her bed.
Jade frowned. They definitely didn’t do anything last night. Why was she so disoriented? Last night was too fuzzy after only a few drinks. Gaping holes cut apart her memory, telling her something wasn’t right.
Kat had texted her, reminding Jade to pick up the rings from the jeweler. It was around that time that Jeremy said goodnight and things got fuzzy. But why? She’d been fine.
So fine that when he asked if she was okay to drive she laughed. After only three drinks over the course of five hours, she was barely buzzed—or so she thought.
The fringed edge of her memories showed glimpses of her straw twirling in her empty cocktail. Then … nothing.
No blur of time passing. No memory of paying her tab, nothing of the ride home, or talking to anyone else at the bar. Nothing—until morning.
“What the hell happened last night?” She rubbed her head, her fingers tangling in a massive knot of blonde hair.
The muffled chirping of her cell phone played. Ignoring the pain in her skull, so intense it caused her vision to momentarily blur, she searched for her cell. Her foot connected with something sharp and she stumbled. Squinting down at the jagged object, she frowned.
Why were her car keys on the floor? A few inches to the right sat her lip gloss.
The ringing continued as she frowned at the objects scattered across her bedroom floor. Her purse was flipped inside out, gutted, and lying on the carpet next to her wallet. “What the fuck?”
Taking a shaky step forward, she toed her wallet, flipping it over. It was completely empty. Even her library card was gone.
On buckling knees, she dropped to the carpet. Limbs weak, she briefly considered if there had been a car accident. Perhaps she was suffering a sort of delayed amnesia from bumping her head? Sweeping aside the dust ruffle, she spotted her phone next to a dirty sock, a hanger, some dust bunnies, and more items that belonged in her purse.
Using the hanger, she fished her phone within reach. It spun across the dusty hardwood floor toward the carpet as the incessant bleating suddenly ceased. She zoned out, staring at it in her palm.
Her phone wasn’t where it belonged—more evidence that something was horribly wrong. Cell phone, keys, purse… It seemed silly, but all those belongings had a home. Fear crawled up her spine like little spiders.
Her cell chirped and she released it, dropping it onto the carpet. Bleak emptiness settled over her. Her thoughts teased like distant whispers. A million suspicions came to fruition as she sat, paralyzed, and naked on her floor. Her fingers closed over the swollen folds between her legs and it hit her like slow sifting sand eventually strong enough to bury her alive.
Rape.
I. Was. Raped.
A scream built in her mind, pounding to break free, but only a whimper slipped past her lips. Suddenly freezing, her arms protectively curled around her belly as her body trembled. An impotent fury gripped her so tightly, her limbs vibrated in an attempt to contain it.
Rocking and gasping, she whimpered in the silence.
A wave of nausea dragged up from the pit of her stomach and she dry heaved hard enough to draw the flesh covering her back muscles painfully taut. Chills prickled her skin as she sobbed in the silence.
Her jerky gaze dropped to her body, appraising the parts she could see. A bruise marred her thigh in an ugly shade of yellow. What the fuck happened to me?
What should she do? She was a medical professional. Trained in emergency situations. But she couldn’t find a single logical thought in her head because this was not about a patient. This happened to her.
“Hello?” she cried, but no one answered. “Hello!”
Pushing her legs to stand, she leaned against the wall and shuffled toward the bathroom with the grace of a newborn calf. Nothing looked out of place, yet everything seemed off. Oddly, her laptop sat on the breakfast bar completely untouched. Wouldn’t a thief be interested in that?
She turned and froze, the blood rushing from her limbs and her grip slipping on the wall. The front door was not just unlocked, but standing open.
Without consciously taking a step, she flung forward and threw both hands at the hard surface, slamming it shut. Hands violently shaking, she locked the knob and jerked the deadbolt home.
Panic sent a spasm of tremors racing up her spine. Every bit of her world was violated—her home, her body, and unquestionably, her mind.
Her face pressed into the cool door as she sobbed and gasped, but no matter how many times she asked why, no explanation followed. The best she could do was wash away the filth.
The shower faucet squealed as scalding water rushed down the drain. Stepping under the steaming spray, she winced. A million hot, welcome, prickling needles burned her skin.
Blotchy, red hives rose to the surface as she scrubbed her body. As she washed her shoulders, her fingers nicked a tender spot of raised, raw flesh and she vomited. That flick of her fingers over tender skin syphoned the last of her strength and she crumbled to the floor in a sobbing heap. She hissed as her fingers abraded a cut. Tilting her chin at an awkward angle, she studied the angry welt on her shoulder, trying to figure out how it got there. It hurt, hot like scalding poker, tender like a fresh scrape, and deep enough to send another sweep of nausea through her.
“Oh, fuck.” Another sob forced its way past her ragged throat and aimed for the drain.
The force of retching brought her to her hands and knees. As her tender stomach emptied its contents, she stared dispassionately as bile made its way down the drain. Unable to form one coherent thought, she leaned her arms and cheek against the cool tile and caught her breath.
The water cooled as she continued to weep. Her fingers and toes pruned, discoloring as ice formed in her veins. This wasn’t happening.