Lover's Secrets Book 2
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K.D. Peters
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Prologue
Book 2: Dirty Little Secrets
I couldn’t recall how long I’d been there, languishing in that dilapidated building. The night was falling as I sat on the dirty floor, looking out of the broken window at the grassy field leading away to the nearby woods.
The crickets were singing, and the stars were starting to come out in the sky as the full moon rose above the darkened trees. The air was cool, nipping at my bare thighs and calves. The dirty pearl sweater dress I was wearing was warm enough for my arms and torso, but that was about it.
The cold didn’t bother me that much though. I liked to think that I’d gotten used to it after being in this place for so long. But then, I also liked to think that I’d become used to a lot of things that I shouldn’t have.
I still remembered when I’d first been brought to this place. The one who did so was the same one who had kidnapped my mother and me back when I was very young, maybe around four or five years old. This guy wasn’t really a man, though he could look like one as he wanted to.
He’d told me before that he was something called a Grigori, some kind of being that was once an angel. But he sure didn’t act like an angel in any sense of the word. He would kidnap and imprison women in this place, doing terrible things to them before he killed them.
That was my mother’s fate from what I understood, and probably would’ve been mine if he hadn’t decided that he’d like me so much from the start. So why had he disappeared? In all these years, Quinton had always come back by nightfall.
He’d made sure of it both to keep his captives suffering and keep an eye on me. He’d done so ever since he’d brought me there. He’d said that he was fond of me, and he wanted to keep me all to himself. He’d made sure I was taken care of, allowing me to roam wherever I liked in this rundown place along with making sure that I had proper clothing and food. He’d even made sure to educate me, teaching me all I’d need to know like I’d actually gone to school.
However, he never intended for me to leave this place. Even if I stepped outside, I wasn’t allowed to go but so far from the building.
If I did, then he would become furious, and he was scary when he got mad. For that, I always did what he told me. Always. I stayed here at this old, rundown place that had once been an asylum.
I stayed away from the captives he kept and tortured. I listened and always made sure to obey anything and everything he wanted me to do. So why didn’t he come back this time? It had been over a month. Had something happened to him?
I was sure now that something had, and that same mixture of elation and insecurity filled me as I stood up and clicked on my flashlight. Even if I had no concrete proof, I was sure of what my intuition was telling me: Quinton wasn’t coming back. He was finally gone forever, which meant that I was finally free.
I walked slowly as I left that room and headed down the hallway, hearing the dirt and debris crunch under my shoes. There was no electricity in this place, but my flashlight was enough for me to see well, and I moved it around the floors and walls, taking in the sight of the half-open and broken doors of the rooms.
The paint on the walls was dirty and peeling, and the floor was full of dirt and dust. There was that same eerie feeling in the air that I’d always tried to ignore, especially knowing the horrors that had occurred on the floors above.
The thought crossed my mind to go up there and say a prayer for those Quinton had killed, but I decided that it would be better not to. I didn’t want to see what Quinton had done to them. It was enough that he’d spared me for whatever twisted reason.
I finally made it to the front lobby, taking in the crumbling old desk in the middle of it and the broken tiles littering the floor. The old chandelier hung from the high ceiling on only two of its four chains, threatening to fall at any time. I was careful to go around that area as I headed toward the double doors of the exit, opening them slowly.
The night air greeted me, the fresh smell of grass a welcome distraction from the smells of decay I’d become so used to. I stood still in that doorway, hesitating to step outside. What if Quinton came back and saw me here? What if he caught me and became enraged?
“You’re being stupid, Freya!” I softly chided myself. “He’s gone! He’s not coming back!”
I knew I couldn’t survive there much longer. I’d eaten the very last of my food that evening, and the fall was setting in, so it was only going to get colder. Without Quinton there, I wouldn’t make it through the first night of a deep frost.
There was no choice. I had to leave.
That first step out of that doorway was like stepping into a freedom that I hadn’t known in forever. I breathed it in as I continued walking toward the woods, my pace quickening. I didn’t know where I’d go. I didn’t even know how I’d explain where I’d come from or who I was when others saw me. I just knew that I was finally going to be free.
And that freedom was going to be a beautiful thing.
