Repentance (The Darkness Series Book 4) Read online

  Copyright ©2016 Cassia Brightmore

  Repentance is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  First eBook edition: February 2016

  Edited By: Deliciously Wicked Editing Services

  Cover design: © L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover Model: Lance Jones

  Photographer: LJ Photography

  Information address: [email protected]

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To anyone that has ever fallen from grace.

  Finding the will to get back up again takes more strength and courage than one realizes. You are all heroes in my eyes.

  Redemption. Acceptance of sins. Regret. All said in the name of reclaiming a lost soul, a life shattered beyond one’s imagination. Once you’ve given in to the darkest temptations, committed unspeakable acts, is there any salvation left? Or are you cursed to forever be marked for those crimes, no matter how good the intentions?

  Once you’ve chosen a dark path, one that drags your soul down into the depths of depravity, can love be the shining light that brings you back to the living? Is acceptance enough to absolve you of past transgressions? Or is forgiveness the biggest sin of all?

  CARRINGTON STONE SET her paintbrush down in the pallet and took a step back from the easel to survey her work. Nodding in satisfaction, she brushed her hair away from her forehead, groaning when she felt the greasy swipe of paint on her skin. Looking at her hand, she noticed the kaleidoscope of colors that were likely currently decorating her forehead. Stifling a small giggle, she wiped the excess paint off on a rag; her blue eyes raising to once again take in the sight of her newest work.

  The mountain scene portrayed on the canvas was exactly how she remembered it from her most recent trip to Colorado. Visiting her family’s cabin set deep in the woods always brought back fond memories of the time they spent there together during summer and winter holidays. The bright blues of the sky, lush greens of the treetops and the hint of white snow in the far off mountains perfectly captured the area. It was definitely one of her favorite pieces to date and would be displayed proudly in her new home once she moved in.

  Her thoughts shifted to Michael, her boyfriend of three years. Excitement at finally taking the first big step in building a life together and purchasing their own home filled her. In just a few short weeks they would make the transition from boyfriend and girlfriend to a real co-habitant partnership. Secretly, she hoped he would do something romantic like propose on their first night in the new house; but she knew that was pretty unlikely. Michael was meticulous to a fault, a fact that often clashed with her free-spirited artistic tendencies, so a surprise proposal wasn’t really his style. Still, that didn’t keep the hopeless romantic in her from daydreaming about rose petal bedspreads and a champagne glass disguising a beautiful diamond ring.

  Picking up a thin brush, she signed her name in a flourish to the bottom of the painting and took another minute to admire her work. Completing a piece always gave her a huge sense of accomplishment. Once the idea took shape in her mind, it was hard to concentrate on anything else until it was given life on one of her canvases. Finished for the moment, she tossed her brush into the waiting cup of water and then picked it up to carry it with her downstairs to the sink. Her brushes were an extension of her art, not taking care of them properly was a huge faux pas and not anything she ever let happen.

  Millie, her orange and white fluffy cat, weaved between her legs on the stairs; determined to beat her to the bottom. “Millie,” she scolded the cat. “It’s not a race. You’re going to be sorry if you trip me one of these days and I land on top of you.”

  Millie let out an annoyed meow and sashayed away, swishing her tail. Carrington shook her head at her antics as she stepped into the kitchen and flipped on the light. The thing about being an artist, inspiration struck at all hours of the day. In this case, it was two a.m. when she got the urge to bring her creation to life. Blinking against the florescent glare of the bright kitchen light, she headed to the sink and filled her cup with fresh lukewarm water. Leaving the brushes to soak for a few minutes, she surveyed the small kitchen of the home she was currently renting. It would be such a wonderful feeling to move into her new home with Michael. She couldn’t wait to purchase new curtains for the kitchen; bedding for their new bedroom set and just put those feminine touches on the place that would make it a home.

  Stifling a yawn, she moved to the coffee maker intent on starting a fresh pot. Grabbing the glass carafe, she let out a gasp when a loud clatter sounded from the front of the house. Spinning around, she raised the carafe above her head, intent on heaving it in the direction the noise came from. Waiting a few beats, she strained her ears, listening for another sound. When there was nothing but silence, she lowered the pot and crept a few feet forward.

  “Millie?” she called out. “Did you knock something over?” Nerves danced along her skin as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention. Her curly brown hair started to stick to her forehead as a light sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. At the doorway to the kitchen, she leaned forward and stuck her head out, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness of the main hall.

  Not seeing anything did nothing to reassure her. Her senses were on high alert. Something wasn’t right, she could feel it. I need to get my phone. Turning slightly to the right, her arm brushed against something and she let out a scream and jumped back, losing her grip on the coffee pot and sending it to the tiled floor in a resounding crash. Looking around wildly, she bit back a sob as her stare was met with emptiness.

  “What the fuck, what the fuck,” Carrington stammered out loud. She was losing her mind. Rubbing the arm where she swore she’d felt another person, she looked down at the mess of glass on the floor and groaned. Sidestepping the sharp pieces, she took a few deep, calming breaths.

  “Get a grip, Carrie,” she told herself; using the nickname her mother always called her. Opening the cupboard below the sink, she bent down to grab the small broom and dustpan. Straightening, she froze. Breath. She could feel someone’s breath on the back of her neck. Oh, God. Oh, God. Slowly, she turned, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the broom tightly in her hands. Terror made her movements jerky as she silently begged to be met with nothing but blank space.

  Out of nowhere, hands gripped her upper arms and roughly spun her the rest of the way around. Screaming, she swatted out with the broom, desperate to connect with any part of flesh. Fingernails bit into her tender skin as she was dragged away from the sink and towards the front door.

  Carrington thrashed and kicked, her fight or flight syndrome kicking in. When the large man holding her came to an abrupt stop, she slammed into his chest, his mammoth frame engulfing her slight one. His hand fisted into her curly hair that ended just below her shoulders and tilted her head back to meet his steel-hard gaze.

  “Stop. There’s no need to fight me. I’m here to collect you. It’s time; I’ve prepared everything for your arrival, my
love.” His voice was warm and flowing, as though he was speaking to a frightened deer.

  “Collect me?” she squeaked out. “I’m—I’m not a collectible! No, no, I’m not.” she babbled, desperate to get him to see he was making a mistake. She wasn’t supposed to go with him anywhere. He cast her a sympathetic look that grated on her nerves and lowered his head to hers. She squirmed in his hold but she was no match for his strength. His lips fit smoothly over hers as he stole an intimate piece of her, not once, but twice. He sighed against her mouth and then there was a slight whooshing sound as something slipped over her head and settled around her neck. A hard tug revealed that he’d fitted her with some sort of wire rope.

  Panic filled her and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please. Please don’t kill me, I’ll be quiet. I won’t say a word! Just leave, please,” she begged.

  “Shhhh, shhh, it’s alright, my love. Of course, I’m not going to hurt you. I love you, remember? Now dry those eyes—it’s time to go.” Ignoring her futile attempts to free herself from his hold he retrieved a cloth from his pocket and in one swift motion, fit it over her face.

  “Just rest now, love. We’ll be home soon.” Carrington struggled and beat her small fists on his chest but it was no use.

  Michael. I’m sorry. Her vision blurred and the world fell away as the darkness rose up to claim her.

  Her hair felt so soft in his fingertips. The light brown curls bounced once as he pulled, settling back into place just above her shoulders. Their eyes were locked on each other, his filled with all the love and adoration he felt for her. She was more than just a woman to him; she was everything. He couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t near her, his heart constricted in pain when he wasn’t touching her.

  Butterflies swarmed in his stomach and his pulse raced every time he caught a glimpse of one of her rare smiles. Her beauty was incomparable; she was an angel. His angel. Life without her by his side was not an option. She would always belong to him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, bringing his right hand up to catch the lone tear that escaped from her eye. He kissed her forehead and ignored the way she cringed away from him. A quiet whimper from behind her duct-taped mouth brought his eyes back to hers.

  “I know, my darling. I wish I could kiss those luscious lips of yours too, but I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet after the last time.” He rubbed his split lip gently, recalling the way her teeth had cut into the tender flesh.

  She had proved to be a lot feistier than expected when he’d finally got her back home. His excitement at having her in his space at last was short-lived when she’d lashed out at him violently. All he’d wanted was to shower her in affection and love. She was his; why couldn’t she see how much he worshipped her?

  Pushing down the rising anger at her behavior, he rose from his crouched position beside the bed she was currently secured to and walked to the window to draw back the pale pink curtains. Light spilled in, illuminating the opposite wall which was plastered in glossy photos, all of the same beautiful brunette. Dozens of photos caught her in various stages of life; walking in the park, strolling through the grocery store, sleeping contentedly on her side in a large bed surrounded by pillows. Their looks were so similar that Carrington knew with a sickening certainty that the psycho who had her was playing out some sort of fantasy. He thought she was the woman in the photos.

  “There,” he told her with a smile. “A little light will cheer you up.” Turning back from the window, he followed her line of sight. “Oh, yes. Well, I must admit that I have an addiction to capturing your beauty on film. There’s just something about the way your blue eyes sparkle behind the lens.” He walked over to the shrine and plucked a picture from the wall.

  “This one is my favorite. Your natural beauty just shines through, you’re an angel.” He angled the photograph so that she could see. It was a shot of the woman naked, wrapped in a fluffy blue towel. She’d clearly just stepped from the shower or bath as her brown hair was plastered to her head. The man traced the photo with his fingertip, his breathing quickening with each swirl of his finger.

  When his eyes returned to Carrington’s face, the lust she saw there filled her with fear like she’d never known before. He approached her steadily, only pausing to set the photo on a nearby dresser. Her hands were restrained in a thick rope which wound through the bars of the metal framed bed she was lying on. Pulling against them only served to scratch her skin raw, but she didn’t give up. She yanked, tugged, pulled and kicked her free feet out in frustration as her efforts proved to be more ineffectual than she could have ever imagined.

  When he reached her side, he climbed on the bed and covered her body with his, leaning back on his elbows to stare into her eyes. “I love you,” he whispered, sliding a hand over her flat stomach and under her fitted top to cup her breast. His thumb teased her nipple through her bra and he let out a low moan.

  Carrington bucked and cried beneath him, begging him with her eyes to stop. His touch repulsed her and the thought of him violating her had bile climbing up the back of her throat. His lips touched her ear, sliding across her lobe in a warm, wet swipe. His knee moved between her legs and forcibly pushed her legs apart to settle himself between them, his pelvis grinding against hers in what she guessed he thought was an erotic dance between lovers.

  Their eyes clashed once more and she again pleaded with him telepathically to let her go. He ignored her and bent his head to encircle her breast through her top, biting down and tugging with his teeth. Getting lost in the moment, he reached up and ripped the tape from her mouth in one quick movement. The second the tape was gone, Carrington sucked in a breath and belted out a bone-chilling scream, he tried to silence her by kissing her again but she bucked and continued fighting like crazy to get him off her.

  “Stop. Stop it! Why are you acting like this? I said STOP IT!” he yelled. His hands grabbed the wire rope around her neck and tugged, pulling it taut across her throat. Her eyes bugged out of her head and she gasped and struggled for breath.

  “I’m just trying to love you. Why won’t you just let me love you?” Their eyes never broke contact as he pulled the rope tighter, he never noticed when her lips started to turn blue and the light in her eyes began to die out. Her kicking feet slowed and her body went slack beneath him, she gave one last push of her body against his and then she was gone.

  Several minutes later, the man got up from the bed and looked down at her body. With a heavy sigh, he untied her from the bed and scooped her into his arms, carrying her out of the room. At the end of the hall, he turned right and then descended a short flight of stairs into a cold basement. He shifted her weight in his arms to open a closet door and then dumped her body in the closet, ignoring the way she immediately tangled with several other waiting limbs. Plucking a white rose from a table a few feet away, he laid it in the closet with her body and then shut the door; turning the lock with a final ‘click.’

  Back upstairs in the room, he stood in front of his self-made shrine and stared at the woman he loved.

  “Soon. I’ll come for you soon, my love. There won’t be any other mistakes.”

  “THAT WAS FOR my wife, you fucking bitch.” Her eyes widened in shock at Sam’s words. “Oh, I know. You thought you had me, you thought I was under your thumb. Well I fucking played you. It took me a year and a half but I fucking did it. This is the end of the line for you, Mila. You fucked with the wrong people when you fucked with my family. Good riddance. See you in hell.”

  Sam Ridley replayed the last moments of Mila Stevenson’s life over in his mind. Taking the life of another human being left a stain on his soul he’d been unable to wash away. Did Mila deserve the end she’d gotten? Yes. Without a doubt, she was a woman that needed killing. The reign of terror she’d inflicted on anyone that crossed paths with her was finally over. Never again would she be able to destroy the things she touched or take the life of an innocent. But regardless of how he tried to justify away
his actions, the reality was that he’d crossed lines as well. He’d gambled with the goodness inside him and he’d lost. Lost a part of him that could never be reclaimed; he’d slipped down into a dark path in order to sink to Mila’s level and the worst part about it? He’d enjoyed it more than he should have.

  The feeling of power, the surge of authority he felt all those times he’d been in control of another person’s life—well, it was a tough addiction to shake. The fun-loving, somewhat nerdy man he used to be was long gone. In his place was a man teetering on the edge of redemption. If he didn’t keep a tight grip on the reins, it wouldn’t take much to send him spiraling back down into destruction.

  The cell doors swung open, clattering the bars together. The loud noise jolted Sam from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. The open space beyond his cell seemed to grow smaller, caving in on him with each breath he took. Just a few steps away was his freedom. His chance to re-join society and form some semblance of a life for himself.

  “Move your ass, Ridley. It’s time for you to get the fuck out of here so I don’t have to look at your ugly face anymore.” His cellmate’s voice was hard, cold steel. Much like most of the inmates in the state penitentiary, he was tough as nails and didn’t take shit from anyone. A fact Sam had learned within the first few hours of his sentence.

  The guard waiting for him was also losing patience. “Let’s go, cocksucker,” he motioned him forward with his nightstick. When Sam still remained rooted in place, he swore under his breath. “What’s your problem, man? You’re free. Done. Your sentence is finished. Don’t you want to move on with your life?”

  Sam stared hard at the skinny guard, revulsion filling him. He may not look like much, but his reputation for being one of the most brutal of all of them was well-earned. Sam could attest to that brutality firsthand.