Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Read online

  Breaking Sin

  Addicted to Sin, book one

  Emily Stormbrook

  Copyright © 2020 Emily Stormbrook

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Art Painter

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Breaking Sin

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Warning:

  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

  Some things need to be broken before they find their true strength.

  Titles by Emily Stormbrook

  Addicted to Sin series:

  Breaking Sin

  Mastering Sin

  Elswyth Chase series:

  Hel to Pay

  Chasing Starlight

  Frozen Hearts

  Twisted Love

  Soul’s Gambit

  Warning:

  This book contains graphic, non-consensual sex, abuse, and violence. If you don’t enjoy reading a book containing these dark themes this book is not for you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dear Universe, when I said things couldn’t get any worse, I didn’t think you’d take it as a challenge.

  That was the thought running through Ivy Sinclair’s mind as she strode towards her small workspace.

  It had been the day from hell, no, the month from hell. It seemed impossible that things could get any worse, but that was the thing about life. It liked to show you just how wrong you were. And in this case, it started with a trip to the office of the big boss himself.

  For years he hadn’t paid her the slightest bit of attention. He hadn’t cared that she always arrived at work an hour before her shift to get a head start on the day because—like always—they were short staffed; or that she worked through her breaks, eating a sandwich at her desk to make sure the reports were completed while struggling to do not only two, but three people’s jobs since no temp was hired to cover her colleague’s maternity leave. And he especially didn’t notice her when bonus time rolled around and she was awarded a paltry fifty percent because the department wasn’t hitting all its targets.

  The truth was, the only target not being hit was staffing level, because she had made damn sure the work orders were addressed within schedule, the engineers were called out, the jobs were completed, and the maintenance crews were paid. She did it all while her two remaining colleagues talked, played games, and did the barest minimum, unless she overlooked celebrity gossip on her job description, if that was the case they were excelling.

  Her job—the one she had applied for seven years ago to help pay her way through NYU so her father wasn’t paying for everything—had been to provide support to the company’s many retail chains. If their key was stuck in the lock, they called her, alarm faulty, they called her, I.T. issues, they called her—and were promptly put through to the correct department—the roof was leaking, toilet was blocked, they had issues with the End of Day banking, or needed to restock staff related items, yes, they called her.

  The department had originally been a team of five to deal with over six hundred stores. Now she had been fired—well, not so much fired as made redundant—it was down to two, and not one of the remaining members even knew how to raise a purchase order let alone arrange payment for the contractors because, guess what, it wasn’t in the job description, and yet somehow she had wound up doing it anyway.

  That said, it wasn’t like something being detailed in their job description was a prerequisite for them learning how to do it. It had become painfully apparent that they didn’t know how to follow up with the stores and contractors to make sure the work had been completed, or how to ensure the people who had been left standing outside in the cold, waiting for a locksmith, had managed to get inside and open for trading.

  Why she was the one to go made no sense. She was by no means the last one through the door. She worked hard, did as she was asked, and she did her job well, exceptionally well. In fact, the only thing she didn’t do was attend the office parties. She was a team player in office hours, but after her shift ended she left the office, and everything that happened within, at the large double doors that led to the elevators.

  Even now, as she plucked her photographs from the blue felt-lined partition between desks, her phone was ringing and her two former colleagues had set themselves to ‘busy’ so they could finish their conversation about the latest celebrity scandal.

  Ugh, if there was one thing that annoyed her about those two—aside from their inability to do their job—it was the way they followed celebrity news. Personally, she’d never seen the point. Who cared who was fucking who, where, and with what? And if they thought she was going to pick the receiver up now and deal with whatever screaming banshee had decided that their latest problem was her fault, they had another thought coming.

  She had loved this job, but not every call she answered was all, please can you help, generally it was, this has broken and somehow it’s your fault.

  She tossed the drawing pins onto the wooden surface, taking a moment to study the pictures that during even the most strenuous day had made her smile.

  There was one of her with her father standing near the Statue of Liberty. It had been taken the same day their flight from England had landed. It was the first place her father took her, knowing how much she had wanted to see this iconic monument.

  She still remembered feeling overwhelmed at how different New York City was to London, but after her mother’s death there had been nothing to stop her father from transferring overseas, and he thought the experience, and leaving all the bad memories behind, would have been good for her.

  He was right, of course.

  Her mother had gone into heart failure and, because of damage to her other organs, a transplant had never been an option. The family they’d left behind weren’t worth the mud on her boots. They only came to the funeral for the free food and the chance it would somehow affect the will.

  Coming to Manhattan and getting away from them had been one of the best decisions her father had ever made. Her mother would have loved it here, it was so alive and vibrant.

  The next photograph was of her, Miles, and Becca, the terrible trio. After arriving here, she’d been inserted straight into the freshman year, and while everyone whispered about the new girl with her British accent, it had been Rebecca Gabrielle and Miles Taylor—aka Becca and Tails—who had sat with her in her classes, after introducing themselves to her at lunch on the first day.

  The whole experience of starting school in the states had been overwhelming. She’d watched the TV shows, she knew how different life
and schools in America were to those in England, but nothing had prepared her for the reality.

  For one, cheerleaders were a real thing, and glided through the hallways adorned in perfection, and oozing glamour. She’d actually chuckled her first time seeing them since her old school, like most schools in England, didn’t have such things. Then there were the jocks. Honestly, it had been just like walking onto the set of a high school drama. All of it had felt so surreal.

  The final picture—because personal items were limited to three, even if no one else adhered to this—was taken when Miles enlisted after senior year. She and Becca stood posing either side of him as the three of them saluted the camera, trying to keep their faces straight. Becca had stolen his combat jacket, her bright pink hair cascading in beautiful waves to her bosom, and Ivy had donned his hat, tucking her long brown hair inside.

  Even in this photo, Ivy’s blue eyes were turned towards him, a cheeky smile on her lips hinting at her secret infatuation with this Titan-haired man. If not for his parents despising her, she probably would have dared to kiss him before he left. But it was a kiss they’d never shared, and one she still craved more than a good cup of tea, which, by the way, she discovered Americans couldn’t make. It must be some inbuilt flaw or something.

  None of them had changed drastically in the eight years since that photograph had been taken. They had grown older, filled out in the ways men and women did, but they hadn’t really altered all that much.

  The only thing that had really changed was Becca’s number of piercings and the colour of her hair or, more precisely, wig since she chose her hair to match her mood and outfit. She was a diva, a fashion designer with her own unique flair. She could imagine anything from extravagant ball gowns to the latest grunge or chic must haves. Her own style was just that, something which couldn’t be replicated but worked for her.

  Becca currently worked from home but had plans to open her own boutique, and Miles had been honourably discharged after completing his agreed years of service and a few additional tours before coming home to join his father’s company. With his parents’ dislike of her, she’d never pried into what he or they really did. It was a topic better steered clear of.

  The photos had the desired effect, distracting her and easing the building tightness in her chest while her co-workers glared in her direction as it became clear she would not be answering the call, which was now sitting on their call-waiting board. Its presence there made her wonder why her phone was even ringing in the first place since she had set it to busy for her meeting. She heard a sharp, exaggerated sigh from their direction as one of their phones began to ring.

  Opening her drawers, she checked each one in turn, collecting a few odds and ends. Her pen, her purse, a stapler. Okay, the last thing came from the office supplies, but she’d ordered it for herself. Since they weren’t giving her a severance package worth talking about she’d think of this as her leaving present since the termination of her contract was the only goodbye she was going to get.

  With her meagre belongings in hand, she took one last look at the open-plan office. The florescent lighting cast an artificial glow over the entire room, muting the natural lighting of the November sun. Outside, she could see the Manhattan skyline. At any time of day this sight had something to offer, from the tall skyscrapers reaching into the heavens with a blur of lights, to the hum of activity on the streets below.

  When she first started working here, she thought she’d never get bored with the view from the sixteenth floor, but, as much as she hated to admit it, after staring at it every day it became somewhat familiar until she had to remind herself to really take the time to look and appreciate her home city for what it was.

  Exiting into the foyer, she pressed the button for the elevator, watching her disjointed reflection on the brushed steel doors. She could see enough of herself to know she was holding it together, that at this time of day no one would even look twice at the woman leaving with her brown handbag slung over her shoulder and her pea coat fastened tightly around her in a comforting, restrictive hug.

  She adjusted her collar, barely suppressing the slight tremble of her fingers before giving a firm nod, and tightened her ponytail with a sharp tug as the doors slid open. To everyone else, she was just another person going for lunch. Only she would not be returning.

  The streets of Manhattan were heaving, and stores were lined with brightly coloured lights, teasing the eye with festive displays. December was just around the corner and it seemed everyone was using their lunch to battle the busy streets in search of the perfect gift.

  She’d thought London was bad when she’d been there, but it had nothing on here. Everyone was always in a hurry.

  Putting her ear-buds in, she began the walk home.

  Normally her first port of call when anything like this happened would be to ring Becca, but just yesterday she had taken off on one of her inspiration finding excursions, which meant for over a week she wouldn’t be contactable. It wasn’t unusual for her friend to disappear for weeks at a time with little notice. It was just part of what made her who she was.

  Becca’s business was doing well. She not only designed but made her own lines of clothing. This year she had finally added another person to the payroll and was planning on finding a small shop to claim as her own as soon as she had enough stock to fill the shelves. She was fixated on finding the perfect location. She knew exactly what she wanted, and would not be convinced to accept anything less than her vision.

  It was a brief battle through the crowds and festivities that filled the streets, and soon Ivy was standing outside the door of 21B. Her studio apartment wasn’t much, but it was home.

  She had started renting it when she had attended university. Her father had paid originally, insisting it was his duty since she was intent on working and not staying on campus, but since graduating and becoming full time she’d taken over the responsibility herself as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

  If she’d ever received the promotion they’d been promising her for the last few years she may have even considered moving to a slightly bigger place, that way, when Miles came over she wouldn’t feel so guilty about him sleeping on the somewhat lumpy sofa. Although if she had her way, he wouldn't be on the sofa at all, and the fact she only had a single bed would just mean they’d have to snuggle that little bit closer.

  The kitchen at the far end of the room was tiny, but in those few feet of space between the rear wall and the breakfast bar, she had everything she needed from a wall-mounted microwave to a dishwasher. The rest of the space, between her front door and the breakfast bar, was taken up by the large couch which faced the TV that stood on the large cabinet which hid the clutter of game consoles behind its closed wooden doors.

  Closing the door to her apartment with a sigh, she let her head fall back against it as the warmth of first tears began to streak her cheeks. She had given seven years of her life to that job, and the stapler weighing down her bag was all the thanks she got. But it wasn’t just the job that caused the grief to crash over her in crushing waves that diminished even the comforting pressure from the tight belt at her waist. It was everything, and now the tears had started, she feared she’d never push them back.

  After the last few months, her bank balance was barely in the black. Little by little, as unexpected bills and expenses came in, her once healthy savings had drained to nearly nothing. Now, she barely had enough saved to cover the rent for the next month and her father’s assets were still frozen in probate. He’d spent the last few months of his life after his stroke living with her, having around the clock care while some stranger rented out his luxury apartment.

  She only had one bedroom, but having him with her made sense. If he’d stayed in his home, there was no way she’d have been able to make the long commute to work each day, and even if she could, all that time spent travelling would have eaten into their remaining time together.

  He hadn’t been able to tal
k, but she could tell by his eyes he was listening to every word she said. She had spent her nights reading to him, or telling him about her day. She figured he would probably be sick of the television by the time she got home from work to relieve the nurse, and at night the company in charge of his care had assessed he only needed someone to come in once to dispense medication and turn him since she could take care of the rest.

  Ivy knew she’d made the right decision, but the lack of power of attorney documents had meant she was paying for everything from her own pocket while they were processed and, like all things, they had been delayed until they were no longer useful. For a hotshot lawyer it had been a terrible oversight. One she still couldn’t understand.

  Taking a long, slow breath, she tried in vain to blink away the tears, but there were too many too fast, all she succeeded in doing was quickening their retreat as her hand clamped over her mouth trying to stifle the building sobs. She tried to distract herself, ran sums in her mind, tried to figure out how to make ends meet until she could find employment, anything so she wasn't thinking about her father and the hole in her life his death had left. Her job had been well paid given the company’s growth and success, but most of her pay cheque was sunk into the four and a half thousand dollars a month rent.

  For the last year, the company had been promising her a promotion to team manager since they’d neglected to fill that vacant roll. The pay rise would have eased the burdens, but instead of the promotion she had been rewarded for her commitment by being shown the door.

  It was times like this she wished she’d taken her father up on his offer to buy her a place, but she had wanted to make it alone. She wanted to save and hunt for her own place, not have it handed to her. She had found a job she enjoyed, and took pride in living within her means, debt free. She didn’t even use a credit card, although her father insisted she had one in case of emergencies. Even so, she’d never had cause to swipe it. Damn it, she was thinking about her dad again. It had only been a month since his death, and thinking of him still made her feel incredibly raw.