Shy Kinda Love

Shy Kinda Love

A Novel

by Deanna Eshler

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Deanna Eshler

Authors first edition 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, [email protected]

Cover art created by Laura Gordon at The Book Cover Machine

Editing by Danielle Romero

To my sister, and best friend, MaryAnn and good friend, Dawn. Thank you both for your support of my ever-changing plans, and big ideas.

Prologue

As I lie on the floor, both hands covering the cut on my right side, I can feel sleep pulling me down. I am so tired, not just from the loss of blood, not just from the horror that played in this room. No, I’m tired of giving myself, every part of myself, in the hopes that one day my dad will rescue me. I’m tired of waking up every day hoping this will be the day he decides to be my hero, my superman. I am tired of never fighting for myself, and for never having anyone to fight for me. I’m tired of trying to forget all the things that have happened.

I hear a door open somewhere in the house, and a few seconds later my dad is standing over me. At first I see remorse on his face, until he takes in the scene, and then I see panic. His eyes scan the room, taking in the images that I know I’ll never forget. He takes a few steps forward until he is standing over me, and he stares down at my blood-covered hands pressing into my side. His eyes shift to the knife, and finally to the dead man just a few feet from me.

“What happened?”

I shake my head, needing him to focus. “I need help. I’m cold. I can’t stop the bleeding.”

He turns toward the door, then looks back to me and says, “I’m going to get something to clean you up. I’ll be right back.”

Clean me up? Is he serious? He acts like I fell off my bike and scraped my knees. I have a stab wound in my side, for Christ’s sake. Of course I don’t say that. I never say anything.

After getting some towels to put pressure on the wound, my dad paces around the room. Then he stops and takes out his phone. Before dialing, he looks at me, remorse plain on his face again. “Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I can’t call an ambulance, you know that, right?”

I just blink up at him, unable to respond for a multitude of reasons. He looks down at his phone then back to me, obviously torn. He continues pacing the room, running his hand through his hair. “I am so sorry, baby girl. If I’d have known this was going to happen I would never have…” He doesn’t finish the sentence because we both know how absurd he sounds.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he mutters to himself. After a few more paces my dad pulls his arm back, and I watch as his phone flies across the room and shatters against the wall.

It’s then I hear the front door open again. I see the panic on my dad’s face, so I tell him, “I called Ryder.” I watch as the emotions play across his face, first confusion, then fear. The fear, I know, is because I have called Ryder. Ryder has been like my brother since I was twelve, and he has come to be my best friend. He was the only person I could think to call, knowing that bringing the police into this situation could cost me my life.

Before my dad can argue with my decision, Ryder is standing in the doorway, taking in the entire scene. He rushes to me, practically pushing my dad out of the way. “What happened, baby? What do you need?” He turns to look at my dad over his shoulder. “Did you call an ambulance?”

My dad, unsure how to handle this new complication, does not respond. I know we need to get out of here. “Ryder, just get me out of here. Now,” I say, trying to convey my desperation with my weakening voice.

Ryder grabs a blanket while interrogating my father. The only response my dad gives is, “They’ll kill her. They’ll kill us both.” Ryder only pauses a beat when he sees my father’s terrified expression, then he returns to his task. He wraps the blanket around my now-shivering body, and then he lifts me, with one arm under my knees and the other under my neck.

A few minutes later Ryder places me in the front seat of his car with my head resting on the console. “Be still, baby, I’ll get you help. I’ll fix this,” he says, just before closing the door. He climbs into the driver’s seat, revs the engine, and pulls away from the house, as the tires squeal. By the time we’re out on the street, Ryder is dialing his phone. The last thing I hear is Ryder’s voice saying, “I need to speak with Agent Clarkson, now.” It’s only then I allow myself to fade away, not sure if I ever want to open my eyes again.

When I wake, it takes me several minutes to piece together all the events of the previous day, and to realize I’m in a hospital room. I take inventory of my body and discover everything still works, but that I do indeed have a horrible pain in my right side. So I
was
stabbed, but I am still alive. I’m not yet sure if that’s what I want. I slowly tilt my head to my left, where I see Ryder asleep in a chair. I look to my right and see a man standing next to the door of my room. He his dressed in a black suit and black tie, with an earpiece in his ear and his arms crossed over his chest. I recall the last thing I heard Ryder say. Is it Agent Clarkson?

I clear my throat, hoping to get Ryder to wake up. Sure enough, he startles, but immediately looks up to find me looking at him. He jumps to his feet and has my hand in his before I can speak.

“Baby, thank God. How do you feel?” he asks in a rush.

I nod and wet my lips. “Who’s he?” I ask, nodding to Mr. FBI.

Ryder closes his eyes and draws in a long breath, “He, my girl, is your ticket to freedom.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I’ll explain everything to you very soon. For now you just need to rest.”

Knowing I don’t have the strength to discuss all that has happened, I do as I’m told and slip back into blissful sleep.

***

The next morning Ryder keeps his word. I begin my questions with the one thing that makes no sense to me.

“How did you have the phone number for the FBI, and how do you know Agent Clarkson?”

The agent by the door glances at me then looks back to Ryder. When Ryder nods, the agent exits the room, and Ryder walks past the foot of my bed and over to the window. I’m sure he’s going to deflect the conversation, but he surprises me with his answer.

“When I got back from Iraq, I was approached by Agent Clarkson. He explained that the FBI wanted me, and a couple of guys I’d served with, to work with them—kind of like independent contractors. I turned them down because it all sounded a little shady.” He pauses, turning to look at me. “And I needed to find out what had been going on with you.”

I look away, trying to keep what’s left of my secrets hidden. Ryder is my best friend—my only friend. I never wanted him to know what was going on with me.

Ryder pushes on. “After realizing you were never going to tell me anything, I decided I was going to find the answers myself. So, for the past six months I’ve been watching your house, and everyone who comes and goes. Initially I was only hoping to see some interactions between you and your dad; to see if I was overanalyzing your reactions when I would try to discuss him. I’d only been watching your house for a couple weeks when I suspected your dad was involved in something illegal. The longer I watched, the more concerned I became for you. So I called the only person I knew in law enforcement… Agent Clarkson.”

I sit speechless, terrified of what he knows. For the last four years I have lived in a nightmare. Because it was difficult to never speak of my home life, I’ve had no friends. Aside from my correspondence with Ryder, the only real conversations I’ve had for four years have been with teachers about assignments. So discussing what my dad has been involved in, and what I’ve had to endure because of it, causes my eyes to fill with tears and my heart rate to speed up. The monitor, which apparently is still attached to me, echoes my panic. Ryder rushes to sit next to me and takes my hand in his.

“Nicole, it’s okay. We don’t need to go over the details right now.”

I shake my head. “No, I need to know what happens next. Am I going to be arrested?”

Ryder flinches. “What? No. Everyone knows it was self-defense.” His expression changes to one of concern. “Listen, there is so much to go over with you, but there are agents waiting out there to get your statement. Before I let them in, I want to tell you a few things that may be difficult for you to process.”

Oh, so everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours has been
easy
to process? Instead of tossing my sarcasm at him, I tell him I’m ready to hear what he has to say.

Ryder squeezes my hand, and I look up from the spot on bed where I was staring. When my eyes meet his, Ryder begins, “Your dad confessed to his involvement with the Munro brothers and the human trafficking ring.”

I decide I’m not as ready as I thought. The monitor again announces my physical reaction to this news. I can feel every rapid beat of my heart, and my body begins to shiver. I’m unsure if shock or anger is overtaking my body. I can hear my dad’s words on repeat in my mind: “We can’t go the police, they can’t protect us. The only way to stay alive is to live by their rules.”

I had myself convinced that he couldn’t do anything more to hurt me, but again he found a way.

“So he confessed… to everything.” I repeat.

Ryder nods and continues. “He also disclosed what he has allowed to happen to you, and how it all came to a violent end last night. Which is why you are not being charged.”

I close my eyes, feeling my shame engulf me. Although I wanted out of that hell, this feels like a nightmare too. Everyone knows what I’ve become.

“What else?” I ask Ryder, needing to move on.

“We don’t have to finish this now.”

“What else?” I snap.

After several seconds of searching my eyes for something, he continues.

“He’s agreed to testify against all of his associates, and as of two hours ago, all but one of them are in custody. Because
he’s
going to testify, you don’t have to.”

Already knowing the answer, I ask, “Who’s not in custody?”

“Marco Munro. The brother of the man you killed last night. He killed two agents before he got away.”

I want to cry, and scream, and hit something. The most vile and dangerous man I have ever known is out there, and surely wants vengeance—on me.

“He’s going to kill me,” I state, matter-of-fact. I can feel my numbness setting in—my escape.

Ryder stands and walks to a small table across the room. He picks up some papers and turns back to me.

“No, he is not going to kill you, because he’ll never find you.” He sits back down on the bed, holding the papers out for me. “After you give your statement, review this paperwork, and sign it, you will be placed in witness protection. Once you are released from the hospital, you will no longer live in Florida and you will no longer be Nicole Redding. You will be relocated and you’ll get a new name and identity.”

I tentatively reach for the papers while trying to understand what he is saying. Witness Protection. New name. Relocated.

I ask the only question I care about. “And you?”

For the first time all day, Ryder smiles. “Oh, I’m going with you, but my story is more complex.”

***

Two months after “that night,” which is how everyone has begun referring to the night I killed Samuel Munro, I’m still living in a safe house with an FBI agent and a U.S. deputy marshal guarding me twenty-four hours a day. There will be no trial, as all of the men have made plea deals. All of the women—and young girls—who were being held by the men were rescued shortly after ”that night”. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved as I was after hearing that news.

Through all of my suffering, I also experienced extreme guilt. I went to school everyday. I knew what my dad was involved in, yet I said nothing. I chose my own safety over the girls I knew were being forced into the sex slave trade, and because of that I despised myself.

When we get the news that there will be no trial and I will be moved to a permanent location after sentencing, I have no reaction. I don’t care where I live. I have no family and Ryder is my only friend. I have no reason to smile or even get up in the morning.

One morning, Ryder finally decides I need a lecture. “You have a right to your pity party, but no kind of party was meant to last forever. You’ve mourned the loss of the last four years of your life, and now you need to start making plans for your future. After the sentencing is over, and you have your new identity, you can do whatever you want. What is something you’ve always wanted to do?”

Part of me wants to punch him in his throat for telling me how long my pity party should be. If I want to miserable for the rest of my life, then that’s what I’ll be. Still, there is a small part of me that knows he’s right. So, I tell him the one thing I’ve always wanted to do: “I wanna get a horse.”

Ryder looks shocked. “Well… didn’t see that one coming.” He purses his lips and looks up to the ceiling as if thinking. “Okay, since I know absolutely nothing about horses, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either, we’re going to need to do some research first.”

***

Over the next month I stalk the internet, seeking any and all information on owning a horse. Deputy Marshal Mackie, or Beth as she insists I call her, has been very helpful. She used to take lessons when she was younger, so she is able to navigate the equine world. She helps me make a list of services I will need to locate, and get in place, before getting a horse. Having something to do, and to look forward to, has been instrumental in helping me move forward. If Ryder hadn’t suggested I start researching horses, I know I would still be lying in bed watching TV all day.