Torment Read online

  Torment

  Dahlia Kent

  Contents

  Copyright

  About

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018, Dahlia Kent

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Edited by Pair of Nines.

  Cover Design by Kasmit Covers.

  At thirty years old, I’ve already checked off the boxes of a successful traditional life: married, financial security, and a thriving career as a clothing designer.

  Compared to my turbulent past, my present life in sunny San Francisco is nothing short of perfect.

  And then one night something shocking happens to me.

  A shameful experience my husband is forced to witness by the sinfully handsome monster, Nicholas Vidal.

  Nick is dangerous and terrifies me, but his possessive, scorching touch steals my ability to deny him.

  As I fight wanting a man I should hate, I seek peace in the chaos unravelling my blissful life.

  But soon I learn there’s no peace where demons exist.

  There is only torment.

  —

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  One

  —

  My sewing machine’s whir died away when I lifted my foot from the pedal.

  I raised the needle and presser foot then slid the dress free. My scissors’ clipping filled the quiet as I cut away the loose threads from the stitch I just finished. Then I stood and gave the dress one quick flap to free any bits of thread and scraps of cloth.

  Moving to the dress form, I slipped the dress over the frame. I had adjusted it to the client’s exact measurements. I tugged and shifted the dress until it fit perfectly.

  I stepped back to assess my handiwork, folding one arm across my stomach while I propped the other on top and tapped my chin in thought.

  The waist can be taken in a smidge.

  The empire waist gown had a plunging v-neck. I’d adorned it with slim, criss-crossed black lace beneath the ruched bodice. The client initially requested the dress in hunter-green, but thankfully agreed on teal after I suggested it would better complement her colouring.

  I rubbed my finger across my lips and grimaced at the rough, dry texture. My throat felt parched too. When was the last time I ate? I headed to the little refreshment table where my half-cup of cold coffee, an empty glass and a pitcher of water sat.

  The warm summer day in Palo Alto had melted the ice in the pitcher. I poured a glass of water and greedily gulped it down. I had a bad habit of forgetting to eat or drink while I worked. If my assistant Sophia never brought me refreshment—unasked, and always with a knowing, reproachful look on her face—I would regularly pass out from dehydration and starvation.

  Sipping on another glass of water and pondering the work remaining on the dress, I idly surveyed my surroundings. My custom clothing design business had come a long way. I used to work from a tiny, cramped room at home, and had to meet my clients at their houses. However, over a year ago, I took the leap and rented a space in the city. I was even able to afford an assistant.

  Fluorescent lights overhead cast a stark brightness over the windowless room. The comforting scent of cloth and the oil I used to keep my machine’s gears turning filled the air.

  Several rolls of different cloth materials in various colours and designs leaned along the walls. A haphazard mess of patterns, paper, water erasable pens, designer magazines, and sewing instruments covered my desk. Whenever I couldn’t find my good pair of scissors, it was usually hidden beneath that mess.

  Could do with some tidying up around here.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Kyle?” came Sophia’s voice in a high, harsh note. She continued her conversation in a lower voice.

  Sophia was out in the showroom. From her muted tones, I suspected she was on the phone. She was my assistant for over a year and by now I knew the inflections of her voice.

  Happy and loud meant she was with a customer and a sale was imminent. It mystified me how much she enjoyed being around people. If given the choice, I’d be content as a hermit for the rest of my life.

  Angry and low meant she was on a phone call with her boyfriend, and they were fighting. Again.

  I reached for my phone, hoping to drown out Sophia’s conversation with distraction. Nothing to do on the damn thing, though. I wasn’t in the mood to play a game. No calls or texts for me to return. Of course not. The only people in my life I phoned were Sophia, my clients, and Robert.

  And Robert never bothered to call or text. Not anymore. Married for six years and each year, contact between us became less frequent, only reserved for emergencies or really important messages.

  Besides, some work retreat kept him occupied in Michigan. We hadn’t seen each other in days, yet he was too busy to call me. Too busy to tell me he missed me and he couldn’t wait to see me when he got home.

  Too busy to check in and ask, How are you, Grace?

  Too busy to even say hello.

  Sophia’s approaching footsteps brought my focus to the present. She knocked then opened the door. Her handbag was slung over her shoulder. A furrow sat between her dark eyebrows, the corners of her lips turned down.

  “Hey, Grace. I’m really sorry to do this, but is it OK if I leave early?”

  I moved to her. “Are you OK?”

  She wiped her forehead and released a huff. “Kyle left Matt alone in my apartment to go hang out with his friends.”

  “Jesus.” My eyebrows rose. “Isn’t he too young to be by himself?”

  “That’s what I told Kyle! Matt’s four years old but Kyle’s acting as if it was no big deal to leave him unsupervised. Now I have to go home and babysit Matt until Kyle’s ex comes to collect him.”

  “But why isn’t Matt with his mother? Doesn’t she have custody of him?”

  “Kyle begged her until she agreed.” She exhaled deeply and shook her head. “He can be so sweet and then so stupid, Grace. Shannon will never let Matt stay with Kyle again when she finds out what Kyle did.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “I have to. As much as I love Kyle, he’s not responsible enough to take care of his own kid.”

  After assuring her it was OK to leave early, we both made our way to the showroom. A new shipment of ready-made dresses had arrived today. I liked to keep them on hand for customers who didn’t want to spend more on my custom designs. The boxes containing the new shipment Sophia was tasked to unpack remained unopened at the front desk. She must have seen them too because she turned to me, her features apologetic.

  “I promise I’ll finish inventory tomorrow. I’ll stay late to make up for today.” She started toward the door when she turned around again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Elena called. She wants to make another appointment for alterations.”

  “Oh god. Her again?”

  It was my turn to huff in frustration. All my
clients were happy with my work because I went above and beyond to meet their expectations. Elena Carmicheal proved the exception. That woman lived in a fortress of perpetual dissatisfaction.

  Sophia gave me a sympathetic look before waving goodbye. She hurried down the sidewalk until she was out of view. Sophia was an intelligent, beautiful Latina woman with tawny skin, russet-coloured eyes, and spirals of shoulder-length dark hair. It pained me to see her wasting her life on someone who didn’t deserve her. Whenever she complained about yet another argument she had with Kyle, I wanted to grab her by the arms, shake her, and shout at her she could do so much better than that loser.

  But who am I to judge? Maybe Kyle made Sophia happy in a way she valued despite his failings. A relationship’s success wasn’t only based on job security and money. If that were the case then Robert and I would still be ensconced in wedded bliss. Instead, we were becoming roommates who shared the same last name and the same bed.

  I lingered at the door, enjoying the warmth coming through the front door’s glass. It was nice to enjoy some natural light after being cooped up in the backroom all day. The streets were becoming crowded as afternoon grew late.

  A few more customers might wander in before I closed up. Sophia’s natural talent at convincing customers to part with their money for my creations dwarfed my poor attempts. Faced with a potential customer, I twisted my hands a lot and gave them time to second guess their choices. However, there wasn’t much left to do on the empire gown so I decided I’d man the front desk.

  A man strolled past just as I turned away from the door. He was tall, maybe six feet two or more, with healthy, fair skin, and dark hair cut short. Dressed in a opened taupe coloured jacket, white t-shirt and navy-blue jeans, he slowed his pace until he stopped in front of me. His hands tucked into his jacket pockets, he craned his neck ostensibly to read the sign above the door.

  I knew what the sign said and how it looked—Designs of Grace in black, bold cursive on a white background. Despite Robert’s negative comments, I thought it clever.

  My hands on the metal handle, I leaned to push the door open and admit him into the shop when he dropped his gaze to mine. It was as if he jumped out of nowhere and spooked me. My heart lifted in surprise, then fell into a gallop. A sharp inhalation of air trapped in my chest.

  Born into the bad, I grew up in it too. And though I worked hard to shake the past’s black dust off my feet, one lesson the bad taught me, one I’d never forget: how to recognize a monster.

  And as I faced the stranger, I saw past his handsomeness to the darkness lurking in the hazel depths of his eyes. On autopilot, I yanked the door shut, locked it, and flipped the welcome sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

  Get away from the door, Grace.

  I remained still, my heart thudding a rapid, heavy beat.

  What is he going to do next?

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. Not quite a smile. Aware of my fear, he found it amusing. He nodded once then turned and continued walking down the street. I pressed my face against the glass and followed his path until he disappeared.

  Immense relief swept through me.

  A long exhale eased the anxiety tightening my chest.

  Dear god, I hope I never see him again.

  Two

  —

  “Grace?” Sophia poked her head in through the door. “You busy?”

  My hands stilled from sliding the dress straps onto the hanger.

  “Not really. What’s up?”

  Her features twisted in sympathy. “Elena’s here.”

  “She texted earlier she was coming.” And I hoped she’d change her mind. “Send her in.”

  Sophia nodded and left. I hung the dress on the clothing rack and quickly tidied my desk. It was hopeless because underneath the chaos was even more chaos.

  Elena approached on rapidly clicking heels. She appeared through the door, bringing with her a feminine, cinnamon-tinged scent. Her beige Michael Kors tote bag hung in the crook of her left arm. She held a black garment bag aloft in her right hand. Her gaze swept around the room until it met mine, the slight curl in her upper lip flattening into a tight smile.

  “Grace.”

  This was Elena’s usual way of greeting. She didn’t waste time or breath on saying hello or goodbye. As much as I told myself not to give a damn what she thought, her disdainful appraisal of my workroom bothered me. I never let clients back here. I didn’t know why I made the exception today, and for Elena of all people.

  “Sorry it’s such a mess.”

  “That’s fine. I’m sure when your business is doing better you’ll be able to afford a more professional work space.” She shoved the garment bag at me. “This is unacceptable, Grace. Please fix it.”

  I took the bag and unzipped it, revealing the ivory halter dress I made for her two weeks ago. It had undergone so many adjustments it no longer resembled the original piece I created. It was still beautiful. To me, anyway.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I refrained from adding this time.

  “The bust area. It makes me look flat-chested.”

  My stare fell to the chest area of her baby-blue sleeveless popover shirt. Five silver buttons were nestled between the two barely visible slopes. We looked at each other and in the brief silence hung the truth.

  Because you are flat-chested.

  Which I didn’t say, of course. Unlike Elena, I wasn’t inconsiderate of people’s feelings. And as a seamstress, I was respectful of everyone’s body type.

  “I know I’m flat-chested.” She folded her arms, her bag flopping against her hip. “When I was a teenager my mother used to say when the good Lord was handing out tits, He told the angels to make me into an ironing board so I wouldn’t turn into a whore.” She smirked. “I proved that bitch wrong by fucking anything hard and standing. Now my husband’s doing the same by fucking anything with melon tits. So I need that dress to make me look amazing and not like upright pavement.”

  Taken aback by Elena’s frankness, I searched for a delicate reply.

  “I can line the bust with padding for a more … um … fuller appearance. Would that work for you?”

  “Sure.” She gestured with an airy flap of her hand. “Do your best.” Her gaze cut away from me as she indicated behind me. “How much does that cost?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. She was referring to the teal dress I hung on the clothing rack before Sophia came in.

  “I’m sorry, it’s not for sale.” I flashed an apologetic smile though I wasn’t sorry to deny her for once. “It’s custom made for a client.”

  “I can pay more for it. Then you can just make another dress for that person.”

  “I can’t do that. The client expects it today. It would be unprofessional if I sold a product she paid for to someone else.” Then I added to end this line of conversation: “I’m sorry, but I hope you understand.”

  “I was only trying to give you more business since you obviously need it.” Her lips pursed, she swept her hand around the room. The disdain had returned because the fox didn’t get her grapes and now had to call them sour. “But in consideration, that dress is too plain for my tastes. So fix mine as soon as possible because the party is tomorrow night. Text me when it’s done.”

  She turned and stormed out, her heels clicking on the tiles. I shook my head. What a piece of work. After her frank admission I’d actually disliked her less. She seemed relatable in that brief moment, her dissatisfaction with her marriage mimicking mine.

  While I didn’t have proof, I suspected Robert was cheating on me. Robert had always been a private person, but lately he’d been secretive. I sensed him watching my every move when he used his laptop in my presence. He put his phone’s ringer on vibrate and always rushed to his office to answer his calls. He’d speak in low, inaudible tones so I couldn’t overhear what was being said.

  He rarely left his phone lying around now. I took a chance to search his phone one night while he slept, only to discover he’d
changed the pass code, barring me access.

  He worked for a major coffeemaker company as an accountant. For the past year his travelling had increased, always some retreat or seminar he had to attend multiple times a month. At first I thought a rise in his responsibilities was a good sign—he was on track for the promotion he sought. Lately, I questioned if the work trips weren’t a cover for him to visit his mistress.

  Maybe if I confronted Robert on my suspicions he’d clear them up. I hadn’t, because why rock the boat? In life, it was better to ignore and forget the bad stuff for the sake of peace and happiness. Pretend the bad didn’t exist. As the saying went, where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise. In my case, ‘being wise’ might mean a revelation of my husband’s extra-marital affairs. The destruction of my marriage. Eroding the life I’d worked so hard to attain.

  I wasn’t willing to take that risk.

  Three

  —

  Sophia entered as I rifled through cabinets in search of padding cups to line Elena’s dress.

  “Didn’t go so well, huh?”

  I threw a look at Sophia over my shoulder.

  “You heard her?”

  “I saw her. She was rocking Bitter Bitch Face as she marched past me out the door.”

  “‘Bitter Bitch Face’,” I laughed. “I might change her name in my contacts list to that.”

  I made a triumphant sound when I found a pair of padding cups. The cabinet clanged when I slammed it shut. Sophia turned to leave when I remembered our conversation yesterday.

  “Oh, how did it go with Matt and his mom?”

  Sophia’s relaxed, contented demeanour morphed. The shift was jarring because of how quickly it happened. The happy light in her eyes dimmed, her eyebrows drew closer together, and the curve to her lips fell and flattened.

  She dropped her gaze and crossed her arms.