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  OTHER CONTEMPORARY NOVELS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE

  Sacking the Quarterback (BookShots Flames) with James Patterson

  The Ending I Want

  When I Was Yours

  Trouble

  REVVED SERIES

  Revved

  Revived

  THE STORM SERIES

  The Mighty Storm

  Wethering the Storm

  Taming the Storm

  The Storm

  PARANORMAL ROMANCES BY SAMANTHA TOWLE

  The Bringer

  THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES

  First Bitten

  Original Sin

  Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Towle

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.samanthatowle.co.uk

  Cover Designer: Najla Qamber Designs

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1537734811

  This one is for my Wether Girls.

  Your support and daily laughs (and hot men pics!) are invaluable to me.

  Contents

  Seven Years Ago

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Seven Years Ago

  Where am I?

  What’s happening?

  Pain everywhere…

  Then, I remember.

  No.

  I force my eyes open.

  I can’t see. It’s dark. My sight is blurred. Blood. I can feel it running down into my eye.

  I can’t see anything.

  I can’t see her.

  Holding my breath, I listen…waiting for a sound to tell me where she is.

  Nothing.

  I try to say her name, but it hurts.

  It hurts so much.

  My lungs are burning…my stomach is on fire…I’m bleeding…

  I have to move. Get help.

  I reach my hand out, but all I feel is the damp earth I’m lying on.

  I inch my fingers around, trying to find something to hold on to, to help me up, but there’s nothing.

  Forcing my eyes open, I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but it doesn’t work.

  I rub the back of my hand over my eyes, clearing them of the blood and tears, and finally, I can see.

  I turn my head to the side.

  She’s there.

  And she’s not moving. Her once-pretty pink dress is now covered in blood and dirt, and it’s pushed up, exposing her.

  No.

  I grit my teeth hard, rage tearing through me.

  I drag myself over to her. Pain screams in my body. I press a weak hand to my stomach.

  My hand is slick against my shirt.

  Wet. So wet. And cold.

  I’m bleeding badly. But that doesn’t matter. I just have to get to her. I have to know she’s okay.

  She has to be okay.

  I’m coming, baby. Just hold on.

  I reach her.

  Her eyes are open. And blank.

  “No…baby…no.” Pure anger tears through me, and I cry out a primal sound.

  I collapse beside her. “I’m…s-sorry.” I pull her dress down, covering her up.

  My vision blurs again.

  My heart is slowing down.

  It hurts to breathe, and when I do, it’s like I’m taking in water.

  I’m dying.

  I close my eyes and reach out for her hand. Taking hold, I curl my fingers around hers.

  Footsteps. Heavy footsteps are treading through the undergrowth.

  Then, I hear a snuffle.

  An animal. A dog maybe?

  “Help…” I croak, trying to expel my voice as loud as I can. But, even to my own ears, it’s not enough.

  There’s no response.

  Using all the strength I have left, I force my voice out. “Help!”

  The footsteps stop.

  “Is someone there?” a male voice says.

  Yes. “Help…please…”

  The footsteps start up again, moving quicker, coming closer.

  I hear the rustling of leaves from the bushes surrounding us and then, “Jesus Christ!”

  Thank God.

  The man lands on his knees next to me. A dog licks my face.

  “Hank, stop it. I just gotta tie my dog up. I’ll be right back.”

  “No! Don’t…go. Help…her…please,” I gargle, blood flooding my throat, as I panic.

  He moves away, but he returns a second later. “I’m back. Try not to speak.”

  Ignoring him, I say, “Help…her.”

  Maybe she’s not really gone.

  He can try to revive her…do CPR…

  I feel him move over me to get to her. “Honey…can you hear me?”

  I force my eyes open, turning my head.

  He’s checking her neck for a pulse.

  Why didn’t I do that?

  Those seconds watching him, waiting…feel like hours.

  His expression drops, his eyes closing, with a sad-sounding breath.

  And it confirms what I knew was already true.

  She’s gone.

  My heart rips open and bleeds out with the rest of me.

  “Is she…”

  “Try not to talk. Just hold on for me, yeah? Can you do that? I’m calling an ambulance right now.” He’s on his phone. “Yes, it’s an emergency. Be quick, please. Two kids…one, she’s not moving. I don’t think…there’s no pulse. The other one, he’s alive…talking, but there’s blood everywhere…so much blood…”

  Prologue

  Daisy

  Eighteen Months Ago

  “Tell me again, where were you last night?”

  I look at the detective sitting across the table from me. My palms are clammy. I knot my fingers together in my lap.

  Why do I have to tell him again? Did he not believe me the first time I told him?

  “After I left work, I went straight home, and my boyfriend, Jason, came over. He was with me all night. Ask him; he’ll tell you.”

  “My colleague spoke with Jason a few minutes ago.” The detective leans forward. Placing his forearms on the table, he links his hands together. “He told us that he wasn’t
with you last night.”

  “What?” The word leaves my mouth in a breathless rush.

  “Jason told my colleague that he was with his brother and friends, playing cards, at his house all evening and that he didn’t see you at all last night.”

  “I-I…what? I don’t understand…” My eyes are frantically searching the room. Confusion and panic are racing through my mind and body. “I don’t understand. Why would Jason say that?”

  The detective gives me a steady look, saying nothing.

  I lick my lips. My mouth is dry as I try to speak, “Jason is lying. I was with him at my place all night.”

  “Can anyone corroborate that?” the detective asks.

  Jesse.

  No…he stayed out last night at his friend Justin’s house. It was just Jason and me in the house.

  Oh God.

  “No.” I moisten my lips again. “But I’m telling you the truth, I swear.” I stare steadily into the eyes of the detective, trying to convey that my words are the truth.

  But I know it’s fruitless. He thinks I did it.

  I swallow hard, fighting to hold in my rising panic. “You think it was me. You think I stole the jewelry. But you’re wrong. It wasn’t me,” I state emphatically.

  The detective leans back in his seat. “What am I supposed to think, Daisy? It was your key card that was used to gain access to the store after it was closed, the same card that was still in your possession when we picked you up. You know that cancels out the alarm trigger. You know how to turn the camera equipment off. You know exactly where the high-end pieces of jewelry are—”

  “But I didn’t take them! Why would I?”

  “You’ve been raising your brother alone, you’re behind on your rent, and you have bills to pay and outstanding credit cards. People have stolen for less.”

  “But I didn’t steal the jewelry! I would never! I’m not a thief! I-I don’t know how my card was used. Maybe…maybe it was copied.” I’m clutching at straws because not one thing about this is making a shred of sense to me.

  The detective is shaking his head at me.

  “Yes,” I argue, “maybe someone stole it and then put it back.”

  “Who, Daisy?” He leans forward. “Who would have done that?”

  My brain scrambles. Then, it clings to the only other person in my house with me last night.

  “Jason.” My voice is shaking, tears thickening my words. “Jason lied and said he wasn’t with me when he was. He could have taken the key card, and—”

  “But how could he have committed the robbery when you said he was with you?”

  He’s right. I drive my fingers into my hair, scratching at my scalp.

  I’m hit with a thought.

  “Maybe…maybe Jason gave it to someone.” I’m panting now, breathless, frightened.

  I can see the detective retracting from me. I’m losing him. He thinks I did it. He thinks I stole the jewelry from the store. My place of work. The job I love.

  “Maybe Jason gave it to someone and then put it back in my bag before I knew it was gone.”

  “It’s a good theory, Daisy.” The detective nods. “And we have looked into your boyfriend, Jason Doyle. A few years ago, he was locked up for stealing a car. He also has some juvenile shoplifting offenses on his record, and of course, we know who his brother is—”

  “That’s it! Damien!” I cry. “It could have been Damien and Jason in on it together! I know Damien’s a bad guy. I’ve heard things about him—”

  “We’re well aware of the type of man that Damien Doyle is,” the detective cuts me off. “Robbery is just one of the many things that he’s had his slippery fingers in over the years, but we’ve never been able to tie anything to him. No one ever gives him up.” He runs his hand over his chin, scratching at the stubble on it. “Look, Daisy, if you give me something, then I can help you. Maybe you didn’t want to do this, and you were forced into it. Maybe the sound of the money was just too good to pass up. Give me the name of the person or persons who helped you do this, and tell me where the items are now. Then, I can help you.”

  He wants me to say it was Damien and that I was a part of this robbery.

  But, if I do that, it would be a lie. I don’t know for sure who did the robbery. I know, in my gut, that Jason took the key card, but I can’t prove it. And, if I say it was Damien, then I’d be admitting to something that I didn’t do.

  I’d go to jail.

  Shaking my head, I drive my fingers into my hair again, pulling at it, my eyes staring down at the table.

  I have nothing to give him because I don’t know anything, except my own truth.

  And I’m not a liar.

  Oh God. I can’t believe this is happening.

  Lifting my eyes, I catch sight of the clock on the wall. It’s three fifteen. School will be finishing soon.

  “My brother, Jesse. He’ll be leaving school soon. I need to be home for him. He’ll worry if I’m not there.”

  “Don’t worry. Jesse is being taken care of.”

  What does he mean, Jesse is being taken care of?

  I part my dry lips to ask him when the door opens. A policeman in uniform is standing there.

  The detective rises from his seat. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he tells me.

  I watch him through the glass pane in the door as he talks to the uniformed officer. Their expressions don’t give away anything as to what they’re talking about.

  My heart is thundering in my chest. I’ve never felt fear like this.

  The door opens. The detective comes back in with the uniformed officer following behind him.

  The detective takes his seat in front of me while the officer remains standing. “Daisy, while you’ve been here, officers have been searching your apartment…and they’ve found one of the items of the stolen jewelry.”

  No.

  This can’t be happening.

  “I didn’t steal anything!” I cry, getting to my feet. “I didn’t do this!”

  The uniformed officer moves quickly, and before I know it, I’m being restrained, my hands behind my back. I struggle to get free, begging him to let me go.

  Then, I hear the voice of the detective saying, “Daisy May Smith, I am arresting you on suspicion of theft. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Oh Jesus. I’m being arrested. For a crime I didn’t commit.

  A holy terror, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, seeps into every part of my body.

  One

  Present Day

  I stare at my reflection in the small mirror.

  My long brown hair is tied back into a ponytail. Face clean, free of makeup. I glance down at my clothes. Jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt. Black ballet flats on my feet.

  The clothes and shoes that I wore when I came to prison.

  The jeans and T-shirt are a little loose on me. I knew I’d lost weight in here. Daily use of the gym and stress will shed pounds off a girl. Not that I was heavy to begin with. I look too thin. I could do with putting some weight back on.

  “You ready?”

  Turning from my reflection, I look at Officer Roman standing in the doorway. “I’m ready.”

  So ready.

  I have never been more ready for anything in my life.

  One last look around, and with nothing to take with me, I leave the cell I spent my last night in and follow her down the corridors.

  I was moved to a release cell last night, so I didn’t spend my last night in the cell where I’d spent the past eighteen months. Not that I’m upset about it. Quite the opposite.

  I’m frigging ecstatic.

  I’m being released.

  Eighteen months, I’ve dreamed of this moment. Counted down the minutes, hours, days…praying I would be released on parole after serving eighteen months of the three-year sentence I’d been given.<
br />
  Being out on parole means I’ll be living under conditions set by my probation officer, but at least I won’t be here.

  I’m getting out of this hellhole.

  I’m holding the relief back, keeping it restrained.

  I won’t let myself feel anything until I’m out of here and back in the real world.

  A world where I get my life back. A world where I can get back to the only person who has ever mattered to me.

  My brother, Jesse.

  I say my brother, but he’s my kid. When I was sixteen and Jesse was six, our drug-addicted, waste-of-space mother bailed on us, disappearing with all the money we’d had and leaving me alone to raise him. But I’d been raising him since he was a baby because all my mother cared about was herself, drugs, and whomever she was screwing at that time.

  When she left, I quit school and got a job, working in a factory, to get money to feed and clothe Jesse and pay our rent and bills. Not glamorous but it helped. Just barely. We scraped by. I’d buy the cheap food and go to the supermarket just before closing time, so I could get the reduced food, like dented tins because the price had been dropped on them. Sometimes, they would get dented on purpose. I’d shop in secondhand stores for clothes. I did everything I could to make sure the money would stretch.

  It was hard, but I always made sure that Jesse was okay. He came first.

  He always comes first.

  I worked at the factory for a year, but I got laid off when they had a cut in the work force. It was last in, first out. I was the last one hired, so I was the first to be out of a job.

  It got hard until I found another job. I didn’t have savings because there was never any spare money to save.

  I applied for jobs but wouldn’t get them because I didn’t have any qualifications. I received state benefits, and I still cashed in Jesse’s child benefit that came through for my mother—yes, I would forge her signature—but it wasn’t enough for both of us. And I couldn’t exactly tell the benefit people that I needed more money because, if they knew that my mother had left, they would have taken Jesse away. And I couldn’t lose him.

  It got really tough for a time. There were days when I would go without food so that Jesse could eat.

  I could have asked my best friend, Cece, for help, but I had to do it alone. Jesse was my responsibility.