Chapter 1

STEVIE

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm sounds loudly from the nightstand beside my bed. Bright red numbers blink across the screen on the clock—6 a.m.. Pulling the thick blanket up over my head, I slam my hand down on the small clock in a blind and desperate attempt to stop the deafening sound. Finally finding the button, I click it off and sigh with annoyance. Under the blanket, the air is stifling. This only adds to my vexation, so I quickly pull the blanket back down. Cracking my eyes, the morning light peers in through the sheer drapes hanging over the floor-to-ceiling doors that lead out to the courtyard.

Last night, I was up way later than I should've been, thanks to the new season of Love Island being added to Netflix. Unfortunately, as the producers of the show hoped, I, like many others I'm sure, was sucked into the show's drama and backstabbing. I couldn't bring myself to turn it off until I watched every fucking episode, only to learn that I have to wait a week to find out if Vanessa is going to forgive Jacob for making out with Natalie.

If she does, I might actually rage.

But, because of my late night, today I will be suffering from exhaustion in silence because, well, it's my own damn fault.

Grim jumps up on my bed and slowly steps over my body until he reaches my head. He's waiting to be fed, and like me, he tends to be a bit impatient when it comes to filling his stomach. Lowering his head to my cheek, his whiskers brush against it, tickling me before he lets out a soft meow—his way of telling me it's time to get up.

Turning my head to the side, I'm met with his big golden eyes. Grim is a calico Maine coon. Which is apparently really rare for male cats. One day, I found him in the alley outside of my shop, Seeds of Change, eating garbage from the coffee shop next door's trash bags. He was a mess. He had matted fur, was super skinny, and had a gnarly gash on his left ear that was covered in maggots and rot. There was no way I was leaving him to fend for himself.

So I brought him home.

I cleaned him up and fed him as much as he could eat, and now you'd never know he was an alley cat—except maybe by his attitude. I mean, don't get me wrong—with me, he's great. But he's like a pit bull—feisty and mean with everyone else.

Untrusting.

I can't say I blame him—not after having to survive the way he has, with little to no human interaction. Grim meows again, his big golden eyes glinting in the sun's rays shining through the window.

"Alright, alright. I'm up," I laugh, tossing the blankets off and climbing out of bed. Wearing nothing but a thin pair of cotton panties, I stretch my arms over my head before grabbing the soft velvet black scrunchie from the nightstand and pulling my thick, long copper hair into a top knot on my head. Heading toward the large sliding doors, I gently take the sheer fabric curtain between two fingers and peer outside. My small one-bedroom apartment sits in the rear of a large house on Marais Street that was built in 1861. It's a busy street, which normally I'd avoid, but it's within walking distance to the shop, and around here, finding housing close to the French Quarter isn't easy.

It's nothing fancy—a small building with four separate apartment units that are normally used as Airbnbs—but thankfully, the landlord was willing to let me rent long-term. It definitely had something to do with the fact that I had rent for six months upfront, in cash, but I'm not complaining.

Quaint in size, the unit itself doesn't have much, but it has everything I need, with the added luxury of having full access to the shared hot tub and pool in the courtyard. The landlord let me add some gardens back there, which I'm thankful for. It gives the space more of a homey feel.

At least, I think this is what a home would feel like.

Like most days, the courtyard looks vacant, undisturbed, and nothing out of place, which is reassuring and allows me to breathe easier.

Grim hops off the bed and rubs up against my legs, purring softly. Releasing the sheer, I glance down at him, and a small smile forms on my face.

"Okay, sorry, buddy. Let's go," I reply, stepping over him and making my way toward the hooks on the wall. Grabbing an oversized t-shirt, I slide it over my head, careful not to catch it on the stainless steel barbell piercings through my nipples. Stuff always tends to get snaggedon them, causing a world of intense fucking pain that quite frankly is the last thing I want this morning.

As I head into the kitchen area Grim follows closely behind. The walls along the apartment are covered in wood bead board. The original paint peeling off of them added to the overall patina feeling of the small space, and I instantly fell in love with the whole "old-is-new" aesthetic.

Lifting Grim's food bag from the cupboard, I bend down, filling the small ceramic half-moon bowl I got for him at a thrift shop. He wastes no time, devouring it the moment I finish. I tuck the bag into the cupboard and grab my pack of Marlboros from the counter. Popping one in my mouth, I pick up my pack of matches and light it, welcoming the tobacco into my lungs as I inhale deeply. I use the same match to quickly light the three small candles littered around my kitchen before holding it up in front of my face. I exhale softly while I watch the flame burn down the match. Each second brings the flickering flame closer to where it's pinched between my fingers.

I want it to burn me. I need it. It's the heat and sting that come with it. It's been weeks since I've burned myself. A coping mechanism I developed as a kid to get through the shit I was forced to survive. Shit, no one, let alone a child, should ever have to endure.

The pain from the fire became soothing over time. I quickly learned that the pain inflicted by the flames could make me forget. That it could erase everything else I found myself tormented with.

And so I began to burn myself. Daily.

Just when the flame's heat begins to warm my skin, and a familiar craving begins to build inside me, I blow out the match.

Tossing the match on the counter, my head falls back on my shoulders and my eyes to the ceiling where bunches of dried herbs and plants hang. Most are for cooking or tea, but some also have medicinal qualities. It's amazing how many uses some plants can have that people don't know about. It's why I opened the shop. To teach people just how versatile and helpful plants can really be. Then, they can use that knowledge to heal themselves. For every drug a doctor carelessly prescribes, there's a plant or natural remedy that will not only do the same thing but also do it better without as many risks or side effects.

Plants are truly incredible.

Picking up the cigarette, I puff on it again before putting it out. Today is a delivery day at the shop. Which means I need to be there earlier than normal to meet the driver and get the new stock out in the storefront before opening. Heading back to the bedroom, I grab my phone from the nightstand and shoot off a text to Jessie, one of my employees.

S: Delivery day. Can you make it in earlier to help me do inventory?

Clicking my phone closed, I throw it on the bed and slide out of my panties before going to the bathroom for a shower. Jessie was one of the first customers I had at Seeds of Change. We hit it off right away. He shares my passion and respect for nature and the natural remedies it provides us, so it was a no-brainer when he dropped off a resume on his second visit. Since then, we've become what I guess some would consider to be good friends.

He doesn't know about my past, but that's not to say he hasn't tried to get me to open up to him. He and his boyfriend are forever pestering me about it, curious about where I came from and why I shut most people out.

Little do they know my reason for keeping silent is for their own protection. Knowing the shit I do is a death sentence. One that will have you looking out your windows and watching your back every minute of every day. It's why the first thing I did when I moved in was install three more deadbolt locks on the front door of my apartment.

I step into the shower, under the steaming water, and close the clear shower curtain before I grab my bar of charcoal soap from the shelf and run it across my body. Even with the extra door locks, I rarely feel safe at home. After what I did, it doesn't matter that I disappeared like a ghost, changed my name, and moved four hundred miles away. They'll eventually find me because of the one thing that corporations like Sweet Dreams will not allow.

Loose ends.

And that's exactly what I am.

Keeping it concise, Sweet Dreams took me as a child, stealing me away from my family. They raised me. Used me. In all the horrible and unthinkable ways, a child should never be used. Especially by grown men. Sick men. Like every child taken prisoner by Sweet Dreams, I spent my life being beaten, raped, mutilated, and passed around to whoever was willing to pay for a turn.

But along the way, I learned things they didn't expect me to learn, like how valuable my body could be and how to use it to my advantage. All I had to do was select the weak link and use my body to lure him in, make him fall for me, and make him believe that I wanted him as badly as he wanted me and that the only way we could be together was if I was free.

It was like training a dog, and Jenson was a good pooch. He got me out, just like he promised, and I repaid him with a knife through the heart and left him for dead. I used my freedom to free every girl in that compound, and then I burned it to the ground.

Reduced it and all of my horrors to ash.

But that was only one small compound—barely a fraction of the Sweet Dreams organization. My escape cost them billions, and that's not even including the girls I returned to their families before I took off.

They'll come for me. It's only a matter of time.

Rinsing the rest of the suds from my body, I turn the shower off and pull the clear liner to the side while I step out. Wrapping the thick cotton towel around my body, I wipe my hand across the condensation on the mirror. My red hair is slicked down around my face and shoulders. The green-eyed woman looking back at me from my reflection isn't the same little girl they stole. There's no sign of the innocent child they broke. She's grown up now, and when they come for her, she'll be ready.