Uncovering You 7: Resurrection Read online

  Table of Contents

  New to the series?

  Uncovering You 7: Resurrection

  Book Description

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

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  Copyright

  New to the series?

  See where it all began with the Uncovering You Complete First Boxed Set, now available for $0.99 and only from Amazon:

  Uncovering You: The Complete First Boxed Set

  Book Description:

  When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what's waiting for me in the shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.

  Reality is much worse:

  A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.

  I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the bottom:

  J.S.

  Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:

  Resist and die.

  Or submit, and sign my life away.

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  Uncovering You 7:

  Resurrection

  by Scarlett Edwards

  2014

  EDWARDS PUBLISHING

  Reader Warning:

  Uncovering You contains scenes of intense emotional and physical abuse. Readers with sensitivity to such subjects are advised to proceed with caution.

  Book Description:

  I know why I was taken.

  How much does that change things? I cannot say. I still have a weakness for Jeremy—when he is Jeremy. But when he's Stonehart? Well, that's when all of my hatred comes out.

  I have to make myself detached, indifferent, and emotionally removed to make the proper decision on what to do next. Jeremy makes detachment hard. Stonehart makes it easy.

  What side of him will I get? I don't know. Only one thing's for sure: right now, I'm in the poker game of my life... against the best player in the world.

  We'll see who blinks first.

  Prologue

  Summer. 1978.

  “M-mama?”

  The young boy brought one trembling hand to the door. He pushed.

  It did not budge.

  Beyond the heavy oak, he could hear the woman’s sobs. His mother’s sobs. They tore at him, because of what he could not do. He could not go to her. He could not comfort her.

  He could not protect her.

  Footsteps. From down the hall. The young boy’s head whipped around. His heart caught in his throat.

  He was not supposed to be here. It was forbidden, for many different reasons, but only one was pertinent:

  Because his father had said so.

  Frantic, he searched for an escape. His eyes scanned the empty corridor. There was only one way out: Down the stairs, away from the attic.

  Where the footsteps were coming from.

  He looked for a hiding place. An open fire roared on the other side of the room. It was a grand room, and rarely used. However, the servants always ensured that no room in the large, soulless mansion lay neglected.

  The footsteps were getting louder. The boy could still hear his mother’s crying on the other side of the door. He gave one last, futile push—even though he knew it was useless—and scampered to hide behind the large armchair by the fire.

  He peaked from behind the chair back at the entrance to the room. He could see the shadow cast by the person climbing the steps. It grew larger and larger. Fear constricted the boy’s throat. He clutched the book he was holding to his chest like a shield of armor.

  But he knew, deep inside, that nothing could protect him.

  “Je…remy…” His brother’s singsong voice came to his ears. “Je…remy…. Little Jeremy, where did you get to?”

  The boy winced. He hated that name. He hated what it represented, what it meant. He hated what it reminded him of. He would never be the match of either of his brothers.

  He saw his brother’s large shape emerge from the flight of stairs. If Jeremy was scared before, one look at his brother was enough to make him terrified.

  Robert, at nineteen, was already a full-grown man. He’d be turning twenty in a week. Wide shoulders gave prominence to a bulky frame that suited him perfectly for rugby. A few days of neglecting the razor had left a thick beard on his cheeks. His hair, wild and disheveled, betrayed what he’d been doing earlier with one of the housemaids.

  Before fancy struck him to seek out a victim for the night.

  The boy did not know why his father tolerated Robert’s nocturnal activities. They were cruel, sadistic. More than once in the past year, Jeremy had woken up to find the family dog beaten within an inch of its life. Each time, he had nursed it back to health—only to have it happen again a few weeks later.

  Eventually, the poor beast disappeared. Nobody spoke of it. In fact, Jeremy seemed to be the only one who took notice.

  There were other incidents. One month ago, Jeremy discovered a shoebox wrapped in gift paper waiting for him at the breakfast table. He had woken late, and missed the rest of the family. He was alone when he opened it. Inside, he found—his stomach recoiled at the memory—six little parakeets, with their necks horribly twisted, lying in a bed of straw.

  He’d brought the box to his father. He’d expected some sort of punishment for Robert, hopefully of the kind he’d received so often…but all he got was an angry scolding for interrupting his father when he was working.

  “They’re birds, Jeremy,” his father had said. “Dead ones, at that. They can’t harm you.” Jeremy remembered his father’s sneer. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened of the dead?”

  Jeremy closed the box and threw it out. But the image of those six helpless parakeets haunted his dreams for weeks.

  “Jeremy!” His name was barked out like a command. “I know you’re here. Show yourself. Father’s angry that you’ve disobeyed his command.”

  The young boy closed his eyes and pushed his back into the chair, wishing desperately to meld into the fabric. Robert’s heavy footsteps echoed like artillery shells as he crossed the room. He stopped before the only door and tried the handle. It didn’t move. Robert pressed one ear to the wood. Hearing exactly the same sounds that had lured Jeremy up here, he gave a derisive scoff.

  Jeremy pressed his small body tight to the floor. He crawled beneath the chair that he hoped would be his salvation.

  Even in his young mind, however, he knew it would not help. He knew that he was only delaying the inevitable. He knew that he was not the master of his own fate. His whole life had been decided for him when he had arrived last, and unwanted, into this powerful family.

  “No?” Jeremy could see his brother’s booted feet. They moved around once in a slow circle, and then stopped. The toes pointed directly at the chair. “Then it looks like I’ll have to find you. I
warn you, you’re only making it worse.”

  Jeremy ducked his head down, pressing his forehead to the floor, and closed his eyes. His whole body shook with fear.

  The impact of Robert’s boots against the hardwood floor told Jeremy exactly how close his brother was. Twenty feet. Ten. And then…

  A hand reached down and clasped Jeremy’s ankles. “Gotcha, you little fuck,” Robert grunted.

  The next thing Jeremy knew, he was being dragged out from his worthless hiding spot.

  He kicked against his brother. Robert caught his other foot in that impossibly strong grip. Jeremy struggled, trying to break free, trying to get away. It did him no good. He was small. His brother was big. He was weak. His brother was strong. He was just a kid, while his brother…well, his brother was a man.

  The one thing Jeremy would not do was scream. He would never scream. He would not call for help. Not because he knew that help would not come—that much was obvious—but because screaming would be the final admission of defeat. And while his brother could do whatever he wanted with Jeremy’s body, he would never get the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected Jeremy’s mind.

  He grunted and kicked and squirmed as his brother pulled him free. Jeremy’s book lay forgotten under the chair.

  Robert sat atop him, making it impossible for Jeremy to breathe. He grinned down like a madman.

  “What are you doing up here, huh, kid?” he asked. A fist collided with Jeremy’s ribs. Pain exploded up the side of his body. “Looking for mommy?” Another punch. Another searing jolt of pain. “Well, guess what, you useless cunt? Mommy’s not here!”

  A flurry of punches rained down on Jeremy’s body. He tried to shield himself from the onslaught.

  Robert grabbed Jeremy’s hair and jerked his head up. The sharp agony splintering down his spine was almost enough for Jeremy to break his vow of silence.

  Almost. But not quite.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, huh?” Robert demanded. “What are you going to tell father when I let him know where I found you?”

  Robert spat in his face. Jeremy flinched.

  Then, the weight on his body was being lifted. Jeremy gasped for air, filling his lungs with the precious nectar.

  “Get up,” Robert demanded. He kicked Jeremy in the spleen. “Get up! We’re going straight to father. He’s not going to be happy with you when… Hello! What’s this?”

  No! Jeremy thought. No, please don’t…

  “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Robert laughed. “No way. No fucking way. You still keep this garbage?”

  He leaned down and picked up the book that had been exposed when the chair skidded to one side during the struggle.

  Robert held the book high. The front cover fell open. All the pictures that Jeremy loved, that he treasured, flew by as the pages rifled down. The bright blue skies. The green pastures.

  The colorful dragons.

  “This,” Robert announced, “is utter garbage. Father told you to get rid of it months ago.” His eyes widened, and he turned toward the open fire. Jeremy could see the idea forming in his brother’s head.

  “No!” Jeremy said. “Robert, give it back. It-it-it-it-it’s mine!”

  “It-it-it-it-it’s mine,” Robert mimicked. “I’m going to do what father should have done long ago. I’m going to—“

  “Robert Blackthorne! You put that book down.”

  Jeremy’s head whipped toward the sound of the voice. There, standing in the middle of the open doorway, was his mother. An angry red welt marred half her face, making it soft and puffy. It would bruise horribly by the morning.

  Robert froze, halfway through the motion of raising his hand. He glared at their mother. He took one look at Jeremy, another back at her, and then threw the book across the floor.

  Jeremy scrambled to pick it up.

  “You deserve everything father gives you,” Robert spat. “Ungrateful whore.”

  And then he stomped out of the room.

  Jeremy waited until the footsteps were out of hearing before running and flinging himself into his mother’s arms. Even her gentle hug hurt his new injuries. But Jeremy knew that she could not have known what Robert had done. That only left one answer for why she held him so loosely.

  She was harboring similar ones.

  “There, there,” she cooed in his ear. “Shhh, my little prince. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Everything is okay. Mommy’s here. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  The little boy did not know that he was crying. He’d always tried to make himself strong, to make himself appear impressive in his father’s eyes.

  But sometimes, the façade became too much to bear.

  “You brought our book.” His mother smoothed his hair and touched his cheek. “Would you like me to read it to you again?”

  Jeremy bit his lip to stop from blubbering. He nodded.

  His mother smiled. The beauty of that smile shone through the ugliness of what his father had done.

  “Okay,” she said. She took his hand. “Okay, let’s go to my room.”

  Chapter One

  I spend the weekend in a state of semi-delirious shock.

  Jeremy takes care of me. That sounds like such an unbelievable, ridiculous thing to say. That I would allow the man whose plot for vengeance, whose focus on me began over something I had no responsibility for to care for me when the truth finally came out…it makes me seem weak, pathetic, frail.

  And maybe I am. Maybe I am so far down the rabbit hole with Jeremy Stonehart that there is no getting out. I’ve already made my choice to stand by him. Have my reasons for that changed, now that I know why he chose me?

  No.

  No, because his reason, however farfetched, however juvenile it may be, has not changed my motivations. It has not changed my plans.

  Most importantly, it has not changed what has happened between Jeremy and me since I was taken last October.

  Most of Saturday, I spend in bed. The first half of Sunday is much the same. Jeremy gives me space when he feels that I need it. But he is always within earshot. He brings me meals. I nibble on some food but leave most of it untouched.

  The ticking clock on the far wall of the bedroom becomes my greatest foe. When Monday morning hits, it’s back to work for Jeremy and me. I feel time pressure, the likes of which I haven’t experienced in ages, weighing down on me.

  I need to get my head straight before returning to Stonehart Industries. I would not be doing anybody any favors were I to follow up my performance the first week by being lackadaisical and sloppy the second.

  Like Jeremy taught me, it’s all about appearances.

  But what happens when you let somebody see inside? What happens when there is no hiding behind a mask?

  ***

  “We need to talk.” Jeremy’s voice rouses me from a restless slumber. “Lilly. You haven’t said a word other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ all weekend. I’ve given you time, but…”

  He glances at the clock, now showing 8 p.m. “…I need to know. What are you thinking? How are you feeling? You can’t internalize this.”

  I can try, I think stubbornly.

  “Your phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Jeremy says. “You need to answer. Fey will worry, otherwise.”

  “She’s already worried,” I counter. “Wouldn’t you be, were you her?”

  “Were I her…” Jeremy repeats my words, sounding thoughtful. “Were I her, I would do a million things differently, Lilly. I am not. Such hypotheticals are useless. What you need to do—what I need you to do—is speak to her. Assuage her fears. I am afraid if you don’t…” he sits on the side of the bed, “…she may do something very rash.”

  “Are you still concerned I’ll betray you, Jeremy?” I ask. “I think I’ve proven where my loyalties lie.”

  “Yes,” Jeremy says. He picks up my hand and cups it between his. “You’ve shown to me, time and time again, just how magnificent you truly are. I trust you, my sweet Lilly-Fl
ower.”

  He spreads my fingers open and kisses my palm. “And while I can never guess what’s going on inside that stunning head of yours, I believe you do trust me…just a little bit.”

  I shiver as the warmth from his touch flows up my arm. “I do,” I whisper.

  “Then I need you to call Fey.” Jeremy reaches back and takes out my phone. “Tell her that there is nothing wrong. Assure her that you are doing fine.”

  He places the phone in my hand. “I can coach you, Lilly, on what you need to say. But I do not want to insult your intelligence by insisting on it. You understand the importance of alleviating your friend’s fears?”

  I nod slightly. “I do.”

  “Then I will leave you to it.” Jeremy stands. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll be in the other room.”

  His eyes move over the shape of my body, hidden by the sheets. “You and I will talk…” his gaze settles into mine. An authoritative undertone enters his voice. “And afterwards,” he promises, “we will fuck.”

  ***

  I stare at the phone in my hands for a long time before mustering up the courage to call.

  “Call Fey,” Jeremy had said. It’s the first thing in his order of priorities. I understand why. It should have been my first, too. I’d been too childish to look at it properly.

  I turn my phone on and wince. Twenty missed calls, all from one number. All from Fey.

  Shit, she must be freaking out. I remember what she suggested—coming to California with Robin and getting me out. I absolutely cannot have her do that.

  So I take a deep breath, gather my strength, and dial the number.

  She picks up on the first ring.

  “Lilly!” she exclaims. “What the hell happened? Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I’ve been so worried about you. I couldn’t sleep. Where are you? Are you still there? Are you still with him? Oh God, I hope not. Please tell me you’re not, Lilly. Please tell me you’ve gotten away.”