Beyond Taken (The Beyond Series Book 5) Read online

  Beyond Taken

  The Beyond Series, Volume 5

  Ashley Logan

  Published by KDL Publishing, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BEYOND TAKEN

  First edition. September 13, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Ashley Logan.

  Written by Ashley Logan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALMOST THREE YEARS EARLIER...

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HEY AWESOME READER!

  BEYOND CONTROL | The Story of Nina Pryzbylewksi and Mitchell Jones

  BOOKS BY ASHLEY LOGAN

  About the Author

  For those who go missing, and for those that get found. X

  A note from the author...

  Some of the language used within this novel is to reflect that of an Estonian Character's speech. Very few Estonian words have been used within this novel, and for the ease of reading, certain words are not those that would typically be used by someone of Estonian origin - i.e. I have used 'Mama' and 'Papa' to depict Mom and Dad. Though this is not technically accurate for the Estonian language, it was done intentionally for the reader's enjoyment. Thanks, A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  As Bruno extracts my face from Scarlett’s bare breasts, I have to wonder at how I got there.

  A threesome isn’t something I would just find myself in; surely. I don’t think I’ve been daydreaming so badly that I wouldn't remember consenting to such a thing, and I certainly wouldn't crash a steamy party of two uninvited. I do remember falling...

  Tripping to be precise.

  Politely covering his eyes, Bruno hands me back my towel.

  “We’re so sorry Nat. Are you okay?”

  Caught in the light streaming from Bruno's bedroom door, Scarlett’s cheeks glow a brilliant crimson as she re-buttons her silky pajama top.

  Still confused, I re-instate my towel around my own nakedness.

  “You have a bedroom,” I remind them as I straighten my towel and collect myself. “Two bedrooms.” I point to the rooms behind them in the short hallway before looking over my shoulder and wincing. “You were waiting for the bathroom?”

  They exchange a guilty look and I sigh. Leaning against the bathroom door, I fold my arms.

  “What are you doing? Apart from making out on the floor. You two are never up this early.”

  Another less-than-innocent glance passes between them.

  “That’s not entirely true,” Bruno confesses, rubbing the back of his head as he shifts his gaze from Scarlett to me, and then to the floor. “We’ve been secretly listening to you shower for weeks.”

  “Months,” Scarlett corrects.

  “What do you mean listening to me sh-”

  Clutching the door frame for support, I swallow hard and clear my throat. “You heard me singing.”

  Both of them nod, their heads still hanging low.

  Scarlett is the first to meet my eyes.

  “You’re good Natalia. So good. Your voice is beautiful,” she says in a rush as she clasps Bruno’s hand tighter. “There is so much emotion inside of you that we never see on the surface, but when you sing, we can feel it. It’s powerful. Sometimes your voice brings tears to our eyes,” she admits, casting a sideways glance at Bruno, who doesn’t deny such behavior.

  “Sometimes, your songs are so beautiful it feels as if you’re singing about the love inside of us,” she adds with a sheepish smile as she holds Bruno’s hand to her chest. “We... may have gotten a little carried away today.”

  “Normally we hide back in our rooms when we hear the shower turn off,” Bruno explains quietly. His eyes are still fixed firmly on the carpet. “We’ve been wondering how to tell you that we’ve heard, but we don’t want you to stop. It wasn’t that long ago that you weren’t singing at all. Shower singing has to be the first step to recovery. Right?” His caring eyes rise to meet mine.

  I don’t tell him how precious being able to sing in the shower is to me - an absolute privilege.

  “Please don’t stop singing Nat,” he pleads. “We’ll stop setting our alarm to catch you, I swear. We won’t listen anymore. Please just keep singing.”

  Opening my mouth to respond, I close it again.

  My American friends seem to over-react to everything. If I had friends back in Estonia acting like these two, I’d think they were on the verge of a breakdown. They cry when I sing? Seriously? Bruno’s a giant of a man who has been to war, and Scarlett was almost burned alive. I might never understand how such strong people can be so outwardly soft. Where I’m from it’s practically bad manners to show feelings.

  Scarlett steps closer, studying my face. “Oh man. Nat, you have to say something. You’ve gone all stone-faced again. We have no idea what you’re thinking or feeling right now, and we need to know you’re okay. We haven’t destroyed your singing progress have we?”

  Shrugging, I think a moment before shaking my head. “It will maybe take me a while not to think about you rolling around on the floor outside, but it will not stop me from singing in this shower.”

  I start to move away, but Scar puts a hand on my shoulder. “Wait.”

  Closing my eyes, I set my jaw and turn back to my inquisitive roommate, preparing myself for the interrogation. “Yes?”

  “Why do you shower so early, and why in this bathroom? You have a shower across the hall from your room.”

  Sighing, I adjust my towel, wishing I’d brought my robe with me. It’s strange that I feel more exposed right now, than when I dance practically naked for people in the strip club downstairs. That kind of exposure is different though. It’s business-like and I have always been able to keep such things emotionally separate from my body.

  Almost always.

  But if I don’t answer Scarlett’s questions, there will be more. This is her way, and she does it from a caring place.

  “I like this shower better,” I reply with a shrug. “Sound is better and the tiles are blue. I shower early because I am awake. Every day I am awake early. Always.”

  The dreams don’t let me sleep.

  “Why do you sometimes sing happy songs, and other times you sound so sad?” she asks, though Bruno seems just as interested. Sometimes I believe he's quite glad that Scarlett can’t help but ask the questions he also wants the answers to. Their thoughts are often so plain on their faces; so easy to read.

  Lifting a shoulder, I keep my own face neutral. “Sometimes dreams are happy. Sometimes not.”

  “So last night’s dream was a good one?” Scarlett's grin becomes cheeky as she seeks clarification.

  I feel my cheeks warm a little and silently s
cold myself for giving that much away. Scar takes a step closer, her interest growing.

  “Ooh, it was a good one! Who is he?”

  Resetting my face, I lift my chin and command my voice to remain steady.

  “He is... no longer.”

  Scarlett’s tiny gasp is enough of a warning that more emotion and questioning are about to follow, so I step around her while I still can. “Excuse me.”

  “Nat!”

  Her loving arms embrace me before I'm out of reach and Bruno’s over-sized trunks close around us both.

  I am continually telling myself that I don’t need this kind of thing. Hugs are just silly displays of emotion in adults. Only babies and children need them really.

  And me.

  I need them.

  Except they make me want to cry. I definitely don’t want to cry.

  “Let me go. Please. I need to... Space. Please.”

  Breathing heavily a moment, I warn Scarlett with a look. “Please don’t push anymore.”

  She nods. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  Close to tears, she leans back into Bruno. “Is he dead, or can you just never see him again?” she whispers, unable to keep herself from prying.

  “Scarlett!” Bruno warns her through gritted teeth as he offers me an apologetic look.

  “Is okay,” I assure him as he makes to pull Scarlett back towards the bedroom they now share. Meeting Scarlett’s eyes, I steel myself for the hard truth.

  “He is dead and I see him every time I close my eyes. Sometimes I see him in broad daylight and have to splash cold water on my face to remember what is real. My therapist wants me to take medication. I do not want to. Cold water works fine. Being haunted is... hard, but I do not want to not see him.” Seeing their expressions, I hold up a hand to ease their minds. “That is probably sounding quite sad, but I am not so sad. I have a better life now than I did in Estonia. I have people here who love me. Is good. I will sing for others again one day. Not yet. I will shower sing a while first, if you do not mind. But if you could maybe not... love outside the door too often, I would appreciate it.”

  Bowing his head graciously, Bruno takes a step back, pulling Scar with him. “Anything you need, Nat. We’re here for you. Sorry about... the floor loving.”

  “And that I almost smothered you with my boobs,” Scar adds, flashing me a regretful smile. “You’re the first girl to go there, you know.”

  Returning her smile, I begin to relax inside. Things are returning to normal.

  “Now that I have inspected them so closely, I can honestly say that you have very lovely breasts Scarlett. I can see why Bruno finds them hard to ignore. I will see you two later.”

  "HEY GORGEOUS. YOU WANT breakfast?" Kat flips another pancake onto the towering stack beside her with practiced ease.

  "No thank you. I need to walk for a while," I reply, drawing a little happy face next to my name on the dinner attendance board. "I'll be back before it gets dark." Stepping carefully around her and scooping up an apple, I head through to the living room.

  "Morning Nat." Smith barely looks up from setting a pile of cutlery next to the maple syrup on the table before tidying a bunch of envelopes and newspapers into a pile. He slides an official looking letter towards me. "Yesterday's mail. We also got our grand invite to Violet's engagement party," he says with a grin.

  Swiping the letter and shoving it deep into my pocket, I nod. "Yes, I saw this on fridge. Will be very nice. Do you have a big day planned?" I ask before taking a big bite of my apple.

  "Nah. I was going to sail over to the cabin, but the weather looks to be turning. It's been a while since I just stayed home on a Sunday anyway," he adds with a shrug. "It'll be nice."

  "What'll be nice?" Benji asks, arriving in the open stairwell, running his hand through his mussed-up hair as he yawns.

  "Being twenty-three," Smith replies, raising an eyebrow. "Were you out all night again?"

  "Dude, aren't you meant to be like... twenty-six?"

  "Nine," I correct him as I pat Smith on the back. "But he does not look a day over twenty-five."

  "Thanks Nat." Smith studies Benji's rumpled clothes with a concerned expression. "Everything okay Benji? That's the fourth night in a row. Please don't tell me it was a different girl each night."

  "Okay," Benji agrees with a shrug.

  Smith slumps a little. "You're worth more than that, man."

  "Those your words of wisdom for the day, old-timer? I'll have you know that a good time was had by all." Benji grins and pokes Smith in the side on his way to the kitchen. "Ooh, pancakes! Marry me Kat!"

  Kat's laughter rings out like music.

  "Lennox Green intends to marry this pancake-maker, and he will squash you like a bug before sharing me. Thanks for the offer though sweet-stuff."

  Kat's response gives Smith and I a chuckle, but we're all worried about whether Benji really is on a path to self-destruction. Maybe we all are in our own ways.

  There are usually upwards of ten dancers living in our large apartment at any one time. For whatever reason, most of us no longer have other folk to call family and we've formed our own unique, but comfortable collaboration. We look out for each other, support one another, and help pick up the pieces when things fall apart.

  Living with so many people has its up sides, but sometimes I just need space.

  Walking to the row of hooks by the stairs, I pull on my coat, the woolen hat Kat made me for Christmas this year, and the matching scarf she made for my birthday.

  "Okay people. I will see you all later," I call.

  "Stay warm out there, gorgeous!" Ireeni says as she arrives at the top of our stairs with two trays of coffees stacked on each other.

  Easing her load so she can remove her coat, I take in her flushed cheeks. It's unusual to see such color in Reeni's flawless olive skin.

  "It is windy?"

  "Blowing like crazy," she replies, hanging her hat on a hook with her coat. "Sun's out though."

  "Perfect."

  Taking the coffees back from me, she nods at the one with my name on it. "This'll keep you cozy while you're out finding some peace."

  "Thank you. Enjoy your pancakes." Kissing her cheek, I take the coffee and start down the stairs as she grins.

  "Kat's awake? Alriiight!"

  Smiling myself, I walk past the entrance to Beyond, the adult entertainment venue we work at every night, except on Sundays. Today is our universal day off.

  Opening the front door, I let the fresh breeze blast me in the face. The crispness of it makes me feel alive and it's a sensation I'll never take for granted so long as I live.

  Walking the quiet streets a while, I sip my black coffee and study the trees I pass by. With winter technically behind us now, I can't wait until the greenery will burst back into life.

  By pure chance, I pass a poster for the upcoming Blossom Festival. Only a week away, I imagine some of the blossoms must already be out. A child-like enthusiasm fills me as I make my way to the Metro.

  Delaware Park gives an amazing cherry blossom display every year and I love walking beneath them as they fall. On a breezy day like today, they'll be floating down in a flurry of pale pink snow. A kinder snow than the cold, wet type I've grown up with. Even a harsh Buffalo blizzard seems warmer to me than that, though I have the feeling that my perception may be slightly skewed when it comes to my home country. I have so few warm memories from there.

  Off the train and walking through the park, I plead with myself to remain present; to just live in the moment. Too often I struggle with this, despite how simple it seems in theory.

  I adore my roommates - for more than just their colorful personalities. They're a great distraction from the ghosts in my head. If I could only find a way to not need fresh air and some quiet, I would probably stay home forever.

  Finding the balance in between needing both noise and peace is my biggest challenge these days and for that I'm grateful.

  Things could be worse.
/>   Pulling my hat down firmly over my ears, I push faces from the past out of my head and stride towards the Japanese Gardens. I slow as I near them.

  Almost losing my breath at their beauty, I wander through the soft pinks. Early flowers already blown to the ground catch a ride on my boots as I walk by, like wrinkled little hitch-hikers. I can remember the same thing happening when I'd walked with my mother through a park in Tallinn. I remember thinking then that these flowers were magical. Beauty reborn after the cold death of winter.

  She'd died that summer, when the cherry trees were lush and tauntingly full of life.

  Afterwards, my sister and I had been mostly left to fend for ourselves. Our father's constant gambling did little to put food on the table and Lisandra hadn't let me dance at the X Club until I was seventeen, but once both of us were bringing in money, life was much better. We were strong.

  I'm strong for both of us now.

  Shivering, I pull my coat closer as if to ward off the ghosts.

  Wrapping my scarf further up my face, I peer out over it as I sit on a sun-bathed park bench and watch the blossoms cling to their branches for dear life while the wind batters them. The struggle is real. I hope there'll be enough blossoms left for the festival.

  The world needs survivors.

  Leaning back, I close my eyes and let the sun warm me as the wind tries to steal my heat away.

  Life is always give and take.

  I open my eyes at the sound of people. A couple. A mother with her two children. A man walking a dog. All of them complete the picture of a Sunday morning symphony. Watching them a while, I'm able to forget myself. Purely a spectator to this life, I'm safe; free to observe its happenings.

  Smiling safely beneath my scarf, I pretend I'm not even there.

  It's so natural for me to be absent from my physical self that sometimes I'll go missing for hours. Usually I'll snap out of it if I'm hungry, or cold, or have to pee.

  This time, it's something else.

  Something that happens more often than I want it to lately.

  My therapist insists that if I can recognize a hallucination as such, then I should keep calm, tell myself it's not real and move past it.