The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

I got out before it killed me. Or maybe she went to some pussy palace near Vegas. I heard they like ’em young there.”

“She still with Earl?”

She squinted up at me like I was an idiot. “You’re a real dumbass. Earl never lets go. Until he don’t want you no more. I guess he’s done with me. Can’t blame him. Nobody wants me now.”

That was when she started to cry. Big, gulping sobs until the old drunk nuzzled at her neck while she took a long swig from the plastic bottle. She handed it to him and he kissed her full on the lips. Told her he loved her.

I’d seen enough. I left.

Sabrina, who’d forgiven me for my bitchy comment about our relationship, nudged my shoulder and I came to just in time to see Dane cross the stage to receive his diploma. My eyes were misty. He’d taken the first step in a long journey towards a good and decent life. When he passed by my seat, I held out a bunch of red roses.

“You did it,” I whispered, daring to hug him for the first time. “I knew you could.”

He wiped a sleeve over big, teary eyes and said, “Thanks, Anna. For everything.”

After a long burst of applause, he gathered himself up to walk back to his seat.

Carla looked shell-shocked when she walked across the stage. Like she didn’t belong there wearing that mortar board and gown. And when I pressed the flowers into her arms she blinked and said, “It’s so unreal. All of this.”

“Believe it,” I said, letting her go. “It’s the beginning of a new life.”

She was set to take culinary arts at the nearby community college, then go to live with an auntie in the country who owned a bakery. She was safe. Every year it was like this. I lost a couple, saved a couple. But it was all worth it. Maybe it made up a little bit for not rescuing Birdie.

But it didn’t.

With all my education and reading and scheming I couldn’t save the one person who mattered to me the most. What kind of sister was I? A failure. That was the real story of my life. I couldn’t tear my sister away from the man who ruined her. Who blew the whistle to Earl. I imagined his call.

Hey this little whore gets pregnant and expects me to play happy families with her. What kind of game are you playing, man? You expect me to pay premium dollar for this kind of trouble?

So Earl takes care of it. Gets rid of the precious baby and exacts a punishment.

You belong to me and you don’t mess around with VIP clients. They don’t give a damn about you and your baby and your dreams. I bought you. I sell you. You’re a product. I have to protect my clients.

His client.

Not a man. A coward. A predator. A monster.

I cursed him until my head ached.

The man who led Birdie on with false promises, who sucked the life from her then threw out the carcass.

I cursed him until my blood burned. Go back to your shiny house and wife and son.

I will find you.

I have found you.

39

The first official team meeting to mark the beginning of my new career in Gord’s empire fell on a scorching Monday in late July.

It came as a bit of a shock to actually work during the summer months. My last few years teaching had meant long, lazy summers spent traipsing around the mall, maybe trekking further afield to the outlets at Albertville. Meeting for cocktails, swimming in Fran Kuzyk’s condo pool, or soaking up the sun on a Lake Calhoun beach. One summer I’d even hopped in the back seat of Sabrina’s SUV to tour casinos up north in lake country with two of her buddies. I’d never taken a real trip, mainly because I barely had enough money to pay the bills and fund my shopping habit. But I’d loved those summers for their laid-back laziness. Idle sunny days would turn into hot summer nights. I had no plans. Just slept in, ate takeout, washed my hair a lot, and tanned. If I met a guy, I usually slept with him, made him my summer romance, then ditched him when school started up again. It was sweeter that way. No ties meant no complications.

My first official meeting as Gord’s employee was scheduled for three at his suite of offices two blocks away from the university. Guy said he’d join us a little later when he could get away from school.

I parked near the university so I could take a walk by my old alma mater. Past the gray stone columns and the burgundy sign emblazoned with gold letters that spelled out University of Minnesota, and beyond that gate, the white colonnades and brick façade of the library and lecture halls. I’d missed the place so much I decided to start taking my morning jogs around the campus. How many times had I walked through these gates, feeling a surge of pride and gratitude that almost bowled me over? I’d survived the horrors forced on me by an uncaring system, and only I knew the magnitude of that achievement. I felt in control for the first time in my life, but many mornings I’d wake shaking with terror that my new life was really a dream that could suddenly end and I’d find myself in a drug-induced stupor back in the Flatts’ house of horror.

After five years of recovery – two spent with the Levines and three at college – I’d thought I was finally normal, my mind lucid. The demons gone from my life, the drugs cleaned out of my system. Five solid years not thinking of Birdie or hearing from her. Then I saw him again. The man who’d used her and thrown her away. The man who liked his girls young. Nubile. Childlike. The man I hated with a passion that terrified me.

Towards the