Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) by Elora Ramirez

Author:Elora Ramirez [Ramirez, Elora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00MR3Z62A
Published: 2014-09-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I begin slowly, still fearful of the voices coming back with a vengeance. I stare at the floor the entire time, too chicken to catch Jessa’s eyes. I’m almost positive what I would find—rejection, horror, repulsion—would send me over the edge.

“You have to understand. I don’t tell anyone what really happened to me because no one would believe me.”

Her voice cuts in, barely a whisper. “I’ll believe you.”

I sigh. “You say that now. You don’t really know me. You only know that I claim to be fucked up and come from a rough background.”

Her silence serves as an invitation to keep going. I watch her hands—still toying with the strands falling from the hem of her shorts.

“My father sold me, Jessa. I was his pawn in this wicked game he played with the authorities back home. Everyone was in on it. Including Kevin.”

I hear her breath catch.

“Kevin?” she whispers, her voice pained.

I nod. “Kevin. He knew the entire time—even before I told him. I had this teacher who befriended me and kind of took me in—we were super close. Her husband had this mysterious job and I never knew what he did until just recently. He studies trafficking patterns. Watches perpetrators and those he suspects are in the business of sex slavery.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“He’d been watching my father for at least a year. Pulled Kevin in on the case after hearing about him from some friends within the local unit. Kevin watched me for months before introducing himself at a coffee shop.”

“Why Kevin?”

A sob catches in my throat and I shake my head.

“Because he was accused of raping a friend at a party. He was the only one who came forward to give information and then the authorities turned on him. Sticking your neck out for other people is kind of their modus operandi.”

I wipe my nose with the back of my arm. The only thing you can hear in the room is our breathing.

In and out. In and out. Almost in unison.

“How long did he do this, Stephanie?”

“Since I was twelve.”

She’s quiet again for a few beats.

“How can someone possibly get away with selling their own daughter?” Her voice is tinted with disgust.

“He involved the authorities. His biggest customer was the sheriff.”

She gasps.

“No wonder you don’t like cops.”

“…yeah.”

“Fuck.” It’s barely audible, her response.

I nod.

Fuck.

She reaches for my hand and wraps it in both of hers.

“Stephanie. How the fuck are you still breathing?”

I laugh. “Trust me. I’ve tried. You’d be amazed at the system and their blind eye toward familial dysfunction.” I glance at her for the first time and notice tears streaming down her cheeks. “Last year I was hospitalized after a particularly brutal evening with a few men.” She winces and I continue, gaining strength as I share.

“For a while, we were able to keep my father out of the loop until they realized I was underage. Because of local legislation, if authorities found out that I was technically a prostitute, even though I was forced, I would be sent to juvie.

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